Miss Messiah

Frau Eva

After the recent victor was done with me, I rose nude from the bed and walked to the window. He had quickly drifted off to sleep, so I had the freedom to move as I wished. My eyes widened; there was a star, it's shine nearly engulfing the night. It shimmered and flashed, bright lines of light streaking across the sky. The air felt pregnant with fate. In the morning they would say that it was gas in the atmosphere or a UFO, but I know what it is spiritually, metaphorically, allegorically. It was a star.

I hadn't seen one since the world was still young. Then I was a whore in the desert lands, when brother and I were still lost and grasping for influence in a world we did not recognize. I looked behind me, in my mind's eye seeing a gladiator instead of a duelist, straw instead of sheets and springs, dirt instead of carpet. I had already been so many things to so many people before He came along. I was Astarte, who granted her lusty favors to the faithful, and my brother the lightning lord of power that His people vilified. My lips, my lashes, my dark curves would eventually inspire the image of Babylon's great whore. It was only fitting. I was the oldest practitioner of the world's oldest profession. John said that on their day of reckoning, the Whore of Babylon will fall.but he was wrong. I have already fallen.

To His friends, His people, His world, I was a dirty prostitute not fit to be seen. I didn't know until later how they would portray me, but I probably wouldn't have cared had I known. What were the chances that the writings of a few desert barbarians would thrive in the present day? But He saw me as none of that.

I anointed Him, and He cast demons from me. He said that none of it was my fault-that demons had thrown me into disrepute. How could I look in those dark, innocent eyes and say that it was not so? Could I smile, pat him on the head like a child, and say that He could never cure one such as me? But even in his naiveté, I followed him. He spoke to me as an equal always, though the others hated to see him do so. He proudly shouted from hilltops impossible dreams. Though I never believed him, it was nice to pretend for a little while. It was nice to think that I was equal and deserving, and that all that the world used to be could be regained.

What a waste. Just as he had become favored in my brother's eyes-for His purity, for not giving into his temptation-He was murdered. "It's a shame," my brother said in his purple robes and laurel leaves, "that he never got farther than this." He then walked on, leaving me to stare at the broken man nailed to a piece of wood. His screams from the nails in his flesh still rang in my ears. Though I knew perfectly well what they were, I also knew what the pieces of metal were spiritually, metaphorically, allegorically. They were swords.

When my brother said he was dead, I believed him. I had no reason not too. Everyone thought the same. Imagine my shock when I saw him rise from his tomb, smiling. I never saw him again. I used to worry that it was because I never really believed him, but the confusion and guilt melts with the years.

Anthy knew what the star meant. "What shall I call you, once you come?" she asked. She had called Him Lord when He arrived. "What shall I call you in this language then. Sama?" She was then silent, simply staring up at the star beckoning to her. She could only hope that the next one fared better.