Stone Pen

The pain of Shuruk Ra By Roy Johnson

Fuck me fuck me thou fallen prophet, I hate you. Aw,
stop it stop it, no! His mighty thrust into her paves way
to the screeching echoes galloping the cold white
stone walls of her corridors; The hollow of the kings
hall bleed the moans of faintness: Her crying is not of
suffering, but tears of joy.

Nathans challenge is now shame. Why would such a
man as this king send you unto me? You lay me down
upon my back, and now you cannot show your face
anymore unto the wisdom of this land. Go, leave me
you prick, they would surely stone you for fornicating
my pleasure! Death is my brother, my daughter is wiser
than Solomon, yet you come to me with these words. I
taint your soul with droplets of passion, for my fruit is
scorched by your sun.

Nathan rose up from her bed; his love is now disgrace.
Disgusted with her, he spat upon her face. Just as I
spat upon you, so shall The Lord spit upon your bed
you whore! Thousand and ten thousand thousands
have fallen your beauty, but I am here to prophesy
unto you that you are wasted as the wine upon this
floor. He lifted the stone from the corner, yes the edge
where dainties beguile many. He thrust downward
smashing her skull; spattered blood paints the salt
stone with warmth that embeds itself into its coldness;
she is dead.

He walks away with a bloodstain filled robe. As the
former kings hands are dirty, so are mine; for I wash
my hands of this evil. The land and the innocent will no
longer fall prey to this snare. I have done the great
deed of the Lord.

Through the hall of the castle, and before the gates of
passion, a chuckle resounds. Nathan's heart, a snag it
felt. It is fear, something he's not tasted before. He
turns, and before him stands Shuruk Ra, God of
passion, un-tainted and full of beauty. The gaze of her
eyes are as the fullness of two moons; she heckles.

Do you think you could possibly destroy me oh mighty
Nathan of the prophets? Your thrusting was that of
your own sword. The smashing stone was that of your
heart ripped from your very chest, and my tears are of
triumph; for you have fallen your own deceit. Look
down my beloved child; it is your blood and not mine.
Having eyes full of revenge, you fail to see your own
lust. Surely you could not have imagined that you
could touch me without my permission? Before your
father knew your mother, yes, before this dust
underneath your feet did I pave this day. My plot is
fulfilled because my pleasure is to see your pain. Now
go and kiss my brother, for it is your last kiss oh mighty
man of God!

Nathan felt his blood-filled robe, for his touch stifled
the sharpness, and a whimper gave way to his pain.
The stone was that of flesh pierced through by his own
dagger, for his heart is torn and death is sure. Upon his
knees he did fall, yes, at the feet of Shuruk Ra he did
bow. His eyes gave way to the slumber of past kings
and found resting place to abide with his God.

It was a dreaded day, yes, that day In which time lost
record of the death of the mighty prophet Nathan.