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Prophet’s Fire and Spindles of the Banshee

by Méabh de Brún

In the dark of night our Lord spoke to me, and said that He will put His words in my mouth, and I shall speak unto them all that He shall command of me. So I retreated to the wilderness to better hear His voice and I just want to be fucking left alone, you know?

Actually no. I’ve changed my mind. I want to be left alone and I want to be able to hook off chunks of flesh from my bones with my hands. Dig in my fingers and pull it off like dough. There’s fire under my skin. I need to get at it. I need to free whatever this is, whatever is burning inside me. I’m not sure what that is yet but it’s getting harder and harder to think in straight lines. My thoughts jump and twist, images of the past and present blurring and melding together. What of the future? Is that yet to come? My mind is losing its shape, bending and twisting around this new irrefutable reality. I am a prophet. I am a prophet. Taking out the fire will help.

On the third day my mam followed me to the bog. …

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