Chapter 4 fourth quarter

Tonight, all the brain parasite regulars arrive. "Beyond and Victory" always has a large congregation.This is Peter.This is Aldo.This is Marcy. Hi. Introducing each other, everyone, this is Marla Singh, and this is her first time at our party. Hi Mara. In the "Transcendence and Victory" group, our activities started with "heart-to-heart-to-catch-up".This group is not called the "brain parasite" group.You never hear the word "parasite" mentioned.Everyone always starts off better.Oh, this new drug.Everyone always happens to have just turned that corner.But naturally there were hints of a five-day headache all over the place.A woman wipes unknowing tears.Everyone wears a name card, and those people you've bumped into every Tuesday for a year, they're going to rush at you, their hand out for a handshake, their eyes on your name card.

I feel like we're meeting for the first time. Nobody said parasites.Secret agents, they said. They don't talk about healing.Deal with it, they said. In the "catch-up heart-to-heart" session, someone will talk about how his spies spread to his spine, and he suddenly lost control of his left hand.The agent, some would say, had squeezed the outer layers of his brain so dry that his brain was detached from his skull, causing bouts of convulsions. The last time I was here, the woman named Chloe announced the only good news she had.Chloe stood up against the wooden handle of the chair and said that she no longer had any fear of death.

Tonight, after the introductions and the "catch up" session, a girl I didn't know, wearing a name card that said Glenda, said she was Chloe's sister, was at 2:00 a.m. last Tuesday. , Chloe finally died. Oh, this should be a great thing.It's been two years since Chloe cried in my arms at every hug, and now she's dead, on the floor, in the urn, in the mausoleum, in the columbarium.Oh, what a proof: one day you're thinking and dragging yourself around, and the next day you're cold manure, a meal for worms.This is the incredible miracle of death, which would have been a great thing if it hadn't been for the man.

Mara. Oh, and Mara was looking at me again, picking on me out of all those brain parasites. liar hand. Counterfeit. Marla is the imposter.You are that imposter.All the people around, when they wince or twitch and snarl and fall and the crotch of their jeans turns dark blue, it's just a big show. Tonight, suddenly the guided meditation wasn't getting me anywhere anymore.Behind each of the seven palace gates, whether green or orange, was Mara.Marla stood there.fraud.During guided meditations through the cave where my energy animal lives, my energy animal is Mara.Smoking her cigarette, Mara, rolling her eyeballs.fraud.Dark hair and soft French lips.Counterfeit.Lips like dark Italian leather sofas.You have no escape.

Chloe is the real deal. Chloe looks a lot like a Jonny Mitchell skeleton, if you could make the skeleton smile and yet make it extra friendly to everyone at a party.Picture Chloe's popular skeleton the size of a tiny bug, traversing the vaults and galleries of her guts at two in the morning.Her pulse was the siren overhead, announcing: Prepare to die in ten, nine, eight seconds.Death will start after seven, six... seconds. At night, Chloe ran along her own collapsing veins, bursting veins spewing fiery lymph.Nerves float up in body tissue like hair-mines.Abscesses swelled like white pearls on the outer layers of her body.

Overhead is declaring, ready to empty out in ten, nine, eight, seven seconds. Get ready to empty your soul in ten, nine, eight seconds. Chloe was wading through her ankles with renal fluid from her dead kidneys. Death will begin after five seconds. five, four. Four. All around her, parasitic life spray paints her heart. four three. three two. Section by section Chloe climbed up her own congealed throat. Death at three, starts after two seconds. Moonlight shines in through the open mouth. Now, prepare for your last breath. retreat. Now. The soul is cleared from the body. Now.

Death begins. Now. Oh, how good it would be, the warm pile of memories of Chloe still in my arms, and Chloe dead somewhere. But no, I'm being targeted by Marla. During guided meditations, I opened my arms to accept my inner child, who was Marla smoking a cigarette.There are no white healing balls at all.fraud.There is no spiritual center.Imagine your spiritual centers opening up like flowers, with a slow burst of sweet light in the heart of each spiritual center. fraud. My spiritual center is still shut. When the meditation is over, everyone is stretching, twisting their heads and helping each other to stand upright and get ready.Therapeutic physical contact.During the hugging session, I took three steps and stood with my back to Marla. She looked up at my face, but I watched for hints from others.

When prompted, let's hug someone near us. I put my arms around Marla tightly. Pick someone special to you, tonight. Mara clasped her cigarette with her hand on her waist. Tell this person how you feel. Mara does not have testicular cancer.Mara does not have tuberculosis.She is alive and well.Of course, we're all dying in that smart-ass philosophy, but Mara isn't dying in Chloe's way. When the cue comes, open your heart. So, Mara, do you like them guys? Open your hearts completely to each other. So, Mara, get out.get out.go out. Come on, cry if you want to cry. Mara stared up at me.Her eyes are brown.The lobes around her pierced ears are somewhat retracted and she is not wearing earrings.Dead skin covered her chapped lips.

Come on and cry. "You're alive and well, too," Marla said. All around us, people whimpered in pairs, leaning on each other. "If you expose me," Marla said, "I'll expose you." Well, we can split Monday in half, I said.Bone disease, brain parasites, and tuberculosis could be hers.I'm keeping testicular cancer, blood parasites, and organic brain dementia. Marla said, "What about colon cancer?" This girl came prepared. We split colon cancer equally.The first and third Sundays of each month belong to her. "No," Marla said.No, she wants it all.Those cancers, those parasites.Mara's eyes narrowed.She never dreamed that she could feel so incredible.She really felt that she was alive.Her skin cleared up.She had never seen a dead person since she was born.She has no real sense of life because she has nothing to compare it with.Oh, but now all she saw was dying and death and ruin and sorrow.Cry and tremble, fear and pity.Now that she knows where we're all going, Marla feels every moment of her life.

No, she wasn't about to give up a single group. "No, don't want to go back to that old feeling about life," Marla said. "I went to work in a funeral home just to feel good about myself and just feel the fact that I was still breathing. Who knows what would have happened if I hadn't been able to get a job like that." Then go back to your funeral home, I said. "Funerals don't compare to this," Marla said. "Funerals are abstract rituals. Here, you can literally feel death." Groups around us were wiping away tears, sniffling, patting each other on the back, and drifting apart.

We can't both be there at the same time, I told her. "Then don't come." I need this. "Then go to the funeral." The others all dispersed and were holding hands for closing prayers.I let Marla go. "How long have you been here?" Closing prayer. two years. One of the praying circle took my hand.Another took Marla's hand. The prayers began, and usually my breath would come short.Oh bless us.Oh bless us in our anger and fear. "Two years?" Mara whispered, looking sideways. Oh bless us and support us. For two years, anyone who might have noticed me either died or recovered and never came back. Help us, help us. "Well," Marla said, "well, well, testicular cancer is yours." Big Cheese Bread Big Bob was all over me, crying bitterly.thanks. Take us to our destiny.Take us to peace. "It doesn't matter." That's how I got to know Marla.