The Gift of Integrity

I’ll believe in mediums when one of
them tells a grieving relative that
their loved one is suffering in Hell, the
fire licking his scorched skin, the ash
filling his lungs while bands of demons
take turns shoving red-hot needles
under his fingernails and into his urethra.

That psychic, I’ll say to myself, possesses
a strong sense of integrity. He’s not
just telling the rubes what they want
to hear.
Then I’ll eat popcorn as the
clairvoyant man predicts the ugly, painful
death of a teenager in the audience who
will start weeping and moaning, telling
him it’s not true but knowing as well as
I do that she is doomed.

Yes, he will be hated–the real ones
always are. No one will call his hotline
or give him a syndicated talk show, but
he will be able to look himself in the
mirror and feel good about himself, if
not the horrible fate he sees reflected.

About semiblind

Bringing you stark existentialism since 1981.
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