1. After
After, the Usher escorts them home.

After he sits on the bed and looks at himself in the mirror, not out of pride or vanity or narcissism, but in wonder. He doesn't recognize himself.

Every inch of skin is clean and immaculate. The tree burns through from his back to his chest and back again, catching his heart in between the fires. It could be a sign of sickness. He says it's a sign from God.

After he walks down the barefoot bare earth trail, arms spread wide to embrace the universe.

After, there's always a smile on his face.

2. Trinity
His eyes, as black as sin.

Her lips, as red as lust.

His hands, as white as life.

They're the perfect trinity; father, daughter, holy boy. If only he hadn't had to kill him. They could have been powerful together. They could have saved the world.

If only he hadn't had to kill him. He'd been a good man, once. He hadn't meant to become the devil in preacher's clothes.

If only she hadn't had to kill him. They could have run away together and left the circus. She'd wanted that, and they hadn't listened.

Every prophet in his house.

3. Sanguine
Royal blood was blue. Real blood looked black under the moonlight.

His blood looked gray, almost black but light enough to help him fool himself if he didn't want to think about it. The first time he'd gotten a nosebleed he'd thought he'd just blown something up in his head that made the colors go funny.

He'd gone out behind the wagon afterwards and cut himself to see if it was still blue, after the headache had faded and he'd had a couple of shots of whiskey. One slice across his palm with a peach knife, deeper than he'd meant.

It didn't make sense. Crown of thorns, crown of gold, here's the night getting cold. He shivered and put his arms around himself, forgot about the blood until it started to smear down to his elbow.

He watched the blood pool in the crook of his arm and willed it to turn black. Everything else had worked. A moment of inspiration gave him the idea that maybe if he could heal everything else he could heal himself of this, too. It had to be a sickness. A disease. And if he lost those healing powers so what? He ran out into the field, away from the camp, till his legs burned. Ran till his knees folded under him and he couldn't tell what was blood and what was tears and then he wrapped his arms around himself and willed it away. But it didn't go away.

It didn't make sense.

4. Rust
Her eyes, as black as death.

His face, as white as fear.

His hands, stained blue with blood.

It's over in three heartbeats and the line is cut off. Looped around like a baby's cord and tied off in a pretty little bow. She opens her mouth to scream and laughter falls out in dribs and drabs between the spittle.

Out of the blue and into the black. They'd given her so much, both men had given her so much of what she'd thought she'd wanted, and it was going to kill her. Well.

Not if she killed it first.

5. Avatar
After, the Usher escorts them home.

They smile and say he has his mother's eyes. He smiles back and thanks them, and reminds them that he takes his hands from his father. They laugh as if they know what that means.

He kisses them on the cheek, each one, and wishes them well. They smile as if they know what he means, and watch as he gets in his car to drive away. Things have changed so much since forty five.

Forty five. Still alive.

He splays his hands on his thighs and looks at them with blackened eyes while the car starts itself. It carries him on down the road as he keeps looking, his mouth forming shapes and words that were never meant for human ears.

Every few minutes he stops to correct his mother, sitting next to him.

For a dead woman, she's got an awful lot to say. She hasn't shut up these past thirty years, and cutting her throat with grandpa's scythe didn't cure her. Grandpa'd said it would. Lying bastard.

It doesn't stop him from smiling as the car drives on down the road. He'll see them again tomorrow. Continue the good work.

Amen.