by J.P. Cianci
I drink deeply from my half-filled chalice, admiring the way the indelibly perfect, golden idol of Molech reflects the sunlight. I raise my goblet to Molech, my jewel-encrusted cup catching the brilliant rays of the sun, then I take another insatiable drink. I turn around to refill my cup when gentle fingertips run up and down my back.
“Adaron, how would you like to receive Molech’s blessing?” Sahar whispers seductively.
I smile, reveling in her touch, and close my eyes. I imagine all the delicious ways in which her body could satisfy the pressing fleshly urges her contact has aroused. “I would love to receive Molech’s blessing, but I cannot afford such a sanction,” I say, opening my eyes. I cup the temple prostitute’s breast and forcefully bring her in for a kiss.
She smacks me, but I laugh and grab her wrist.
“Come now, Sahar. I worship in here every day. I’m entirely devoted. Are you sure Molech wouldn’t want to bless a follower such as myself?”
“If you need money to afford his blessing, I know someone who would pay handsomely for the company of your daughter,” Sahar suggests.
I smack her quick and hard across the face, holding a finger to her—warning her—but I say nothing.
She slinks off to find another, no doubt richer, follower to seduce.
Incense wafts from silver plates beneath the idol and I try to forget Sahar and her remarks. I don’t need to pay to satisfy my desires. Many women, and even men, are happily drawn in by my sexual prowess.
I walk drunkenly back to the idol that is gloriously exposed to the sun by the open rooftop of the temple and fall to my knees in prayer. I slur my pleas and wishes for a few moments before my head bobs heavily from the wine. After an hour, I close my eyes to rest at the foot of Molech, basking in the afternoon sun.
“It’s too early to be this dark,” someone remarks a few minutes later.
“Quiet!” I bark. My eyes are still closed, but I do notice the almost imperceptible shift in light behind my eyelids. “It’s merely clouds passing in the sky.”
“What is that? A sandstorm?” someone else asks. The presence of a crowd gathering around me causes me to finally open my eyes.
“Gawk outside! Do not waste Molech’s temple for slack-jawed gaping!” I yell, but no one listens. I raise my head to the sky, which is shrouded in darkness. Plumes of smoke billow downward in waves, obscuring the sun.
“Sandstorms don’t move like that,” I say, shifting uneasily. People murmur excitedly all around me.
“It’s all right! I see light!”
“Yes! I see it too! It looks like the sun is coming toward us!”
“That’s not light, that’s fire! Run!”
“No! This is a sacred temple. We are safe here,” I assure them, but people take off to the streets. I kneel a few feet back from Molech and begin fervently praying. As the smoke surges closer, I cover my mouth and nose in disgust, but only for a moment. A ball of fire collides directly with my sacred idol. A stream of melted gold sprays in my direction, blinding me in one eye and cooling rapidly to my skin so that it’s encased in a painful, golden mask.
I moan in agony, turning to flee. “Oh Molech, Oh Molech. Why? Why?” I’m almost to the entrance of the temple when it collapses on top of me.
Finish reading the rest of this story in Sulfurings: Tales from Sodom & Gomorrah, or download the book at: