XXXXX RATED - SNUFF : A+ GRADUATION

I CONFESS OF BEING VENGEANCE.
1 Corinthians 13:1-13 "If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

"We're not hosting an intergalactic kegger down here!"

"The twins keep us on Centaurian time, standard thirty-seven hour day. Give it a few months. You'll get used to it, or you'll have a psychotic episode."

"You'll dress only in attire specially sanctioned by MIB special services. You'll conform to the identity we give you, eat where we tell you, live where we tell you. From now on you'll have no identifying marks of any kind. You'll not stand out in any way. Your entire image is crafted to leave no lasting memory with anyone you encounter. You're a rumor, recognizable only as deja vu and dismissed just as quickly. You don't exist; you were never even born. Anonymity is your name. Silence your native tongue. You're no longer part of the System. You're above the System. Over it. Beyond it. We're 'them'. We're 'they'. We are THE MEN IN BLACK."

My wife was a Capricorn.

We made love for the first time on Valentine's FY05.
We had known each other for less than a week.

I had just gotten out of a bad relationship with three girls, an intellectual Hawaiian Tropic model, a Texan mother of two children who had insisted I fuck her daughter, and a secretive, obedient blonde slut from South Africa. The Texan had a trust fund but by the end of our union would not give me so much as one dollar.

Her name was Sakura and she was an angel.
Japanese-Buddhist, her parents had settled in the U.S. and she was just out of high school.
Her mother was dead, so she grew up with her dad and grandfather.

After finishing high school, twelfth standard, she took one year off to travel the world. We were both in Goa, meeting in an Internet chat room where we decided to meet IRL (IN REAL LIFE) after two conversations over the phone.

She was cute and adorable.
Her black hair came down the back to just above the small of her spine.

I remember in March her menstrual flow of blood being swallowed by me in a graveyard in Goa well after midnight where we had sexual intercourse well before the sunrise.

We visited a few villages, went to some major cities briefly.

Finally, in June, in a hotel in Ooti, she had cooked me dinner after buying a cheap, electric travel stove. She had taught me to eat with chopsticks.

She had some news.
She was pregnant.
I vomited.
She left.

Three whole weeks later she came back to that same lodge where I was still staying. As soon as the surprise of her arrival showed up, I dropped to my knees and proposed to her immediately.

She said, "Yes."

I licked her tears of joy, planning the next years in my heart.

There was no diamond ring, just her humble acceptance of my poverty.

A civil wedding in Goa court in July.
A honeymoon that had started since we met.
Making love in an oversize coffin on my birthday.

Dinner in Mumbai, before her flight, understanding she'd have to go back for college.

I had refused to deal drugs in Goa wanting only to study the Bible and the Koran and focus safely on learning to synthesize THE RED PILL for future generations.

People were impatient.

I had been watched by drug dealer hackers in Texas, and, in a way, their counterparts, though much more diversified and international, had been watching me in Goa.

They were not pleased by my love for Christ nor for God's love for me.

I received a message via the Internet, a realm where masks and shadows prevail.
Simply, "we're going to kill her."

I didn't pay attention.
I couldn't believe they were so jealous of God's love.

IT WAS NOT BUSINESS, IT WAS PERSONAL.

Her father never yelled at me.
I never shook his hand.
After her return to go to college, her father and grandfather and I had a long telephone call.

They approved plainly because they accepted.

She was a sweet heart.

In September she called after taking an ultrasound.
A girl and a boy.

I had done my duty as a man.

Daily calls, daily reports of her days and nights.

Our arguments that were she to be unfaithful I would kill so many people.

Her last words, "I hate you."

Waking up at the end of October at sunset, on the other side of the planet, having just finished speaking Charles Darwin's Theory of Evolution, actually feeling THE FIVE TIMES SHE WAS SHOT.

CRYING AS THE DARK AGES.

I can not recall crying since that day.

The call the next day from her father, confirming the nightmare I had experienced in my head.

I loved her.
She loved me.

The word "beautiful" does not even begin to describe her.

I never got to give her a birthday present.

Zion is my enemy.
Satan is my ally.