Channel 33, Your Phone | Evening
[It's easy to tell the chamber -- this whole TV/phone turning on is getting old, isn't it -- is immense, vaulted ceilings peeking out of shadow mere candles -- no matter how proliferate they are in the room -- cannot drive off. The altar, however, glints in the light. Smooth black veined white marble draped in a rich red velvet covering. The man, bare chested, the markings of his tattoo accentuated by daubs of thick, red... paint? The man stands behind the alter, and his hands are lifted too high for the light.
Thick, near black blood trickles down his arms, but his chin tipped back, he takes no notice. His voice is low and droning, a chant that may or may not have been repeated.]
Guiding father, life-giving sun, I beg of you.
[His hands lower, the candle light glinting off the smooth, dark surface of a human liver.]
Return!
[His hands raise, bringing the organ to his mouth, but as his lips peel back, the recording cuts out. Those watching the TV, should they turn back to Channel 33 will find nothing but static.]
Thick, near black blood trickles down his arms, but his chin tipped back, he takes no notice. His voice is low and droning, a chant that may or may not have been repeated.]
Guiding father, life-giving sun, I beg of you.
[His hands lower, the candle light glinting off the smooth, dark surface of a human liver.]
Return!
[His hands raise, bringing the organ to his mouth, but as his lips peel back, the recording cuts out. Those watching the TV, should they turn back to Channel 33 will find nothing but static.]