Requite to Carnal Helotry

Cathedral ceilings echo the gong-like tenor like a pendulum; the sound sweeps through the room back and forth. Back and forth. It shakes the pale flesh of the fatted beings as they stand in line, one behind the next. They don't converse, let alone make eye contact. In their strained hands lie the possesions they once held dear, and the things that they continue to prize. The only movement they make is the slow march toward the counter of fate, where the beings will pay the debt for anything they carry in their hands.

Each pale being cluthes to different items in his or her arms, yet there is a consistency among them. The cost for what they admire is an eternal desire for perishable jewels and mortal fame. Though their commodities won't last, their fervor does. Once the beings leave the counter of fate, they make their way to the back of the line once again. They will do this for their entire existence, as they are far too blind to see the world beyond the line they paved themselves. This is the same line we have paved for ourselves. I call it our requite to carnal helotry. You can call it shopping.