Marrs Attacks: My name is Thorn

My name is Thorn. Damien Thorn. I am the Antichrist. 

And I’m a homosexual.

I’m not sure what I should start with first. I feel like I’ve got a lot on my plate for a fourteen-year-old. Granted, I’m no ordinary fourteen-year-old, in fact my age may be irrelevant because I’ve been foretold by prophecies eternal, but everyone thinks I’m fourteen. Except my step-dad, Rick (the Dick), who treats me like I’m six. I’m so glad I’m the manifestation of an ancient evil and not that dickhead’s actual son. 

I suppose I should explain the whole Antichrist thing, by which I mean my destiny, first. They say the Lord works in mysterious ways, but I’ve come to realize the Devil works in even mysterious-er ones. I don’t question him, since he did choose me as the vessel of his incarnation, but I admit his method of revealing my true identity to me was a little weird and embarrassing. 

It happened two weeks ago at Jamie Newland’s sleepover. We were watching horror movies and Jamie’s dad said we should watch The Omen. I think now Jamie’s dad might be my False Prophet, but I haven’t finished reading the Book of Revelations all the way so I’m not sure yet. (Man, that book is weird! I wonder if there’s a Cliff’s Notes.) 

We watched the movie pretty late so Jamie, Scot Goodhart and Geoff with a “G” all fell asleep halfway through. I see now how that was all part of Lucifer’s plan for me so we could have quality father/son time. I stayed up until The Omen ended, and then I fell asleep, and then the vision came. It was The Prince of Darkness, but he wasn’t scary or anything. He kind of looked like Liev Schreiber with his shirt off. 

“Alan, my son. Alan McAlister, I have chosen you,” said Mephistopheles. “I arranged this night for a reason: to tell you who you truly are. You are Damien Thorn, Alan. You are the Antichrist.”
Here I would have said something but I was both speechless and chained to a wall in my dream. Also I had on a muzzle (my dreams are weird). Being in conversation with a supreme evil is kind of intimidating, especially when he looks like Liev Schreiber with his shirt off.

“I arranged this night for a reason, Damien. Your friends are my gift to you. You must kiss them each on the lips, except Geoff with a ‘G’ if you don’t want to. You must do this for me, my son. Then you will unite the world and ready it for my dominance.”

I thought it sounded funny, but who am I to argue with The Desolate One? I awoke pretty quickly and took a few deep breaths to take in what’d just happened. I looked at Jamie, Scot, and Geoff with a “G” and thought about kissing them all. I paused a minute because Geoff is pretty dorky-looking until I remembered Satan telling me I could skip him if I wanted. Then I thought, “Hell, if I’m the Antichrist, I’d better get a move on! I’ve got a world to unite.” 

I leaned over and kissed Jamie on the lips. I think I was too excited at discovering my enormous destiny because I kissed him pretty fast and bumped his head when I did it, which woke him up. Then he had to make a big scene about it. “Alan! What the Hell, man?! Did you just kiss me? Scot, Geoff, wake up! Alan tried to kiss me on the lips!”

I went home after that. I can’t wait ’til I rule the world and trick shitheads like Jamie into thinking I have any intention other than to thrust their whiny souls into Hell, where—surprise, surprise—I’ll also rule. He’s so screwed. I’m never giving back his Beck CD.     

I’m still learning to accept my heritage, but it gets easier every day. Like in gym class last Friday when I tripped over the obstacle bar on the track field and fell down and broke my glasses, I thought, “Man, who cares about this earthly crap? I’m the Antichrist! I can trip over the obstacle bar if I want to. They can laugh all they want. Mortals.”

Now there’s also the issue of my gayness. I guess I’ve known about this all along, like I’ve always known I wasn’t Rick the Dick’s real son and that an unholy destiny awaited me. But first is the question of if I should tell people. It’s kind of hard, because on one hand I don’t want people to treat me differently for being queer, but at the same time I know I’m going to lead these foolish humans “from out of the east” after I “rise from the eternal sea,” so who cares? The dawn of the Armageddon has to be bigger than who I sleep with, right?

I guess I’ll have to sit on it awhile. My dad, The Morning Star, will come to me again soon, and then I’ll get it straightened out. Maybe in my dream tonight. Maybe as a young Kiefer Sutherland, with his shirt off. 

WhistlePig + Alfa Romeo F1

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