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I am reluctant to call these invocations “prayers,” as they were surely as blasphemous as any words spoken by any creature on this earth, but they were, at least, a manner of address to some higher power, some nameless, faceless godhead, some setebos or demogorgon buried in the detritus of time. XXX “What’s this I keep hearing about a festival?” I said. For although my mother and father had never denied me anything and I’m sure that, deep down, they must have loved me, our relationship had always been one of tension. “It’s a family tradition of sorts,” he said. I love you. We were meant for each other.”
My mouth pressed against her throat and she gasped. I could cite only my own nameless fear, insubstantial and unarticulated.