Sigils


sigil |ˈsijəl|
noun
an inscribed or painted symbol considered to have magical power.

I decide I want to hold one of Bunny’s weird masturbation ritual things in order to ask God or Satan or whoever to make my ex-boyfriend fall back in love with me. So I get out of my bed which I haven’t left in four days, wipe the drool lines off my face with a dirty sock and wander our dark, sad hallways, looking for Bunny.

I find him splayed out on his unmade bed, half asleep half awake, probably fucked, like usual. “I want to make a sigil,” I say, staring down at his emaciated frame. “I need Him to fall back in love with me.” Bunny looks up at what might be my face but might be the ceiling. “Sure, whatever,” he mumbles. “I’m kinda bored anyways.”

We clear a space on his messy floor and Bunny hands me a piece of paper and a pen and says, “Write down what you want” and I write I WANT HIM. He then takes the paper and crosses out all the vowels and repeating consonants and hands it back to me, now with only W N T H M remaining. “Now take those letters and arrange them to create a symbol,” he says. I do this quickly and when I’m done Bunny switches off the lamp, lights three candles and tells me not to worry because everything’s going to be OK.

“Now get down on your knees and jerk yourself off,” he says, “and as you do it stare at the sigil and really think hard about what you want and why you want it. Then, after you cum, you have to burn the sigil and try as hard as you can to forget this ever happened.”

I look at him. He’s staring at me expectantly and I suddenly feel both awkward and scared. “Aren’t you going to do it too?” I ask, and Bunny says, “No,” and I say, “How come?” and he says, “Because I want to watch you.” So I breathe in deep, try to move my hands but they’re stuck to the floor so I whisper, “Please, I need you to do this with me,” and he smiles and says OK.

So Bunny writes something on a piece of paper which he doesn’t let me see, and when he’s done I close my eyes and reach my hand down my skirt. And as I fuck myself I think about What’s His Name—his crooked body, the way his freckles scatter across his pallid skin, his fake tooth, his big nose—and my head fills with sex, death, cum, some other stuff… and as I climax I stare down at the stupid symbol and think What the fuck am I doing?

When it’s over I open my eyes and Bunny smiles and says, “Did you cum?” and I nod my head yes and so does he. And then we lie down on the floor for a while, staring at the ceiling, saying nothing.

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2 Responses to Sigils

  1. I think it's pretty proven by failed covens for millenia that orgasms in themselves don't have metaphysical powers or properties…. did you know that if you could remember what an orgasm really felt like you'd never need another one?

  2. Rick Doyle says:

    I've got some magic beans for sale. I don't want any money or even a cow for them though. I just want to watch you touch yourself when you're feeling upset and confused.Your mate's a scummy tool for trying that. Either that, or you're daft for listening.

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