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Summary
Svätý Anton - village located in municipality of Banská Štiavnica, Slovakia, near said once-royal city, famed for mines, foundries, and production of painted sculptures of the nativity scene.
Saint Anthony the Great - father of all monks, known hermit, tempted by the Devil.---
The rain wasn't stopping. Soft echoes of thunder. Rolling like a freight train right at him, and Jigen blinked.
Darkness reigned in the hideout, interrupted only by the dim purple-blue light of twilight.
He swallowed what little saliva pooled at his tongue.
The beast was waking. Powerful cravings. His gun was clean, there's nothing engaging on the six channels of that ancient TV set, there's no VCR, no tapes, no working radio, and the rain's too heavy to go outside.
And not a soul to confide in.---
Please don't let me listen to Swans/Michael Gira when I write. I beg of you. It's not good for my brain nor my liver. And the end result is a stream-of-consciousness thing of Jigen angst based on alcoholism, passive suicidality, and general self-loathing.
All of this was written in one sitting. Technically a vent fic, wrote it because I needed to exorcize some demons. Figuratively, of course.