Thou shalt not kill.
“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” the cardinal replied.
She was a woman; a midwife and herbalist, doing God's work. You caused her death.
“She was a witch. She turned men to stone.” He thought of her ripe body as she bathed in the river, he hidden in the bushes nearby, watching unseen. He remembered the intense erection he had gotten at the sight of her breasts and belly. “She turned me to stone.”
You had a normal man's reaction to her body, her beauty.
“I am a man of God. I am above the temptations of the flesh.”
You were a man, subject to temptation.
“I did God's work more than she did.”
You caused pain and suffering and terror. That is not God's work. That is the work of His adversary.
“I drove out demons!” He thought of the instruments for revealing heresy, for freeing the soul from the the corrupt body. “I earned my place in Heaven, destroying the heretics.”
Ineffable sorrow washed over him from the angels who stood between him and the Gates. She was an innocent. Most of them were.
“No! I only did what was right! It was she who tempted me. She was a witch, I tell you!”
You earned your place Below. It was his work you did, sowing discord among the faithful, causing betrayal in families, making men fear God instead of loving Him. Remember: Love God above all else, and love your neighbour as yourself.
He heard the shrieks of the damned, smelled sulfur. Behind him, fallen angels arose from the depths to escort him.
A soft voice spoke from behind the angels of light. They moved aside and she came forward.
“He has no idea he did wrong,” she said. “He truly believed he did the work of God. When Jesus was being crucified, did he not say, 'Father, forgive them; they know not what they are doing'? So it was with him. Do not let his ignorance damn him.”
The cardinal-that-was stared at her. Her beauty seared his soul. Realization flooded his being, and he fell on his face before her. He wailed, seeing the faces of all those he had believed he had sent to Hell. They gathered behind her and shook their heads in pity.
“Let him in,” they said to the angels of light.
He wept and grovelled. “Forgive me,” he whispered.
“Forgive yourself,” she said. “See the truth, forgive yourself and you may enter.”
She smiled at the angels who bowed their heads as she returned to the others and vanished beyond the pillars. He watched them go. He looked from the angels of light to the darker ones who waited patiently for his soul. Forgive himself? It could take an eternity.
We can wait. But was it the angels of light or of darkness who had spoken?
***
Today's entry in the 24/7 challenge. I'm not completely content with this as it stands, although the idea has been percolating for years. I realize it may cause controversy, and that's okay. I'm playing with the idea of forgiveness and Heaven and Hell.
Sunday, August 08, 2010
Saturday, August 07, 2010
Migrants
For today's effort for 24/7, I tried my hand at a triolet.
Migrants
The stars shone as never before
To the crew on their way to deep space
To a planet, a new foreign shore.
The stars shone as never before.
They wondered what fate had in store
As they sped through the void at a pace
The stars shone as never before
To the crew on their way to deep space
Migrants
The stars shone as never before
To the crew on their way to deep space
To a planet, a new foreign shore.
The stars shone as never before.
They wondered what fate had in store
As they sped through the void at a pace
The stars shone as never before
To the crew on their way to deep space
Friday, August 06, 2010
Writer's Block
A notebook, my hand and a pen--
I stare at the blank page again.
I wanted to write--
Will I sit here all night?
No! I'll go watch TV in the den!
That is today's effort for the 24/7 challenge!
I stare at the blank page again.
I wanted to write--
Will I sit here all night?
No! I'll go watch TV in the den!
That is today's effort for the 24/7 challenge!
Thursday, August 05, 2010
Stick to Instant
Stick to Instant
Bloop. Carrie-Ann's mouth twisted in a moué of distaste at the sound. Splut. She grimaced and picked up the wooden spoon, turning back to the stove. Garry loved oatmeal. He could eat it every day for breakfast, but Carrie-Ann couldn't bring herself to make it more than once a week. It was Garry's Saturday treat. She hated the liquid-solid sounds it made and the disgusting way bubbles broke open when they reached the surface. She also hated the way it could grow suddenly if she turned her back on the stove for more than fifteen seconds. From nothing to blorfing all over the stove in fifteen damned seconds! Why couldn't Garry settle for instant oatmeal, but no, it was too sugary, too salty, too fast, too convenient. She rolled her eyes, and stuck the spoon into the pot.
Burblup. Blubblurp! Carrie-Ann gave the oatmeal a half-hearted stir. She held her coffee cup in her other hand and took a sip. Ahhh. Lovely. Burblurblplublup! Ow! A minuscule dot of oatmeal had spewed itself out of the pot and landed on the back of her right hand. She dropped the spoon and brought her hand to her mouth. Damn! That hurt. She licked the oatmeal droplet off her hand and studied the red mark underneath. Stupid oatmeal.
Movement caught her eye and she focused on the pot in time to see the spoon disappearing as oatmeal rose. Up and up the sides of the pot, heading for the rim. Dammit! She set her coffee cup on the counter and reached for the knob on the back of the stove to turn the heat down before the miserable stuff spilled out and hit the burner. The only thing worse than oatmeal was the stench of burning oatmeal.
As her arm moved over the pot, a pseudopod reached up and fastened onto her bath robe. She yanked her arm, not quite believing what she had seen, and then screamed when the pseudopod clutched her arm. The heat seared through the thin terrycloth. Oatmeal poured out of the pot, growing exponentially. Carrie-Ann had time for one more terrified shriek before she vanished inside the mass of hot cereal.
It pulsed and burbled to itself, bubbles continuing to burst on the surface from time to time.
“Carrie-Ann? Are you okay?” Garry's voice was thick with sleep. He stumbled down the hallway toward the kitchen, eyes half closed. “Carrie-Ann? Hon?” He was halfway across the kitchen before he saw the toppled pot, the oatmeal spreading across the floor. His left foot was already touching the edge, which felt almost alive, writhing under his toes. He tried to pull back. Blorblup! Garry's days of eating oatmeal were over.
Bloop. Carrie-Ann's mouth twisted in a moué of distaste at the sound. Splut. She grimaced and picked up the wooden spoon, turning back to the stove. Garry loved oatmeal. He could eat it every day for breakfast, but Carrie-Ann couldn't bring herself to make it more than once a week. It was Garry's Saturday treat. She hated the liquid-solid sounds it made and the disgusting way bubbles broke open when they reached the surface. She also hated the way it could grow suddenly if she turned her back on the stove for more than fifteen seconds. From nothing to blorfing all over the stove in fifteen damned seconds! Why couldn't Garry settle for instant oatmeal, but no, it was too sugary, too salty, too fast, too convenient. She rolled her eyes, and stuck the spoon into the pot.
Burblup. Blubblurp! Carrie-Ann gave the oatmeal a half-hearted stir. She held her coffee cup in her other hand and took a sip. Ahhh. Lovely. Burblurblplublup! Ow! A minuscule dot of oatmeal had spewed itself out of the pot and landed on the back of her right hand. She dropped the spoon and brought her hand to her mouth. Damn! That hurt. She licked the oatmeal droplet off her hand and studied the red mark underneath. Stupid oatmeal.
Movement caught her eye and she focused on the pot in time to see the spoon disappearing as oatmeal rose. Up and up the sides of the pot, heading for the rim. Dammit! She set her coffee cup on the counter and reached for the knob on the back of the stove to turn the heat down before the miserable stuff spilled out and hit the burner. The only thing worse than oatmeal was the stench of burning oatmeal.
As her arm moved over the pot, a pseudopod reached up and fastened onto her bath robe. She yanked her arm, not quite believing what she had seen, and then screamed when the pseudopod clutched her arm. The heat seared through the thin terrycloth. Oatmeal poured out of the pot, growing exponentially. Carrie-Ann had time for one more terrified shriek before she vanished inside the mass of hot cereal.
It pulsed and burbled to itself, bubbles continuing to burst on the surface from time to time.
“Carrie-Ann? Are you okay?” Garry's voice was thick with sleep. He stumbled down the hallway toward the kitchen, eyes half closed. “Carrie-Ann? Hon?” He was halfway across the kitchen before he saw the toppled pot, the oatmeal spreading across the floor. His left foot was already touching the edge, which felt almost alive, writhing under his toes. He tried to pull back. Blorblup! Garry's days of eating oatmeal were over.
Wednesday, August 04, 2010
Tuesday, August 03, 2010
The Last Dance
He danced on the rooftop. Music soared from speakers dragged up from his apartment, lifting his spirit, lifting his body. He leapt and spun, balletic, graceful. Sunlight sparkled on the river, glinted from windows, dazzled his eyes. Still he danced. Tears slid unheeded down his cheeks.
In the city, bodies lay in the streets, stinking in the heat. Rats and seagulls feasted. The source of the plague no longer mattered. Treatment, vaccinations no longer mattered. Humankind no longer mattered. So few survived.
The parapet drew near. He cried aloud and leapt once more. Up and over. And down.
***
Edited on Aug 8 to switch paragraphs 1 and 2. I like this version better.
In the city, bodies lay in the streets, stinking in the heat. Rats and seagulls feasted. The source of the plague no longer mattered. Treatment, vaccinations no longer mattered. Humankind no longer mattered. So few survived.
The parapet drew near. He cried aloud and leapt once more. Up and over. And down.
***
Edited on Aug 8 to switch paragraphs 1 and 2. I like this version better.
Monday, August 02, 2010
Life Changes
Life Changes
Life changes
come at you at the most unexpected times
bringing shivers of anticipation
and shivers of anxiety
where to go next and who to be
what interests to pursue and which to set aside
what friends to cling to and which to let go
and embrace the change that is the only constant in life
Life changes
come at you at the most unexpected times
bringing shivers of anticipation
and shivers of anxiety
where to go next and who to be
what interests to pursue and which to set aside
what friends to cling to and which to let go
and embrace the change that is the only constant in life
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