#holy christ that was an unnecessarily brutal ending

[ennaih]

Every Film I Watch In 2023:

208. Forgotten (2017)

[bartok-not-bartalk]

“Bless you, Damn you”

Based on the prompt: “You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will bless you.”

Nona walked faster, wiping her nose on her coat sleeve and pulling her hat lower on her forehead.  The church was right around the corner, and the preacher would be standing out front as he always did, welcoming the patrons of the church and heralding them into the cathedral for Sunday mass.  She glanced behind her uneasily, shivering in the cold January air.  They would catch onto her plan soon enough, but it would be too late by then.  She internally smacked herself for not thinking of this ages ago.  It would be so easy!   Nona rounded the corner, head down, and in her hurry, ran into one of the men standing outside of the church.   “Bishop Micheals!” a male voice cried, concerned, and Nona recognized it as the priest’s. “I’m quite all right,” an older voice replied, and Nona realized that the man she had run into hadn’t been the priest, but a visiting Bishop.  The white-haired man helped Nona up carefully. “Are you okay, miss?” he asked, smiling down at her. “I.. uhm…” Nona felt herself about to sneeze.  She ducked her head into her elbow and sneezed quite forcefully, her whole body seeming to shake. “Bless you.” both holy men replied automatically. Nona had to hide her smile behind her scarf as they apologized, quite unnecessarily, for her fall. “Why don’t you join us for the mass and some tea afterwards to help that nasty cough?” The Bishop asked her kindly.   Again, Nona hid her growing glee behind the flustered act of the young college student she was acting.  She nodded mutely, pretending to have lost her voice, and allowed the younger priest to usher her inside.  She barely hesitated on the threshold of the building, but then she took a deep breath and stepped in, and to her relief, nothing happened.  Nona kept her eyes down, smiled under her scarf, and slipped into the church to take a seat in the pew in the back row, next to a mother and her two young sons, who ignored her.   Throughout the mass, her mind was racing as she mouthed the words of the holy verses and hummed the hymns amicably.  She was safe among these hallowed halls and under the protection of the two priests.  She’d been blessed by a priest and a Bishop! And given a personal invitation into a catholic church.  It really must be her lucky day.  Lyana and her brainless minions couldn’t follow her here, not without exposing themselves and going through some serious pain.  As long as Nona kept her hat on and didn’t look anyone directly in the eye, she’d be safe, at least until the mass ended and she was forced to seek shelter elsewhere.  She could always play the homeless card… No, she was dressed too nicely.   Nona’s thoughts wandered aimlessly as the mass drew towards it’s conclusion and the procession of acolytes brought the Host up to the front of the church for the Holy Communion.  Absently, she noticed that one of the acolytes had dark silver hair and holes in her ears where multiple piercings would fit perfectly.  She snickered.  The church didn’t generally allow its acolytes such privileges as died hair and so many piercings.  Her snicker died as she noticed that the girl’s hair wasn’t died.  Nona’s eyes narrowed. Nephilium. The train of acolytes reached the front of the church and presented the host to the priests before fanning out behind them to face the parishioners. Nona stiffened.  The girl was looking right at her.  Even at the distance, Nona could see her eyes: One a dark brown that seemed almost black, fitting in perfectly with her tan skin.  The other was a bright, polished gold, silvery in the middle and leaning towards bronze on the outer edges of the iris.  The same hue as Nona’s, lacking the slit pupils and black outer rims that corrupted the edges of Nona’s own irises.  The girl’s eye served as a brutal reminder to Nona.  What she once was, and what she could never be again.  The girl continued to stare until her duties pulled her away to start distributing the holy communion.  Nona stared back, unafraid.  No one could see her eyes in detail at such a distance, and the girl couldn’t possibly know who she was.   She followed the mother and her boys up to receive holy communion when it was time, but couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that came with the vision of that girl’s left eye.  Anticipation and anxiety grew with every step she took.  Would she be able to receive the communion after so long? What affect would it have on her?  She swallowed these as she approached the alter.  Nona knelt, stretching out her hands on the bar, even as they shook like autumn leaves.   An acolyte walked up on the other side of the bar. “This is the body of Christ, given for us. Take it in the remembrance of He.” The acolyte pressed the host into Nona’s outstretched hands, and if he noticed her nervousness, he didn’t let on, simply moved on to the next person without a second glance. A perfect servant of the catholic church. She thought cynically.  The acolyte bearing the chalice moved forward.  It was her. Nona fought the instinct to bear her teeth and hiss as the acolytes mismatched eyes met Nona’s gold ones, and lingered more than they should have, a spark of anger present on her face.  Finally, she held out the cup and recited the verse, sounding more robotic than even the boy who had bestowed upon Nona the host. “This is the blood of Christ, drink it in remembrance of He.” She thrust the cup into Nona’s hands, like she was doing so against her better judgement. Nona hid a smile.  The kid had better instincts than she probably knew.  She wondered who the angelic side of the girl’s parents was as she took the cup so hastily given to her and took a good, long draught, savoring the feel of the symbolic wine losing its alcoholic qualities and taking on a richer, coppery taste.  She couldn’t resist the urge to run her tongue over bloodstained teeth in full view of the acolyte as she handed the cup yet.  The girl’s eyes widened and then narrowed before she snatched the chalice out of Nona’s hands and swiftly moved onto the next patron of the church. Nona stood up slowly, and carefully picked her way back to her spot in the back, where she sat and pondered the girl as the mass finished and the patrons began to filter towards the stairs to the second floor of the church, where Nona presumed there was a community room where soup and drinks would be served.   She could feel the host renewing her, waking up old parts of her being that hadn’t been stirred in centuries. She was sure that if one looked into her eyes, they’d be a lot brighter gold than they usually were.  She pondered going out, but then Lyana would be on her like a fox on a rabbit, and Nona didn’t want to deal with her today. Finally, once everyone was gone, she got up and walked over and up herself, pausing on the edge of the room before making a beeline to the coffee pot.  Half way there, she was assaulted by a tall girl wearing all black, which in itself was odd in a church, that, and the girl’s hair was silver.  Dammit. Nona thought to herself as the girl grabbed her shoulder and tried to turn Nona to face her.  Nona didn’t budge for a long enough moment to make sure the girl knew she wouldn’t be able to move her, before turning to face her. “What can I help you with, Mortal?” She asked sarcastically, finding that sarcastic truths were often more effective than sincere lies.  The girl sputtered before jabbing a finger at Nona. “You’re not human!” She spat, before crossing her arms. Nona noticed with distaste that the girl was a fair six inches taller than she was. “I’m what?” Nona asked, raising an eyebrow and willing her pupils to dilate so that they would pass as circular. “You’re a demon!” The girl insisted, grabbing the collar of Nona’s coat.  Nona sighed. “I’m a law student.  Some people say that we mustn’t be human, but that’s rather rude.  Now.  Please release me.” She said, pushing the slightest bit of influence into her words.  She must have gone a tad heavy-handed though, because the girl looked rather dazed as she released Nona.  She shook her head, confused, before the clarity snapped back into her eyes with a click that was almost audible. “You used Influence.” She hissed, eyes narrowed. Nona smiled, taunting the girl with a flash of sharp canines and contracted snake-like pupils. “Of course I have influence, that’s part of the curriculum. If you’d excuse me, I’d like a cup of coffee.”  She laced her words with an infinitesimal amount of latent power, and the girl stumbled back a step without meaning to.  Nona pushed past her and walked swiftly to the coffee machine, where she poured herself a cup and looked around for an empty table.  She was just scouting one out next to a window when the someone who could only be the acolyte kneed her in the back of the leg from behind.  Nona’s knee buckled, and she sidestepped and turned to face her, eyes flashing.   “Who are you?” The acolyte asked. “Stop following me.” “What is your name, demon.” “Names have power, darling, if I told you mine, your brain would drip out your ears and your little heart would burst into flames hot enough to incinerate you before you could scream,” Nona snapped her fingers and leaned back on the counter holding the coffee machine. “You may call me Nona.” She was serious again in a second. “Now, tell me who you are, angel-face.” She said, amusing herself by the double meaning traced with accusation that resided in the term of endearment and wrapping her words in influence.  The girl’s eyes widened and glazed, her fists clenching at her sides as if she were physically trying to prevent herself from spitting it out. “I am Heloise Minerva Giornello, daughter of the archangel Michael and Marie Anne Giornello. My Name is Lux, Thirteenth daughter of Michael.” “The light?” Nona asked curiously, Jesus, who named you?” She asked rhetorically. “Well in any case, that explains it,” Nona said to herself as the influence wore off Hel and the girl started yelling obscenities at Nona.  It lasted about thirty seconds before the door to the priests office slammed open and the pastor stepped out after what Nona could only assume was a hasty apology to the Bishop, who sat in a chair, peering out of the small office. “Heloise!” The priest snapped, “What have I told you about disrespecting guests?!” The man walked over and grabbed Hel by the scruff of her shirt before turning to Nona. “I must apologize for her miss…” “DeNocte.” “Miss DeNocte.” He grabbed Hel’s wrist and started to pull her away, “I am really sorry for her behavior, Hel! Apologize.” He said with the air of a very tired parent who had done this more than a few times.  One of the church patrons who was watching the scene shook his head.   “Really, Father, It’s no trouble.  I still can’t thank you enough for you blessing and the coffee, I’ve just had such an awful cold. “Miss DeNocte, really, she should apologize,” He said warmly before turning to Hel, “Heloise. Apologize, now.” Hel looked up from the floor and made eye contact with Nona before smirking.  She pursed her lips and sneered before spitting out: “Damn you!” Nona’s eyes bugged out before she collapsed, dropping the coffee cup on the way down, invisible flames licking her spine, eyes fixed on Hel’s obnoxious smile as they fluttered shut, missing the concerned priest, the gasps from the patrons, and the thundering footsteps as the pastor carried her downstairs and out the front door, the bishop close behind him, calling 911. As the ambulance came to take Nona away, she regained consciousness as they loaded her onto the stretcher.  The Bishop insisted on coming to the ER with her, as much as she resisted.  An EMT put the mask on her face, and just before she was shut into the ambulance, he leaned over her and snarled, the cold rasp sounding foreign in his gentle voice. “It’s been a long time, Ira Deutus.” Nona’s eyes went wide.  It had been a long time since she had heard that name. “It has, Morning Star.” She said, using one of the more humorous translations of his ancient name into the language they were both speaking. Then, he snapped his fingers, and she blacked out, the pain of the Damning fading with her awareness.

[versatilepoetry]

31st December—my Ultimate Hero.

Irrespective of whether they were extraordinarily happy; or whether they inconsolably fretted in the aisles of utter desperation—with the gruesome blackness of extinction ominously maiming each of their senses, Irrespective of whether they were perennially successful; or whether they miserably floundered a countless times even before alighting a single foot—unnecessarily losing it- in their bouts of whimsical fidgetiness, Irrespective of whether they were unsurpassably rich; or whether they profusely slavered at the most diminutive morsel of food—brutally emaciating since a record number of days and treacherously freezing nights, Irrespective of whether they were in unconquerable space; or whether they were left to uncouthly stagnate on the fecklessly sordid streets and hackneyed gutter bins of the country's largest slum, Irrespective of whether they sang a boundless tunes in the praise of the Lord; or whether they sadistically licked up every pint of spit emitted by the vindictively trouncing devil, Irrespective of whether they bustled as perfectly symbiotic busy-bodies; or whether they aimlessly loitered through the lanes of slandering oblivion—which'd nothing but hoarse regret to offer as a pathetic end-product, Irrespective of whether they were unassailable magicians; or whether all what they dared touch; sullenly metamorphosed into frigidly incoherent bits of lame dust, Irrespective of whether they were invincible perfectionists; or whether they perpetually adhered to the famous axiom 'To Err is Human' and immortalized the same with their relentless failures, Irrespective of whether they were triumphantly persevering; or whether they lazed and endlessly lazed even under the most acrimoniously scorching sun; just because their bones creaked a trifle whilst getting up, Irrespective of whether they were brilliantly optimistic; or whether they lugubriously crumbled every instant reminiscing the mortuaries of the dreadfully asleep past, Irrespective of whether they were unflinching patriots; or whether they darted at the speed of lightening for cover; at the tiniest insinuation of the most imperceptible danger, Irrespective of whether they were blessedly fantasizing; or whether they lecherously circumscribed their entire lives within the constraints of the monotonously clerical corporate office, Irrespective of whether they were unconquerably truthful; or whether they were brutally trapped in satanically parasitic web of lies—resorting to it inevitably to find that ultimate escape route in today's manipulative world, Irrespective of whether they existed on the freezing north pole; or whether they compassionately warmed each ingredient of their blood under majestic rays of the Sun; extreme south, Irrespective of whether they conversed in articulate English; or whether they uninhibitedly recharged the atmosphere with every vibrancy of indigenous language that was spoken under the Sun, Irrespective of whether they were the perfectly synchronized gentlemen; or whether they resided in rustically mud baked huts—bursting at the seams to accommodate an innumerable more of their kind, Irrespective of whether they were Christ fearing Christians; or whether they were an equally Bhagwan/Allah/Buddha fearing 'Hindus'/ 'Muslims'/ 'Buddhists' and every other sacred tribe on earth divine, Irrespective of whether they wholeheartedly celebrated wondrous X-Mas; or whether they zealously indulged in the lights and colors of; 'Holi', 'Diwali', 'Muharram', 'Id' and countless other sacred festivals of the likes, O! Yes—Irrespective of anything and everything-On the 31st of December every year—all of them joined hands in one insuperable mass together; embraced each other without the tiniest of discrimination -to welcome the newest dawn of all times—the dawn of a joyously happy new year—the first Sunrise of a magical 1st January.