Post by cathy on Mar 16, 2010 11:03:22 GMT -5
Signs outside the old Balkan Church had read that because of its old structure and lack of patronage in aiding the reconstruction of the old church, it had to put out of commission till further notice.
Claudia found it a perfect time to visit the old bard. And like she always had done ever since she was a little girl, she entered through the back door. Seeing all the old familiar doors and signs and even musky odors brought her back to a different time.
Reminiscing.
That’s all she had now, memories. But she neither wept nor found condolences in their flickering images that swept passed her mind’s eye. She walked down the strangely green corridors like a ghost haunting its passages.
And in speaking of ghosts…
There was a light tickle of girlish laughter that skipped right by her. There was no physical sign of a girl present – just a passing shadow and a delightful smell of lilacs. Claudia’s gray eyes followed the aspiration till it disappeared down a dark hallway and around a corner. But Claudia did not follow – nor think twice about the little ghost girl who had just skipped by – for she already knew who the little girl was.
It was her. Her own ghost from childhoods past came to greet her. Fond memories dwelled here.
She continued down the dilapidating walls of the Church – till finally she came upon the main entrance and hall of the gothic building. Her shoeless feet padded softly on the tiled floor, now dusty and dirty from negligence. She took a deep breath of the place, of molding Christian bibles and of decaying animal matter and carcasses that have wandered in from the outside. She looked passed the pews till she finally turned around to land her empty eyes on the image of the Passion of the Christ that hung obnoxiously on the wall. She sneered as she slowly walked up to the alter, and around towards the hanging crucifix.
“Heathen swine!” She spat at the body of Christ. “I see no passion! I see no love in thine eyes!” She looked directly into the eyes of the wooden figure, as if expecting a reply, “I see weakness and I see sacrilege!” She proceeded to push the figure out from its delicate balance on the rusted nail that it hung from. “Where are your followers now? Where have they ever been?” She shouted in contempt. “Even before people had come to pray to your lies, The Order had already infiltrated your little prostitution ring you call a Church! We used you as a front to hide ourselves from curious eyes. For we were persecuted and misunderstood for following the truth – like all wise men who stray from the societal norms to follow what it truly good!” With a good shove from her shoulder, the crucifix fell to the floor; the man nailed to the cross was now broken in half. Claudia walked up to the figure, and looked down at it with little mercy. “And only fickle followers follow deceptions, and yours have left for the American Gods of Television, Rock and Roll and Cell phones.” She kicked at the damage figure, “This is no longer your house.” And with a simple hit from her heel, the wooden head rolled off, its crown of thorns scattered across the alter floor.
“This,” she raised her hands up in what appeared to be victory, “Is our Holy Mother’s home. She need not hide behind your deceptive veil no longer.” She pulled out a crumbled and old picture of the Holy Mother, dressed in red with emissaries and disciples following her every breath and movement. “Unlike fake messiahs, who are left behind by the sands of time, She is eternal, She is righteous, and She, will bring our eternal paradise.” She plastered her picture on the area where the crucifix once laid, taking the nail that had fallen off and using it to uphold her Holy Mother.
A sigh of relief came to her; she had destroyed the heathen church and claimed it for her Mother.
All was right in the world.
Claudia found it a perfect time to visit the old bard. And like she always had done ever since she was a little girl, she entered through the back door. Seeing all the old familiar doors and signs and even musky odors brought her back to a different time.
Reminiscing.
That’s all she had now, memories. But she neither wept nor found condolences in their flickering images that swept passed her mind’s eye. She walked down the strangely green corridors like a ghost haunting its passages.
And in speaking of ghosts…
There was a light tickle of girlish laughter that skipped right by her. There was no physical sign of a girl present – just a passing shadow and a delightful smell of lilacs. Claudia’s gray eyes followed the aspiration till it disappeared down a dark hallway and around a corner. But Claudia did not follow – nor think twice about the little ghost girl who had just skipped by – for she already knew who the little girl was.
It was her. Her own ghost from childhoods past came to greet her. Fond memories dwelled here.
She continued down the dilapidating walls of the Church – till finally she came upon the main entrance and hall of the gothic building. Her shoeless feet padded softly on the tiled floor, now dusty and dirty from negligence. She took a deep breath of the place, of molding Christian bibles and of decaying animal matter and carcasses that have wandered in from the outside. She looked passed the pews till she finally turned around to land her empty eyes on the image of the Passion of the Christ that hung obnoxiously on the wall. She sneered as she slowly walked up to the alter, and around towards the hanging crucifix.
“Heathen swine!” She spat at the body of Christ. “I see no passion! I see no love in thine eyes!” She looked directly into the eyes of the wooden figure, as if expecting a reply, “I see weakness and I see sacrilege!” She proceeded to push the figure out from its delicate balance on the rusted nail that it hung from. “Where are your followers now? Where have they ever been?” She shouted in contempt. “Even before people had come to pray to your lies, The Order had already infiltrated your little prostitution ring you call a Church! We used you as a front to hide ourselves from curious eyes. For we were persecuted and misunderstood for following the truth – like all wise men who stray from the societal norms to follow what it truly good!” With a good shove from her shoulder, the crucifix fell to the floor; the man nailed to the cross was now broken in half. Claudia walked up to the figure, and looked down at it with little mercy. “And only fickle followers follow deceptions, and yours have left for the American Gods of Television, Rock and Roll and Cell phones.” She kicked at the damage figure, “This is no longer your house.” And with a simple hit from her heel, the wooden head rolled off, its crown of thorns scattered across the alter floor.
“This,” she raised her hands up in what appeared to be victory, “Is our Holy Mother’s home. She need not hide behind your deceptive veil no longer.” She pulled out a crumbled and old picture of the Holy Mother, dressed in red with emissaries and disciples following her every breath and movement. “Unlike fake messiahs, who are left behind by the sands of time, She is eternal, She is righteous, and She, will bring our eternal paradise.” She plastered her picture on the area where the crucifix once laid, taking the nail that had fallen off and using it to uphold her Holy Mother.
A sigh of relief came to her; she had destroyed the heathen church and claimed it for her Mother.
All was right in the world.