ECCLESIA: Episode One: ReverentECCLESIA
Episode Two: "Reverent"
Three years passed slower than the death of a Mahogany Beetle caught in the ooze of a Cloro Tree. They ate the sap using a slick tongue, and sometimes fell victim to its adhesive texture taking weeks for them to die. I passed by one of the critters on my early morning walk, too sleepy to snarl my nose and I moved on.
I squinted in regret as I twisted the rusty knob. The hinges squealed, and I wished to follow its example. However, I kept my complaints to myself. The grocery shop consumed the majority of my time. I smiled away, though sometimes faint. Mr. Trice was the only employer willing to hire me with my condition, if being Human was truly a disability. Behind the counter I sat, my posture horribly hunched on a backless stool.
"Why are you early?" Mr. Trice's voice naturally sounded as if he spoke in a barrel, deep and scratchy.
Through a crooked window I watched the east sun rise above a line of forest. The west sun would follow it in a short thi
ECCLESIA: Episode One: AlibiECCLESIA
Episode One: "Alibi"
We stayed in a cabin just on the outskirts of town despite my father's occupation as a member of the Council. As a result, my mother worried little about the food on the table in comparison to our neighbors. I looked upon my parents relationship as beautiful, their methods on caring for my sister and I equally perfect. I never saw myself or my sister as attention seekers, though my sister once threw a tantrum in the market place when my father forbade her a new dress. She hardly left a mark on society though; she didn't stand above a crowd--not on the same levels that I did.
A visitor once asked my mother: "Her hair is gorgeous, who mixed the hair dye?"
My mother and father looked upon each other hesitantly: "Her hair is not colored; it's naturally that dark blue," my mother responded politely.
Our neighbor raised a brow, and continued: "And you say she is human? You've noticed no strange phenomenons?"
The woman's eyes sat heavily on me as I bathed in the
SpaceNothing moved. The world stood disturbingly still in a sort of lingo, may it or may it not have been a purgatory--which I often contemplated as well. An eyeless angel cushioned my head--my dog chewed the cheap buttons off it's face--as I starred into the ceiling.
"That crack is going to kill me," I spoke so blandly that I bored myself.
Work would arrive in only thirty minutes. I'd perform the same activities as the day before. Sall would sit in the chair next to me, and chart and ramble about what her annoying ass kids had done that previous day. I'd have to document about the patient in room 631 falling out of bed again. She fell every day, and I highly doubted she was discharged at this point. Mary Winkleblack was her name, a woman with everything wrong, but nothing legally documented. I think it's illegal for me to reveal her name? Hell, what am I saying? I know it's illegal.
I'm not worried about getting fired though, because for Pete's Sake--whoever the fuck Pete is--look at my la
Bending MetalI suppose I did it to myself. No one would hear me admit to it though. My hardheaded ambitions kept me moving forward, but hardly at the speed of light. No, light traveled in all directions whilst I kept a on straight path with turns more crooks than a knotted snake. Like the snake, the trail of blood left behind me only made sense. But I suppose--did I mention that was one of my favorite words--'suppose'--but I suppose there was nothing left for me anyways. There'd be no point in traveling back.
And I suppose I did it to myself. LORC held me in a heavily guarded room, suffocating would have been a more appropriate term. A man with a disturbing ability to teleport placed me within the steel cell, and bound my arms with thick copper wires. My knees buckled beneath me as I starred at the other two men I share the cell with. Both were guards for LORC, and possibly some of the weakest Powern they had recruited. At least, they appeared weak in ability and intellect.
The one in the right cor
The Other SupermanLunana Annua
So she said to me:
"He died yesterday."
"Who died?" Last I had checked, no one I knew had passed.
Her breath hardened, and her voice mellowed. "That little boy who had been fighting cancer for the past year. God finally took him."
Is it strange that I find when God is brought into a situation like this it becomes awkward? I've never been one to speak about him myself. Discussing my passions with others have always been difficult, and well disturbingly awkward. My brown creased and little if any more emotion showed, but I pursued the conversation. She had discussed him not a few days before, I recalled. The child was referred to as 'Superman', and super he might have been. Now, he's but a reminder of how cruel and wonderful life is, and I suppose that's what I told her:
"I felt sorry for him three days ago when you first told me about him."
She wanted to curl her lips, but she didn't. "You don't feel sorry for him now?"
I turned to walk away, possibly, but I starred at a wh