The drums rolled. Louder and louder.
The drum-roll was so loud; it awoke the dormant Darth Vader living within the sacerdotal priest. He was sleeping in his plush bed that stood against the wall of an otherwise sparse room of the ancient rectory.
The priest twisted and turned in his bed. He sweated profusely. Somewhere, an alley cat screeched an eerie mew. In his dreams, he walked down memory lane…
To that fateful night in the Florida Prison cell, where he was administering the last rights to the Death Row Convict #8, Robert Flamingo. Chained from head to toe, Robert still had that determinate cause popping his eye-veins. In a corner of the prison cell, there lay the crab-cakes with cucumber tartar sauce. Prior to execution, a Death Row convict could request his favorite last meal.
The last rites had to be done in three stages: first, penance for sins committed, then anointing with holy oil, followed by Viaticum (Holy Communion).
Robert Flamingo told the Priest, “I’m an honest Christian. I killed the Kingpin of the Gonzales Banking Fraud- a heartless Investment and Securities Fraud. My family and 100 other unsuspecting senior citizens lost our entire life savings, as we put them in the hands of Gonzales in the form of the Dakoita Investment Offering, in return for a stabilized income at 12% interest.
Stabilized income? We ended up losing our stability and I, my sanity. I went to Gonzales to talk things out, and probably look at some kind of compensation, but he was a snotty bastard dripping with sarcasm as to how the Government could procrastinate the proceedings in the Court of Law by letting him slip through those loopholes that they would willingly create, as a sign of returning the ‘favors’ they had had sought from the fraud in the first place. I lost my cool when I saw no signs of compromise, I fell bait to a heated argument: one that I was losing real bad.
Gonzales liked to flaunt his misplaced sense of religiosity and had a thurible at his desk; a desk he liked to call his altar. I assume he wished the holy smoke from the thurible would absolve him from his scandalous sins.
“You people are like the ‘Crown of Thorns’ on God’s head. I just removed the thorns and made God’s life easier. Your money is gone forever, just like the crown of thorns,” he jeered.
I couldn’t digest it: the contrasting, far-from-holy atrocity of his deeds. I took the thurible in hand, and in one swift blow, took a deathly swing at his surprised-as-hell head. The evil, scarlet blood oozed in a stead stream onto the white ‘altar’.
I spotted a Moses’ burning bush in his office. The sugar-sweet irony kissed my triumphant face: I mean the man had not obeyed a single commandment; and here was a Moses Bush! I’d never seen pietism and putridness get along this well. Moses would have turned in his grave. I walked to the bush, made a small ‘crown of thorns’ and left it on his bleeding head.
That’s my story father. And I accept this death penalty with all my heart. I’m one small thorn who is alright with being removed, when I know the red rose can still be preserved.”
The priest had a sheet-white expression. This man was an exemplary Jesus. He anointed him with holy Oil and gave him ‘The Holy communion’. He felt privileged administering the last rites.
As he was about the leave, Robert called to him. “Father, would you help me in keeping the red rose alive?”
The priest stumbled a little, and then said, “What can I do for your people?”
Robert replied: “There are three Monster Trucks parked in these five different Church yards where Gonzales used to send clothes, furniture and other knick-knacks to; as part of his ‘Christian Deeds’. I’ve loaded them with the money that I got to recover from this bloody scam. No police or Government has gotten there. No Church has opened these either. I just got them filled out with my men last night. These are the keys. Get the money to my people.”
The priest took the keys, walked out of the prison cell, and blessed the Guards at the Door.
That was two years ago.
He woke up with a start. The sheets were still wet with perspiration. He had aided and abetted a criminal.
The drum-roll was so loud; it awoke the dormant Darth Vader living within the sacerdotal priest. He was sleeping in his plush bed that stood against the wall of an otherwise sparse room of the ancient rectory.
The priest twisted and turned in his bed. He sweated profusely. Somewhere, an alley cat screeched an eerie mew. In his dreams, he walked down memory lane…
To that fateful night in the Florida Prison cell, where he was administering the last rights to the Death Row Convict #8, Robert Flamingo. Chained from head to toe, Robert still had that determinate cause popping his eye-veins. In a corner of the prison cell, there lay the crab-cakes with cucumber tartar sauce. Prior to execution, a Death Row convict could request his favorite last meal.
The last rites had to be done in three stages: first, penance for sins committed, then anointing with holy oil, followed by Viaticum (Holy Communion).
Robert Flamingo told the Priest, “I’m an honest Christian. I killed the Kingpin of the Gonzales Banking Fraud- a heartless Investment and Securities Fraud. My family and 100 other unsuspecting senior citizens lost our entire life savings, as we put them in the hands of Gonzales in the form of the Dakoita Investment Offering, in return for a stabilized income at 12% interest.
Stabilized income? We ended up losing our stability and I, my sanity. I went to Gonzales to talk things out, and probably look at some kind of compensation, but he was a snotty bastard dripping with sarcasm as to how the Government could procrastinate the proceedings in the Court of Law by letting him slip through those loopholes that they would willingly create, as a sign of returning the ‘favors’ they had had sought from the fraud in the first place. I lost my cool when I saw no signs of compromise, I fell bait to a heated argument: one that I was losing real bad.
Gonzales liked to flaunt his misplaced sense of religiosity and had a thurible at his desk; a desk he liked to call his altar. I assume he wished the holy smoke from the thurible would absolve him from his scandalous sins.
“You people are like the ‘Crown of Thorns’ on God’s head. I just removed the thorns and made God’s life easier. Your money is gone forever, just like the crown of thorns,” he jeered.
I couldn’t digest it: the contrasting, far-from-holy atrocity of his deeds. I took the thurible in hand, and in one swift blow, took a deathly swing at his surprised-as-hell head. The evil, scarlet blood oozed in a stead stream onto the white ‘altar’.
I spotted a Moses’ burning bush in his office. The sugar-sweet irony kissed my triumphant face: I mean the man had not obeyed a single commandment; and here was a Moses Bush! I’d never seen pietism and putridness get along this well. Moses would have turned in his grave. I walked to the bush, made a small ‘crown of thorns’ and left it on his bleeding head.
That’s my story father. And I accept this death penalty with all my heart. I’m one small thorn who is alright with being removed, when I know the red rose can still be preserved.”
The priest had a sheet-white expression. This man was an exemplary Jesus. He anointed him with holy Oil and gave him ‘The Holy communion’. He felt privileged administering the last rites.
As he was about the leave, Robert called to him. “Father, would you help me in keeping the red rose alive?”
The priest stumbled a little, and then said, “What can I do for your people?”
Robert replied: “There are three Monster Trucks parked in these five different Church yards where Gonzales used to send clothes, furniture and other knick-knacks to; as part of his ‘Christian Deeds’. I’ve loaded them with the money that I got to recover from this bloody scam. No police or Government has gotten there. No Church has opened these either. I just got them filled out with my men last night. These are the keys. Get the money to my people.”
The priest took the keys, walked out of the prison cell, and blessed the Guards at the Door.
That was two years ago.
He woke up with a start. The sheets were still wet with perspiration. He had aided and abetted a criminal.
Then, his heart beat slowed down.
He saw those happy faces. They’d gotten their life back.
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Raven's Wordzzle Challenge: assorted words-just make a story out of them!
I loved the challenge : so took it up :)
The words for last week's ten word challenge were: flamingo, monster trucks, Darth Vader, cucumbers, sugar-free, banking, determinate, thurible, sarcasm, drums And for the Mini Challenge: procrastinate, memory lane, alley cat, argument, Florida
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