Post by MambaduMal on Aug 16, 2004 19:10:01 GMT -5
I really don't think this was a very fair dare... I didn't have to do anything embarrassing, just time-consuming
Enjoy anyhow. It is subject to change, as Joe is currently proofreading it for me
***
Spangles of a shattered window
Dawn seeps slowly through the gloom
The gory ghosts of a thousand funerals
Still haunt the crumbling confession room.
Lauren stroked the faded maple of the confessional chamber. Her fingers ran absently over the knots in the wood, stirring up the dust particles that had gathered. In the dim light, every bit of dust in the air could be seen clearly, like golden glitter in the dark and broken room.
Pulling the moth-eaten curtain closed, Lauren suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if returned to the womb.
She took a deep breath.
“Father,” she spoke, and her voice cracked.
As her voice echoed, she realized that the crumbling pews of the church must not have heard a whisper in years. The stained carpets must not have felt footsteps in decades. And the old and faded confessional chamber must not have fed on the fears of a man for ages.
She shivered.
Softly speak the quiet specters,
Murmurs of a mournful past
They watch the chamber with wary glances
And wonder how long the girl will last.
“Father, I have a confession.” This time, Lauren spoke more softly. She couldn’t explain why, but the back of her neck prickled with human presence. She hadn’t seen anyone in the church other than herself, and she hadn’t heard even the faintest footstep.
It was something she couldn’t explain.
“There are many things I can’t explain,” Lauren whispered. Her voice filled her ears, but she could still feel the empty, impenetrable space of the church outside the chamber.
She fixed her gaze on the metal grate in front of her, through which the Catholic priest used to listen to faceless sins, and judge them, and prescribe holy incantations to keep the confessor’s soul alive. But that was many, many years ago.
This time, Lauren knew there was no human priest to listen to her confession. It was a more faceless, more mysterious judge that was listening to her this time.
“There are many things I can’t explain,” she repeated. “I can’t explain why things are the way they are, and why I feel the way I feel. But I feel…”
The confessional stirs with whispered words
The specters wait with bated breath
Silent secrets, not yet spoken
The haunted church is still as death.
“…I feel…” Lauren swallowed. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry. She looked down. The silence was unbearable.
“Lust,” she breathed.
The word echoed within her mind, though the church remained as silent as stone.
The specters stare with blank confusion
The girl is trembling, as if condemned
The church door opens, scatters darkness
The lonely confessional comes to an end.
“Hello?” called a warm, male voice. The heavy church doors slid open with a groan, and a blade of sunlight sliced across the floor.
Lauren froze.
“Is anyone in here? I hope I’m not bothering anyone…” The voice was crisp, each syllable carefully formed. The accent echoed of hot, Mexican summers.
Lauren stood up silently.
“I guess not.” The door groaned again, as if in pain, and the church was once again thrust into cobwebbed darkness.
Lauren could hear the man carrying something heavy, a shuffle and a clatter told her that he had set his things down on the altar.
“Hello?” Her lips mouthed the words, but the sound was caught deep within her lungs. She stood nervously behind the dusty, velvet curtain of the confessional chamber.
It was him. The Lust. The man she lusted for, the man she deemed evil because of the way he so effortlessly made her feel. She had never wanted anything so much, and she had never been so afraid of losing her mind.
The man was whistling cheerfully, moving about the church and making clattering noises with his equipment. The solemnity of the building was lost, his tune too bright to allow for any darkness or fear.
The specters scream, the music seems
Unwelcome in the hallowed room
They hide again beneath the arches
And watching coldly, wait and loom.
“Hum, I wonder what this is for…”
The voice was close. Directly on the other side of the chamber curtain.
Lauren opened her mouth to reply, but her throat was suddenly choked by the light that was let into the chamber. The man had pulled back the curtain.
He yelled in surprise and jumped back. Lauren could do nothing but gaze at him, frightened.
“L-lauren!” he gasped.
“Sergio,” she mouthed. Her eyes locked into his.
“What… what are you doing in here?” His hand was clutching his heart.
“Confessing,” she whispered, raspy. Her palms were cold and sweaty.
“Con… confessing?” The man named Sergio attempted a smile.
“Yes. I have sinned.”
Sergio cocked his eyebrow. “Sinned?”
“I am sinning as we speak.”
“What… what do you mean?”
Lauren allowed her eyes to break free from his, and she carefully, wordlessly drew her eyes downward. They raked slowly over Sergio’s nose, his mouth, his neck, his chest, his waist…
Sergio had stopped breathing. On his browline, perfect, round droplets of perspiration were forming.
“I want you,” rasped Lauren.
The specters stared with disbelief
They nervously watched her sinning hand
Her lips and his came slowly together
And with one touch, they both were damned.
“Sergio…”
The stained glass windows rattled and shook
There was nothing the walls of the chamber could hide
A thousand dead specters could never imagine
The hellfire the lovers had conjured inside.
“Why were you here?” Lauren breathed, pressing her body against his bare skin.
“I had come to paint,” Sergio paused to kiss her neck.
“Paint?”
“Yes, I was going to paint rainbows across the arches…”
Lauren turned her head and looked into his dark eyes. “Rainbows?”
“A religion without beauty should be a sin in itself,” Sergio whispered.
“What do you mean?”
“What we are doing… isn’t this the most beautiful thing…”
“… I’ve ever done in my life. Yes…”
“Though you were here confessing as if it was a sin.”
Lauren looked away.
“So this isn’t a sin?”
Sergio smiled and ran his hands slowly down her smooth, bare arms.
“Hell no.”
Praying in silence to a hopeful new Heaven
Hymns sung in whispers and unhindered touch
The specters, in horror, watched the unveiling
For sermons never had moved them this much.
***
Enjoy anyhow. It is subject to change, as Joe is currently proofreading it for me
***
Spangles of a shattered window
Dawn seeps slowly through the gloom
The gory ghosts of a thousand funerals
Still haunt the crumbling confession room.
Lauren stroked the faded maple of the confessional chamber. Her fingers ran absently over the knots in the wood, stirring up the dust particles that had gathered. In the dim light, every bit of dust in the air could be seen clearly, like golden glitter in the dark and broken room.
Pulling the moth-eaten curtain closed, Lauren suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if returned to the womb.
She took a deep breath.
“Father,” she spoke, and her voice cracked.
As her voice echoed, she realized that the crumbling pews of the church must not have heard a whisper in years. The stained carpets must not have felt footsteps in decades. And the old and faded confessional chamber must not have fed on the fears of a man for ages.
She shivered.
Softly speak the quiet specters,
Murmurs of a mournful past
They watch the chamber with wary glances
And wonder how long the girl will last.
“Father, I have a confession.” This time, Lauren spoke more softly. She couldn’t explain why, but the back of her neck prickled with human presence. She hadn’t seen anyone in the church other than herself, and she hadn’t heard even the faintest footstep.
It was something she couldn’t explain.
“There are many things I can’t explain,” Lauren whispered. Her voice filled her ears, but she could still feel the empty, impenetrable space of the church outside the chamber.
She fixed her gaze on the metal grate in front of her, through which the Catholic priest used to listen to faceless sins, and judge them, and prescribe holy incantations to keep the confessor’s soul alive. But that was many, many years ago.
This time, Lauren knew there was no human priest to listen to her confession. It was a more faceless, more mysterious judge that was listening to her this time.
“There are many things I can’t explain,” she repeated. “I can’t explain why things are the way they are, and why I feel the way I feel. But I feel…”
The confessional stirs with whispered words
The specters wait with bated breath
Silent secrets, not yet spoken
The haunted church is still as death.
“…I feel…” Lauren swallowed. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry. She looked down. The silence was unbearable.
“Lust,” she breathed.
The word echoed within her mind, though the church remained as silent as stone.
The specters stare with blank confusion
The girl is trembling, as if condemned
The church door opens, scatters darkness
The lonely confessional comes to an end.
“Hello?” called a warm, male voice. The heavy church doors slid open with a groan, and a blade of sunlight sliced across the floor.
Lauren froze.
“Is anyone in here? I hope I’m not bothering anyone…” The voice was crisp, each syllable carefully formed. The accent echoed of hot, Mexican summers.
Lauren stood up silently.
“I guess not.” The door groaned again, as if in pain, and the church was once again thrust into cobwebbed darkness.
Lauren could hear the man carrying something heavy, a shuffle and a clatter told her that he had set his things down on the altar.
“Hello?” Her lips mouthed the words, but the sound was caught deep within her lungs. She stood nervously behind the dusty, velvet curtain of the confessional chamber.
It was him. The Lust. The man she lusted for, the man she deemed evil because of the way he so effortlessly made her feel. She had never wanted anything so much, and she had never been so afraid of losing her mind.
The man was whistling cheerfully, moving about the church and making clattering noises with his equipment. The solemnity of the building was lost, his tune too bright to allow for any darkness or fear.
The specters scream, the music seems
Unwelcome in the hallowed room
They hide again beneath the arches
And watching coldly, wait and loom.
“Hum, I wonder what this is for…”
The voice was close. Directly on the other side of the chamber curtain.
Lauren opened her mouth to reply, but her throat was suddenly choked by the light that was let into the chamber. The man had pulled back the curtain.
He yelled in surprise and jumped back. Lauren could do nothing but gaze at him, frightened.
“L-lauren!” he gasped.
“Sergio,” she mouthed. Her eyes locked into his.
“What… what are you doing in here?” His hand was clutching his heart.
“Confessing,” she whispered, raspy. Her palms were cold and sweaty.
“Con… confessing?” The man named Sergio attempted a smile.
“Yes. I have sinned.”
Sergio cocked his eyebrow. “Sinned?”
“I am sinning as we speak.”
“What… what do you mean?”
Lauren allowed her eyes to break free from his, and she carefully, wordlessly drew her eyes downward. They raked slowly over Sergio’s nose, his mouth, his neck, his chest, his waist…
Sergio had stopped breathing. On his browline, perfect, round droplets of perspiration were forming.
“I want you,” rasped Lauren.
The specters stared with disbelief
They nervously watched her sinning hand
Her lips and his came slowly together
And with one touch, they both were damned.
“Sergio…”
The stained glass windows rattled and shook
There was nothing the walls of the chamber could hide
A thousand dead specters could never imagine
The hellfire the lovers had conjured inside.
“Why were you here?” Lauren breathed, pressing her body against his bare skin.
“I had come to paint,” Sergio paused to kiss her neck.
“Paint?”
“Yes, I was going to paint rainbows across the arches…”
Lauren turned her head and looked into his dark eyes. “Rainbows?”
“A religion without beauty should be a sin in itself,” Sergio whispered.
“What do you mean?”
“What we are doing… isn’t this the most beautiful thing…”
“… I’ve ever done in my life. Yes…”
“Though you were here confessing as if it was a sin.”
Lauren looked away.
“So this isn’t a sin?”
Sergio smiled and ran his hands slowly down her smooth, bare arms.
“Hell no.”
Praying in silence to a hopeful new Heaven
Hymns sung in whispers and unhindered touch
The specters, in horror, watched the unveiling
For sermons never had moved them this much.
***