Author's Note: This was in response to Qoheleth's "Malachy O'More" challenge, prompting me to write a fic with a randomly selected title from O'More's "Prophecy of the Popes" (a list of sayings that some believe correspond to each of the popes of the Roman Catholic Church that followed the prophecy-and a couple of papal impersonators.). "Canonicus ex Latere" is the sixteenth motto on the list, traditionally assigned to Pope Honorius III. For more information, visit Qoheleth's profile.
"Most merciful father," the monk knelt, "I am not worthy to submit a suggestion to you-"
"Get on with it," the head monk (or rather, the monk with the most intact head) replied.
"What if we hit ourselves with the sides of bibles?"
"The sides." The head monk nodded. "I like it. The same force applied over a smaller area means…"
"That's physics, father."
"So it is."
"Do we tolerate rational scientific thought?"
"We do now."
So it was that the next time they made their daily rounds, the monks hit themselves with the smallest sides of their bibles. The canon, the holy text, crashed upon their heads.
The instigator behind this progress believed that his inspiration, which would result in a much greater level of overall masochism, excused him the obligation to do it extremely on the first day: his attention was piqued by a group of questors.
Praying that God would bless them, and that they would find the grail they sought, he never questioned the coconuts. Or the minstrels. Or anything that implied a deviation from, as it were, medieval canon.
Life changed, and interpretations of truth with it. Someday, perhaps this would be the truth, and his existence would be only an aside.
Or perhaps it would all be left to the future to sort through.
"Pie Jesu Domine, dona eis requiem…"
"Dear Lord Jesus, grant them rest."
They'd need it.
