The intruder slipped between the frame and the door a few seconds before the door lock clicked. Inside the garret, the intruder, soaked to the bone and beyond shivering, spotted a vacancy beneath the mess of sheets and pillows – a scene more familiar in the nearby sister cities of Sodom and Gomorrah – and darting to the floor, dashing his foot upon the stone, the intruder slid beneath the frame of the bed and waited It was patience he mastered; it was a strong trait in his being. It was suspense that he counted on. It was his hope that the man he had tracked from the end of the hallway (the man who had locked the door and disregarded it as he resolutely turned the nearby corner, sojourning down the palatial stairs to an inclement day) would hear the door click shut and let it pass, this arbitrary thing, out of his mind. It was morning, but the rain had not waited to fall. It had been falling, indeed, for the majority of the past forty days. In the friary at Sodom, brothers clustered around ancient texts and lifeless manuscripts upon frozen screens. They speculated in hushed voices what was to come; they consulted the Four (and perhaps one more depending on their upbringing) as overseen by the Church. In the nunnery at Gomorrah, sisters remained secluded in their prison-like rooms. Their actions were confined to lying in bed, sitting upon their beds, pacing the floor while muttering prayers in New Latin. Most of them were crying (mostly for no other reason than the sister beside them did the same). It was at this hour that the intruder (or perhaps he would be their savior?) slipped into his hiding place beneath the sinner's bed, and Mother Superior and the Head Monk ofthe Order of Sodom, saddled their horses and set out for the City
The road to the City is not paved in gold. It is a city whose foundation is erected in written promises that were never kept. In the City, the people are believers, but they do not believe in the words of the Four. Ask that young woman over there, the one in the red dress and long flowing dark hair – whose smile stays on no matter whom she is with – and wearing the red cloak and hood; she will tell you this: The Four were wrong. They didn't listen to the one they left out. She was the wisest because she knew him the best. That is what she told me, in any case, and that is what she'll tell you. She calls herself Magga. The City people think she is a Witch, but they won't burnher. They are passive aggressive – they pass up aggressive resolutions to their problems – and it angers them. They are the multiple embodiment of the Gollum: they love and hate themselves. Along the muddy road to the City, there is a fork. It seems out of place because the road is situated on a flat stretch of land that issparse and reveals everything. Still, the road forks into two separate alleys leading to the same place. The City is surrounded by a gilded gate, painted white and made to shine in the forgotten sunlight, locked by the Gatekeeper (Peter) who will let you in, but only if your purpose is correct. So, as Mother Superior, side by side with the Head Monk of Sodom, travel along the road, the intruder awaits his victim. Is there any hope, someone asks in this moment of truth, for humans? Does He still look favorably upon us, His children whom He loves? It is not the man, who being tracked no more has reached the bottom of the stairs and opens the door to the day. He thinks only about money and how he will make it; whose pennies he'll snatch away from them. They don't need this money anyway! They are helpless; they are poor; they cannot rightfully want and strive to make anything of their pennies Their station is fixed and they shall never rise. That is what he thinks.