Matthew 6:15
"But if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses."
The dreams were so sweet and insatiable. They were an unrealistic medicament or the mirage that dwelt in your train of thoughts while kipping peacefully. Depending on the nuances, they were either dreams or nightmares. Depending on the mood, it could be said it's so judgmental to formulate the dream. Sometimes sheer bliss shimmered, tinting vibrantly your vision with your tightly clutch shut eyelids. Or with flashing, graphic images that were unspeakably bizarre of being mentioned, however, they slipped on the tongue as a chunk.
What was exactly Judy Martin dreaming of?
A sunny, vibrant day in Rome. The sun was immensely smiling to its surrounding today, dispersing its saturating sun rays and bathing in natural sunlight as a warm blanket their exposed fleshes. The sky was cloudless and it didn't have any intentions of being swarmed by the translucent clouds, blocking its view.
The bloody red, satin aisle of divine Rome was dripping like a venomous snake tongue the grand façade's massive stairs. Galore of people whether from the diocese or just civilians were awaiting the arrival and honor the revered Pope, Mother Superior and their children.
Hold on a second! How and why the children? The diocese was strongly against the devotional members of the church having or giving a birth to children even having sexual interactions, leading them to sinning and breaking the vows brashly. Earning God's piercing, judgmental glares above as a superior face above them and judging each manner of their. Anyway once the British compatriot with two home lands raised in the diocese from the ambitious Monsignor up to the revered Cardinal and then eventually the exalted Pope, he altered the rules as they were slightly different just for him and his own rare bird. In spite of the trials they've been through for abundance of years even when they wore inferior cleric titles, they still didn't give up with an ease and pursued with every ounce their goals even accomplishing them fully.
Sometimes a few years ago, when the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer was just Sister Jude and the head nun of the infamous mental hospital of the small city of Massachusetts and meeting the man of her dreams who's actually the Monsignor, himself, they had their own tough times. For example, the disagreements they had and seldom sharing antithesis in their decisions they're plotting of making even when sharing one another's plans to raise in the church.
Ocean of mere nuns and general population were crowding the audience. Their croaks of addressing formally the exalted members of the church scratched their throats, verging to skip their heart beats as if they're on cloud nine and having the chance to be noticed whether by the Mother Superior, the Pope or their little sweet rays of sunshine.
All of a sudden, monotonous click, echoing the ravishing red as the former licentious jazz nightclub singer's remarkable scarlet satin slip with light footsteps, emanating from Jude, Timothy and pair of identical twins, eerily resembling their parents. They weren't just two pairs of girls or boys. They were an identical boy and girl twins. They're like the mini versions of Adam and Eve, who've actually raised in the highest tiers of the clergy and taking after their parents their spellbinding facial features, hybridizing Jude and Timothy's biological creations, made of their own sheer flesh and blood. The mini Adam's version or rather, the young boy twin was actually already five-year-old. Just as old as his twin sister, nevertheless, inheriting the sister of the church's aureate curly hair texture that capped his head and framing his round, chubby profile, followed by her button, delicate nose and her piercing, brutally honest hazelish-brown embers with the most scorching and vibrant hazelish pigment. Last but not least, the young boy was deriving his father's thick, dark and amusingly expressive eyebrows along with his well-carved cheekbones and his boyish, bashful smile. They were the sole exceptions that rendered him one of a kind mother son, sharing a few prominent in common his father's features that diverged from the Bostonian. His name was Nicholas Jeremy.
Whereas Nicholas's sister was deriving vibrantly from her own mother with her outstanding chestnut pigment and straight hair texture, texturing her long dark mop of glossy cocoa tresses, framing her round, chubby profile. Her lips were cherub full, baby pinkish with the sweetest, tender pecks on the temples and cheeks. Further, the little girl was inheriting her biological creator's coffee brown coals, mottled with vague hazelish pigment that chromatically sometimes altered, due to the light and her mood. Sometimes when the light cast the fieriest, the warmest coffee brown with lighter patterns, glinting like Espresso. Or rather, the darkest chocolate brown, almost indiscernible as her eye pupils. Her smile was as promisingly innocent as the younger recension of the former sleazy nightclub singer. Once the mini Judy with major of crossbreed British compatriot's one of a kind tinctures grows up and rides the roller coaster of her short life from the childhood up to the adolescent and lastly the adulthood, galore of heartbroken men would encompass her, crucially because of her drop-dead gorgeous face and the smiles she offers them whether succumbingly tempting, or, on the contrary, the sweetest, most innocent, smeared across her pale-pinkish lips. The young girl was named Phoebe Audrey.
The gaits elegantly lionized figures of Rome, accompanied by their children to be honored by their admirers waved amiably, kindheartedly to everybody that has the chance to regard their salute. Bright, friendly smiles ignited its ablaze pyro barriers, enkindling enthusiastic smiles brushing their lips and blush touching their chubby, well-defined cheeks with a generous nuance of cherry.
"Here are the chosen ones!" The crowd purred a croak with jubilance, lacing their tongues, clapping their hands and the majority of the general population protracting their hands for a handshake and minimal chances of being greeted and noticed by them, in fact, everybody can't be noticed at all.
It wasn't their first time Nicholas and Phoebe accompanying their parents on special events shortly after they're taught to walk and expand their limited vocabulary, due to their fragile age. The brunette was hiding shyly behind the middle-aged woman's rigidly shapeless, dark wool habit hem, demure smile constricting her jaw line, averting her chocolate brown pools from the strangers' eyes. Her petite, pudgy hands seized the dark wool fabric, grazing her smoothly alabaster palms with its fabric rigidness, itching its delicate skin.
At the moment, the twin brother was by his father side, glancing at every outskirt of the major crowd, admiring its ginormous mass of people and nuns' fixed eyes on them, cheering them up and chatting with one another, commenting their double standard life by judging their occupation and family status in general.
They yet wondered how a devotional man of the cloth with his wisely chosen right hand by judging her austere authority, chaste, responsibility and intelligence are capable of baring children, and they attend on events and mass. Furthermore, they've been wondering yet how the rules have significantly altered when the former aspiring Monsignor raised in the highest, most celestial tiers of the patriarchy.
The society always trusted the morals and still believed the religion's legion constitution where the nuns and priests were forbidden of baring their own creations, made of their own flesh and blood, or, on the contrary, the patriarchy and their mentors are obligated more than anything to abolish them from their own positions. The assembled flock of civilians were in awe how the Mother Superior and the Pope were the sole exceptions or numbered as the fewest church members, who are happily married to one another with children.
- End of Dream -
- 27th of December, 1964 -
Was that the reality? Or rather, a mirage in its dream realm which could never happen?
The both questions swirled and twirled in the senseless former nun's whirlpool of thoughts with her tightly clutch shut eyelids, her once glossy by its sheer, decent hygiene roseate lips lost its genuine luster, producing light snores, pumping her chest as if the snores, exhales and inhales were giving her CPRs, curing her senseless condition. Her once halo ringlet of flossy old Hollywood gilded tresses with its outstanding lavish flossy texture were already grizzling it curls' texture, diminishing the gild opacity in the limbo. Her once porcelain lavish with its youthful palish tone epidermis was unhealthily, feebly blanched by having meals twice a day which were with low-quality and swamping the pit of her stomach with nausea, amalgamating with the medicine which she seldom or at least pretended to take, prescribed to cure her mental illness or the insanity that faked the reason she's committed as a patient against her will and being stripped off every clerical and personal possession of hers. She was just Judy Martin. Again yet even before joining the church and renaming herself from Judy to Jude, because of the church's rules.
The sensation of a handful of slim, pristinely dexterous fingers that were plugged in her pink nether area, teasing her core with its contracting walls against the possessed sister of the church's fingers, baptized in its insatiably crystalline juices of her orgasm which she's reaching. Oblivion fogged the senior blonde along with a migraine plaguing her cells all over again, regardless how many times she pretended to take her own medicine and masticate the meals that were far from luxurious or sufficiently bearable for consuming. The recurring sixth sense of being watched didn't flee with an ease at all. Fiendishly feline, brass dappled irises landed on the unconscious, drifted off asleep inmate.
The senior blond groaned a grunt, muffling a yawn until her eyelids fluttered open, indistinctness tinting her vision as a dark, infernal figure stood beside her old, tattered bed in the ward. It was a nun. The ward's iron, rustily old door was askew opened in the women's wing. The evil was opting to corrupt one of the inmates and eating her with its bleak darkness, shadowing her entire identity. Once a sinner, always a sinner! Her fashioned in balled brittle fists rubbed the groggy eyelids until the blurriness vanished in the thin air.
What the former pious woman of the cloth could behold was her former mentor and most of all, daughter figure was commanded by the Satan pushing her fingers inside her core, chewing on her lower lip greedily with her front ivory, youthfully firm teeth its delicate skin of her roseate lip, mimicking in low voice the moans which could Jude reproduce as a symphony. For how long Mary Eunice has been in her cell as a short destination of testing her patience and belittling her, plummeting her morality and rationality? Only the possessed woman of the cloth knew by herself.
Everything about Rome, having children and being happily married to the love of her life was all illusion and existing for the mirage realm which has already dwelt out of after her dream was commuted to the reality, where everything was far from beautiful to be real and too ugly to be crudely cold and unbalanced to block the path to ultimate felicity. She could dream every scenario with Timothy, marrying, having heavenly honeymoons and voyages even having their own children and live far away from the miserable, sinister mental institution with their own dreams and ideals. The reality bundled her in the crudely hypothermic blanket, prickling her epidermis with electrifying goosebumps as its richness of next level realization didn't diminish her migraine.
The tribulations of her daughter figure and migraine in the same time were messing her up, mudding her with series of scum, impurity and sore agony overlay her flesh, heart, inner voices and whirlpool of thoughts. Frown twisted across the Bostonian's naturally rosy-coloured, dry lips, eyeing skeptically her own ex-protégé. She couldn't expect her ex-protégé is prone to homosexual manners even having sleazy intentions towards the representatives of the opposite sex except the opposite ones.
"W-What are ya doing?" The older woman's balled fists grappled her own bed sheets, oblivious to her shapeless, convenient patient robe's hem was flaring across her mid-thigh with her spread lean, long as towers legs, giving a better access to the slyly vile spawn of the Satan to tease her unless something urged her to stop in a halt with manipulating with her own slim, starkly baptized in slimy, delicious juices. "Mary Eunice, what do ya think you're doing?"
"What do you think I'm doing is also a good question!" Mischievously wicked, halfhearted snigger clicked the roof of the young lady's mouth, gawking glassily with fiendish lust her former mentor's pallid with light-heavy wrinkles complexion, contrasting her frown. The realization of being molested by nobody than the once most irreproachable, purest, naïve and least detrimental soul that has feared of Jude's iron fist and authority that ran the facility became one of the most powerful nuns behind the dull, dilapidating walls of Briarcliff. Nevertheless, Judy couldn't protest physically, in spite of her severe and headstrong attempts to protect herself physically against the demon's plotted plans of corrupting its own prey. What the former holy woman could dream of was entering rabbit hole of the freedom, releasing herself from the madness that boozed her sanity. Being strapped on an old, tattered bed was another trap and tribulation for her. It was too late for her to protect self from the possessed juvenile holy woman's intentions. Suffocating her stamina and sanity. All the senior blonde could do was croaking from the top of her frail lungs for somebody whether an orderliness, nun, security guard even the Monsignor, himself to come and rescue her. Nobody was standing for her anymore after losing everything. Discrimination reigned in the mental institution. The entire asylum was against her. No friends or at least, mutuals were encircling her and having any intentions of saving her skin. With the sole people she's socializing were Kit, Lana, and Pepper.
Frank was already dead even when he's amidst the fewest loyal, true friends she'd ever had in her life and cherished their genuine, one of kind friendships they had.
"No, no! You're corrupted." Blubbery twin crystal tears bubbled up her eyelids, dripping its rivulet across her lower eyelids as they slowly and steadily gushed down downward her parchment facial skin. The middle-aged lady suckled on her lower dry, plumpish lip. "Stay away from me you lesbian demon!" Even when her venomous serpentine tongue crafted the fiercest utterance, Mary Eunice overlooked it and guffawing bluntly as if Jude's protests were far from distinctive, opting to mute them somehow with the interweave of high-pitched bewails and infernal laughters. "Help! Somebody help me! Monsignor! Dr. Arden!"
"Don't pressure your tongue so much with asking for help, Jude! Your favorite Monsignor is never going to come back for his old whore to help her." Meanwhile, the juvenile blonde leaned against her former mentor, a few inches leaving its gap cavity unfilled, manipulating yet with her fingers inside the former member of the clergy's nether area until a ball of saliva formed on her tongue, lingering thickening it richly. "Do you still think of his big, hard cock fucking your brains out? Huh?" Coldhearted cough scratched Mary Eunice's throat until Jude spat on her recklessly, headstrongly.
"Fuck you! And get your foul fingers from inside me!" In the meanwhile, the smitten member of the clergy removed her hands from the elder blonde's entrance by daubing the clammily abominable spat area on her young-looking, fresh face with her fingertips, withdrawing with a couple of inches, whereas the sharp tone of Jude's cussing boiled the bile that rose in her throat as humongous ire and contempt brewed and cooked inside her in its cauldron with venomous liquid.
"How dare you," Meantime, the doctor of science, Dr. Arden paced in the women's wing hallway, looking for his favorite nun until the croak of Mary Eunice resuscitated his adrenaline, pumping in his veins by scooting up to the solely opened cell in the middle of the night. "You old slutty bitch? When you are going to be taught on discipline?"
"Anything wrong, Sister?" Suddenly the former Nazi war criminal startled the juvenile holy woman with his haphazard presence as she dabbed with a cotton oyster-white handkerchief the saliva, staining her cheek.
"Yes! I was teasing this old whore until she spat on my face and insulted me!" The juvenile blonde managed a faint nod in solemn agreement, smug, mischievous grin baring her teeth by grimacing her face with a glare, shot at the older lady. "She deserves a cruel punishment!"
"Needless to say, Sister! Of course, I'll take care of Judy by taking her in my laboratory and teach her a lesson!" At the moment, the senior doctor approached the patient bed by unstrapping her immobile body parts and dragging her violently from her ward, whereas she writhed in his tight, inescapable grip, scowling ferociously. "Come with me, Mary Eunice! Especially if you want to be my assistant!"
"With enormous pleasure I wouldn't miss the show, Doctor!" As soon as the former sister of the church protested and drained the remaining energy she could cry out loud from the top of her lungs for help, meantime, Mary Eunice fled Jude's cell by locking it with the rusty key and escorting her uncle figure up to his laboratory.
"Somebody help me! Please!"
Within a handful of minutes elapsing slower than a crawling snail, series of bewails and emotional pleas cawed, itching the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer's lungs after being dragged in the former Nazi war criminal's laboratory and being strapped mercilessly on its patient bed, while being encircled by her worst foes. Dr. Arden and the possessed Sister Mary Eunice.
While the doctor of science was preparing the sterile tools, in the interval, the young woman was playing her own daredevil game. Testing her ex-mentor's patience while mewling shrilling, husky whine.
"Please! Help me! Help me!" Meantime, Mary Eunice attempted to hush with her slim, pristinely long as a flute finger her mouth, shushing alleviating to her as if she'd to console a newborn's uncontrollable blubbers.
"Keep her mouth shut! She's too noisy, Mary Eunice!" Arthur's stern utterance ordered the young blonde, turning to her for a split second.
"I'm trying, Doctor!" The administrator of the mental hospital assured him with a wink by shifting her attention to him for a while, consequently her brass mottled irises, predominating more the citrine than the azure blue hue were fixed with an eerie flat line, indicating across her plump lips. "Shu, shu, shu, Judy! Don't you know who got himself in a big trouble?" Wry, mischievous chuckle was almost dying in the corners of her mouth, leaning against her former mentor. "It's you!" Emphasis of the noun parted her lips in the deep lisp, accentuating her utterance.
"Monsignor, help me! Somebody help me!" The screeching pleas were followed by writhes.
"You aren't even trying Mary Eunice! That's so disappointing until the work is about to be done."
"Nobody is going to help you, pathetic slut! You're going to die right there, right here!" In the interim, Bostonian's tear-stained in heavy rain complexion crinkled with raising an eyebrow, pursing her cherub lips at the baleful words of the once sweet, innocent holy woman. "You did it to yourself, instead of allowing yourself to indulge yourself with my sweet, insatiable touch between your legs." All of a sudden, the echoing masculine, familiar footsteps in the profound corridor of the madhouse caught the three adults off guard promptly. It wasn't an orderly. It wasn't a patient. It was Timothy.
"It looks like the Monsignor will acknowledge the big trouble is going to embrace the consequences." Seconds before entering the unwelcoming, eerie laboratory of the senior doctor, Arthur grunted a mumble by ambling up to the trapped inmate on its patient bed.
What are your true thoughts on the prologue? Do you think Jude will be in sure hands in the impending chapter or otherwise she will ride the dynamic roller coaster of her torment? Don't forget to leave a honest feedback with your initial impressions, if you have genuinely enjoyed and liked the chapter. :))