The Bride

Posted: December 1, 2012 in Apologetics Parables, Fictional Parables, Short Stories

By Tess Doberville

Staring at the hundred foot tall corrider straight ahead, she thought.  It was not that she actually believed she may mount and hurdle up the wall, although she knew no other way to go. She turned her head slightly and stared into the partial hallway of the hooded cult who held her captive.  She gathered her long floor length pentacostal skirt.  Grey.  Again.  So much like the days she lived.  The office held files and long lengthy tables and a few papers on a large desk, long old St. Louis city depression glass windows ~ A sound forum for which an opera might live.  And suddenly it filled her.  A spirit rising higher and higher and higher.

“And when the lamb opened the first seal,  I saw the first horse.  The horseman held a bow.  And when the lamb opened the second seal, I saw the second horse.  The horseman held a sword.  And when the lamb opened the third seal, I saw the third horse. The horseman had a balance.  Now when the lamb opened the fourth seal, I saw the fourth horse.  The horseman was the pest.  The leading horse is white, the second horse is red, the third one is a black, the last one is a green.”  She opened her mouth to sing.  Where had they put her now?  A mental (asylum) institute?  The facto place of higher mental learning and ultimate spiritial meander.

Her voice made an echo throughout the building.  And still no one came.  Unusual.  But the spirit of something still greater broke through the cold and still air of winter on the inside of the other room they sometimes brought her to here.  And she remembered another session where she admitted that he went everywhere with her.  And then one day, he just went away.  Days and hours happened and sometimes she slept by day and stepped out into the streets and walked all night.  Holding her body against the cold, welcoming and comforting concrete of a sea wall, she massaged this with her palms while she listened to the river and dreamed of barges from other times and angels who ate candlelight dinners with a handsome gentleman, while rolling down the dark and welcome river.

Do you hear voices?  Certainly, you hear them too?  “A definite split in personality. Harmless as a fly.”  “Lately, I buy my groceries alone now,” she told them.  Explaining the rooms and the people and the halls here, a little more difficult to navigate now that her imaginary friend had left.

A wet sweat scurried down her temples as she prayed and trembled only slightly.  She held her little friend who by now did not need to describe the heavenly realms her medication had taken her to.  Of course, leaving this world that way, more painful than many even know.  Only since you must return to do it time and time again.  Once she told them about this time she went to although she had some years before that, travelled to a distant future ~ Of another woman’s past long ago and far away.   A dance hall.  The band never showed.  She had no date.  And her solitare suiter that night was engaged to her girlfriend.  Secretly, she told him kindly to just go away.  As she left, her shoe heel stayed behind on the faded swirling banquet carpet there, and everyone else stole away into their own dark night.  The next day, she told the doctor, all of her beautiful blonde hair fell out in August.  The same month of the tragedy of her daughter and her other daughter and her two uncles.  But only from the shoulder down.  It was the strangest thing.  And in this dream of this past, this other woman went to her hairdresser and had the hair cut up even one inch shorter than that.  This had not ever happened in all of her visionary woman’s life. Then a few weeks before that and during and after, dark and strange events began to happen, in all of the places where there had once been light.  It was a mystery as to why.  The month of August and of September is forever to be avoided at all costs she elaborated ~ For it is filled with a full fledged array of a treachery of ungodly curses.

At midnight, she watched the mediterranean blue sky and painted an imaginary oil painting of the Apocolypse of the Four Horsemen on a canvas suspended there.  As she moved to carry the lovely treasure to a place on a wall, they came.  Something about a curfew, and how did she get out anyway.   A protection mechanism overtook her, and she froze and going at a speed faster than light found the hiding place of the soul.  She did not exist for all portentious purposes for many hours.  She watched skies of ochre yellow and felt sad for her arms would not move and she knew she was wasting precious painting hours.  “Schitzophrenic?”  Asked one.  “Not sure,” said the other.  And she heard them.

She did not speak for days.  And when she finally did, she described to them what she saw.  The scroll she explained listed upon the leaves of an ancient scroll some three thousand years perhaps before this  2070 year of the lord of this age, King Ghandi Ghandi, she explained.  She needed to locate King Ghandi Ghandi.  And as visions like colors swarmed before her eyes, she said, she saw this thing they called a holy bible.  These men, and women had once used it for something.  She only knew that there were six seals altogether, seven he once told her the holy golden number of heaven, and one more did exist.   Death, famine, war and conquest she told him.  Though it tarries, watch for it, it waits.  The man I am to leave with, he will be here soon she warned him.  “The sky will come here.”  She reached out her arms and flapping her wings as a mighty, vast bird, she showed him.  She pulled a glass jar from out of behind her back.  His eyebrows rose.  Where did she get that? He thought, looking at her strangely.

All of our tears,” she promised him, the tears of the saints, who he, her imaginary friend whose hand holding hers as they walked through parks and woods and stores, whose person she missed painfully ~ “Are stored up in these jars like glass, and when we get to this place all the winged ones often showed me, the trembling and the pain, it will shatter and as the glass like water breaks, will shower us with sheathing rains of love.  It will rain for one thousand days and one thousand nights, I think the book they read to me in my dream, showed me.  It will wash the earth away.  And the man named Noah will turn into a woman, and reign forever and forever and forever.  Well, the facts may not exactly be right.  But it is difficult to remember everything they wrote in that book, when you awake up from a dream in the sani-masoleum.”

Although he trepidated, still the doctor listened, and very late for a date with his techno-helmet, he would miss his daily dose of virtual water, food, entertainment and sex in that order.  “Then I saw the lamb open one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures say with a voice like thunder, “Come!” “I looked and there was a white horse.  The horseman on it had a bow.  A crown was given to him.  And he went out as a victor to conquer.”

6And I beheld, and loe, in the middest of the Throne, and of the foure beastes, and in the midst of the Elders stood a Lambe as it had beene slaine, hauing seuen hornes and seuen eyes, which are the seuen Spirits of God, sent foorth into all the earth.

[1611 King James Bible]

A man named John had once walked through the heavenly door, and although it seemed no one had time to climb into the virtual reader and let it speak to the brain though these days.  With everyone who operated at the level of a constant busy rush, the nation of the beings she knew who had all of her life always lived out there, knew about doors.  The light that came to the ones who had much, who could travel and buy and go wherever they wanted though did not seem to appreciate this at all.  Her gift, therefore to go many places while not ever leaving that place, she understood how this one opened a door within a door.  To the king of the throne, how bold and beautiful his light, and as it increased as the winged ones sang.  So hard to believe, but so necessary the need.  Everything cascaded to the sevens.  And they sang:

Soon the Lamb will take his bride to be ever at his side.  All the host of heaven will assembled be.  O, ’twill be a glorious sight, all the saints in spotless white.  And with Jesus they will feast eternally. “Come and dine,” the Master calleth, “come and dine”:  You may feast at Jesus’ table all the time.  He who fed the multitudes, turned water into wine, to the hungry calleth now, “come and dine.”  To the hungry calleth now, “come and dine.”

Well, the doctor shrugged, and then went out.  These crazy ones, he muttered to himself.  It was a good thing they moved them all to these institutions during the years of 2020.  It made the streets safer for public sex night, he figured.  After all, how could everyone drink and brawl and parade down the streets nude in comfort with these nuts on the loose.  It would be so convicting, and yet a strange kind of a guilt overode him, and one thing for sure was, he could not stop thinking about this funny little thing called love.  What was it?  Eight sessions ago.  And she begged him for some of the forbidden stuff.  Canvas and oil paint and brushes.  What was she going to do with that stuff?  Was machino rec time not enough?  Besides, he could get fired for bringing in that stuff.  It was outlawed years ago, right along with women actually being allowed to carry their babies to full term, let alone keep them and raise them themselves.  It was if she had asked for a shot of whiskey and some cherry chew.  He grimaced.

Nevertheless, he had found some of the things in his great grandmother’s farm attic.  He grimaced again.  When they had such nasty places.  He thought of the fatal germs that had wiped out a couple of billion of the joined world order around our globe of the holy darwinian sepulchre about twenty years ago.   Besides, he was curious to see this image she wanted to make for him, of a great earthquake that practically ripped around the entire globe, a thing thousands fell into, and slipping down slopes too slippery to cling to, she claimed she heard their tormenting and screaming and defiling cries for help for hours.  And when she looked down once the dust had settled, saw many slung against walls and crushed vehemently, their empty guts spilling out and sentenced to a place called Hell forever and forever and forever.  Fascinating little girl, he thought although Sybil was a woman.

It is too bad they had outlawed books some time ago.  And plays and live human actors, as the great computer machines only used the images of them now and sprayed them on the city halls and New York walls.  Hello darkness my old friend.  Back in her little room, she pushed her palm up against the foamy paddy walls.  The living things made breathing noises, and like a safe mother womb, comforted her all around, and even though no one really fell asleep naturally anymore, she did not know that.  She rolled back the little railing in the floor though and thanked mother breath for befriending her.  At midnight, she would escape again.  And with just enough time to dance on the plaza of the old building before they came to lock her away again as they had done every day of her life since they put her here at the age of twelve. Once a place they called a palace ~ Now these worldwide palaces, which made way for the five world kings housed and kept inside people like her everywhere.  Her feet bare, and the long dark skirt she so loathed, danced anyway and as rain began to pour as if from the midnight moon ~ She danced as barefoot as a lion in a midsummer night dream, while she clutched her strange black book named only Holy Bible and sang the song the angels taught her, When I Danced Liked David Danced. 


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