Noli me Tangere
Noli me Tangere
March 26th, 2081
IDES POV/Partial Third POV
"You've waited too long Ivan..."
...The angel spoke to the man, he was restless.
"I know, I know I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
...And the man pleaded with the angel, stumbling.
"You don't deserve to be His left hand..."
...the angel threatened. He was irritated by the mans weakness now.
"Please! I'll do better! I found one, one to purge..."
...Ivan pleaded, while running into a burly man whom he ignored in favor of the angel and his excruciating headache.
"You need to be quicker...he is angry with you Ivan. Take the one with the red mane, give him to the lord..."
...The angel was impatient, and crossed his arms.
"What are the next steps to cleansing morrigan...? Tell me...!"
~x~x~x~
Three O' clock P.M, the bustling streets of Main island were alive with the many forms that dwelled within every crack and crevace of the cities span. People going to lunch, people coming home from late night shifts, people going to work, at their diners, and their plazas and their markets...and then there was this man. Horrible and prominent, and nobody knew anything but his glittering gilded side, his higher classed standing, his charity. They knew nothing of the monster in his head, screaming at him as he strolled--he would occasionally clutch his forehead, plagued by the headache that came with the outbursts.
"And the angels shall cull the population of you material swine! Your vast numbers shall be thrust into the pits of hell for eternity, that lake of fire, and no dollar amount will ever keep you from it! Listen to me sheep to satan, and be cleansed and saved by the lord Jesus Christ!"
The woman shouted amidst the crowd---futily. She was like any other typical master to the lord above that you'd see on the street corners in daytime, occupying the areas where call girls and working ladies would stand when the sun went down. Her hair was pulled up in a tight bun and she reeked of a heavy chantilly odor, her tanned, ambigiously native face devoid of any makeup, her lips, frail, and lost in her square and aging countenance. Ivan regarded her from a distance, and deemed her in her middle forties, although looking about ten, perhaps twenty years older. She aged herself. As he did himself. It came with believing too hard.
It came with insanity.
"Thou shalt not covet! Thou shalt kneel before Him, and know that you are but His sheep and He is your shepard!" She thrust herself into the face of a young man dressed to the gills in black attire, piercings hanging from earlobes and cartilage, hands in pockets. She wailed out her warnings incessantly and grabbed at his coat as he continued walking by, trying to get his attention. As she did this he easily dodged her grasp and he answered her message in a straight to the point, non-verbal gesture: he stuck his equally pierced tongue out and wiggled it like a serpent, hissing and giggling and mocking the overly-fervent womans rantings as nothing more than a stupid joke. Christianity had lost its place in the world long ago. Christians had dug their own hole, as this woman did to herself now. She shown her repugnance in a grimace and spat at him most unladylike.
She sickened Ivan. She sickened him almost more than the Jezebels of East Island.
She gave his religion a bad name. "If not for this woman and her kind", he thought, "perhaps not so many would be forsaken to those fiery depths." And he was right, most people wouldn't stand for religion being forced down their throat, for humanity was a fickle and freedom-loving creature, they loved too much freedom. They couldn't see the light by being shouted at, they had to be welcomed into it. Ivan was a loon by all standards like her except the fact that he knew unlike this woman, that religion and God would not be force fed to the masses. They had to be taught to savor it. And some who had savored it found its taste unpalletable, were unmistakably forsaken. Some like Pearl. Some like that troubled one Morrigan, the beautiful boy-in-a-dress.
"...What now, what are the next steps Gabriel--"
"And YOU! You smell of rot and torment! YOU reek of material lust and carnal lust and the blood of the innocent! You are forsaken lest you take him unto your breast and beg for His mercy!" The crazed woman lunged in Ivan's direction and caught him off guard, a grim mistake.
"Agh...! my head...!" Ivan clasped his skull, squeezed his eyes shut, and wailed under the pain of a sudden burst migraine attack. He had wandered too close to the raving woman and she had begun to pelt him with insults and self-righteous rants from her figurative soap-box pedestal. He shouldn't have been out in the open now in his state however sleep, was a rare commodity these days and the killer IDES had been forty-eight long hours without a single moments rest. He was angry. He was indeed, tormented, as she had observed correctly. He had wandered about for the hours he had been awake and in pain throughout the Red Light districts main prostitution areas, under and through bridges, on freeway walkways and homeless derelict slums, and now one sixteenth a block from Central park, he came upon a mount of overload.
Too much.
Not enough.
You are a demon in the guise of a believer.
You do this because you know they will only turn their heads and not listen.
You are not human.
You have the mark of the beast upon your forehead.
He began hallucinating the woman, who's words were now lost on his deafened hears, with an eerily glowing pale green triple six mark upon her forehead, to him, she began laughing and pointing and shouting rude insults. To him, the cross upon her bosom hung upside down and not right side up. To him she was blasphemy, she became blasphemy and the angel Gabriel hung above her head holding his great sword like Damocles, dangling precariously, ready to smite. To him she was a horrid Lucifer's foot soldier. And he was her destroyer. With the power of Gabriel he would mangle her demon body back to hell amidst the crowd of lambs, and they would be grateful for Him and his soldier, Ivan.
They would hide in the most believable disguises of the Christians that they wished to overthrow. They would act like mental patients and bigots and thieves and sodomizers and whores and insist that they believed in the Lord and His work. They would destroy those who once believed in God, turning them Athiest, and make once true people believe in falsity, make them turn to other religions and other gods. These were the days of Apocalypse. The very thought of her disgusted him so that his stomach began to try and expel its contents from within him.
"AAAAAAGGGHHHHHH.....!!!!" He thrust a blade into her chest and turned the blade, causing immediate fatality. It was so easy. So very easy. No planning was needed. Uttering in Latin prayer, using his free hand to sift the beads of his rosary through each Hail Mary, he pulled out his fatal blade and looked to the sky and put his hands in the air praising to Him, as she fell in a slump to the ground.
Amen.
The blood that poured from her body as he looked back down to her with a gleam in his eye and a smile on his face, formed into the cracks of the pavement and began trickling towards the gutter nearby. People screamed and looked around for the killer and then to the man who was dressed to the gills in warm and concealing fabrics, who covered his face with a regal-looking scarf, who hailed Mary and praised the Lord that his head had magically stopped hurting. And he, as if blessed with the speed of the Roman God Mercury, sprinted off into the winding alleyways of buildings, avoiding brave men and women who persued him. Brave? Men? Women? No, they were not. They too were false.
They are demons in league with the one that was smited. Do not let them catch you Ivan. Your relief is your payment, God loves you. You will help bring Him into glory once more in these dark days.
~x~x~x~x~
I arrived home. Bliss. Utter bliss. The headache is gone, oh how I have suffered so, all for Him. It is my blessing and my curse. The pain is a result of the power He gave me, He for reasons I do not question, cannot stop the headaches, so I embrace them as well as I can. Two days...fifty one and a half hours now without rest, and now the sun has downed. It has been three hours since I sent her to hell. Surely the media dimwits will document the tale of her slaying. Petulant dog. I hope she rots in the deepest bowels of Hell now, like her demon flesh deserves.
I turned on my television. Channel nine. And...
...there it is. They are documenting her.
"Witnesses attest to seeing a man with a concealed face covered in winter attire who was hiding a small blade weapon..."
I had to bundle up. The headaches make me feverish.
"...caught up to the man, but persuer Jaime Kelsor was assaulted by the killer..."
Killer...? Me, a killer? I am God's soldier. They should be thanking me. But the Lord said through Gabriel that I would be looked down upon, and lambs and unbelievers would mark me as a monster. God's crusaders are never viewed in a golden bath of light, and I understand that. It is an unrewarding job and someone must do it. Well, unrewarding in this life, but the fruits of my labors shall be savored upon my death surely. God promises a rewarding afterlife for my deeds.
"People believe that the killer was a Central Park derelict, about six feet tall, the female victim had been accounted expletively by a man who wished to remain anonymous, who had encountered her earlier that day."
A man blurred out by the camera appeared on screen and began talking.
"The *edit* was *edit*-ing nuts. The bitch grabbed at my coat and tried to manhandle me, and she began shouting at me like I was a mother*edit*-ing child, the mother*edit*-ing cu-*edit*..."
They shouldn't allow such unmannerly persons on screen to speak for anything. The mans voice was like a cheese grater to the eardrums with all his cursing and swearing. He was blurred out but certain features could be made out, like his black coat and the movements of his mouth. They didn't even really try to edit out all the swearing he was committing, you could read his lips and make out what he was saying most of the time. The blur of his hair reminded me of my next target and it almost made my headache return, so I shut the television off and made tea, and settled into my bedroom for a good nights rest.
March 26th, 2081
IDES POV/Partial Third POV
"You've waited too long Ivan..."
...The angel spoke to the man, he was restless.
"I know, I know I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
...And the man pleaded with the angel, stumbling.
"You don't deserve to be His left hand..."
...the angel threatened. He was irritated by the mans weakness now.
"Please! I'll do better! I found one, one to purge..."
...Ivan pleaded, while running into a burly man whom he ignored in favor of the angel and his excruciating headache.
"You need to be quicker...he is angry with you Ivan. Take the one with the red mane, give him to the lord..."
...The angel was impatient, and crossed his arms.
"What are the next steps to cleansing morrigan...? Tell me...!"
~x~x~x~
Three O' clock P.M, the bustling streets of Main island were alive with the many forms that dwelled within every crack and crevace of the cities span. People going to lunch, people coming home from late night shifts, people going to work, at their diners, and their plazas and their markets...and then there was this man. Horrible and prominent, and nobody knew anything but his glittering gilded side, his higher classed standing, his charity. They knew nothing of the monster in his head, screaming at him as he strolled--he would occasionally clutch his forehead, plagued by the headache that came with the outbursts.
"And the angels shall cull the population of you material swine! Your vast numbers shall be thrust into the pits of hell for eternity, that lake of fire, and no dollar amount will ever keep you from it! Listen to me sheep to satan, and be cleansed and saved by the lord Jesus Christ!"
The woman shouted amidst the crowd---futily. She was like any other typical master to the lord above that you'd see on the street corners in daytime, occupying the areas where call girls and working ladies would stand when the sun went down. Her hair was pulled up in a tight bun and she reeked of a heavy chantilly odor, her tanned, ambigiously native face devoid of any makeup, her lips, frail, and lost in her square and aging countenance. Ivan regarded her from a distance, and deemed her in her middle forties, although looking about ten, perhaps twenty years older. She aged herself. As he did himself. It came with believing too hard.
It came with insanity.
"Thou shalt not covet! Thou shalt kneel before Him, and know that you are but His sheep and He is your shepard!" She thrust herself into the face of a young man dressed to the gills in black attire, piercings hanging from earlobes and cartilage, hands in pockets. She wailed out her warnings incessantly and grabbed at his coat as he continued walking by, trying to get his attention. As she did this he easily dodged her grasp and he answered her message in a straight to the point, non-verbal gesture: he stuck his equally pierced tongue out and wiggled it like a serpent, hissing and giggling and mocking the overly-fervent womans rantings as nothing more than a stupid joke. Christianity had lost its place in the world long ago. Christians had dug their own hole, as this woman did to herself now. She shown her repugnance in a grimace and spat at him most unladylike.
She sickened Ivan. She sickened him almost more than the Jezebels of East Island.
She gave his religion a bad name. "If not for this woman and her kind", he thought, "perhaps not so many would be forsaken to those fiery depths." And he was right, most people wouldn't stand for religion being forced down their throat, for humanity was a fickle and freedom-loving creature, they loved too much freedom. They couldn't see the light by being shouted at, they had to be welcomed into it. Ivan was a loon by all standards like her except the fact that he knew unlike this woman, that religion and God would not be force fed to the masses. They had to be taught to savor it. And some who had savored it found its taste unpalletable, were unmistakably forsaken. Some like Pearl. Some like that troubled one Morrigan, the beautiful boy-in-a-dress.
"...What now, what are the next steps Gabriel--"
"And YOU! You smell of rot and torment! YOU reek of material lust and carnal lust and the blood of the innocent! You are forsaken lest you take him unto your breast and beg for His mercy!" The crazed woman lunged in Ivan's direction and caught him off guard, a grim mistake.
"Agh...! my head...!" Ivan clasped his skull, squeezed his eyes shut, and wailed under the pain of a sudden burst migraine attack. He had wandered too close to the raving woman and she had begun to pelt him with insults and self-righteous rants from her figurative soap-box pedestal. He shouldn't have been out in the open now in his state however sleep, was a rare commodity these days and the killer IDES had been forty-eight long hours without a single moments rest. He was angry. He was indeed, tormented, as she had observed correctly. He had wandered about for the hours he had been awake and in pain throughout the Red Light districts main prostitution areas, under and through bridges, on freeway walkways and homeless derelict slums, and now one sixteenth a block from Central park, he came upon a mount of overload.
Too much.
Not enough.
You are a demon in the guise of a believer.
You do this because you know they will only turn their heads and not listen.
You are not human.
You have the mark of the beast upon your forehead.
He began hallucinating the woman, who's words were now lost on his deafened hears, with an eerily glowing pale green triple six mark upon her forehead, to him, she began laughing and pointing and shouting rude insults. To him, the cross upon her bosom hung upside down and not right side up. To him she was blasphemy, she became blasphemy and the angel Gabriel hung above her head holding his great sword like Damocles, dangling precariously, ready to smite. To him she was a horrid Lucifer's foot soldier. And he was her destroyer. With the power of Gabriel he would mangle her demon body back to hell amidst the crowd of lambs, and they would be grateful for Him and his soldier, Ivan.
They would hide in the most believable disguises of the Christians that they wished to overthrow. They would act like mental patients and bigots and thieves and sodomizers and whores and insist that they believed in the Lord and His work. They would destroy those who once believed in God, turning them Athiest, and make once true people believe in falsity, make them turn to other religions and other gods. These were the days of Apocalypse. The very thought of her disgusted him so that his stomach began to try and expel its contents from within him.
"AAAAAAGGGHHHHHH.....!!!!" He thrust a blade into her chest and turned the blade, causing immediate fatality. It was so easy. So very easy. No planning was needed. Uttering in Latin prayer, using his free hand to sift the beads of his rosary through each Hail Mary, he pulled out his fatal blade and looked to the sky and put his hands in the air praising to Him, as she fell in a slump to the ground.
Amen.
The blood that poured from her body as he looked back down to her with a gleam in his eye and a smile on his face, formed into the cracks of the pavement and began trickling towards the gutter nearby. People screamed and looked around for the killer and then to the man who was dressed to the gills in warm and concealing fabrics, who covered his face with a regal-looking scarf, who hailed Mary and praised the Lord that his head had magically stopped hurting. And he, as if blessed with the speed of the Roman God Mercury, sprinted off into the winding alleyways of buildings, avoiding brave men and women who persued him. Brave? Men? Women? No, they were not. They too were false.
They are demons in league with the one that was smited. Do not let them catch you Ivan. Your relief is your payment, God loves you. You will help bring Him into glory once more in these dark days.
~x~x~x~x~
I arrived home. Bliss. Utter bliss. The headache is gone, oh how I have suffered so, all for Him. It is my blessing and my curse. The pain is a result of the power He gave me, He for reasons I do not question, cannot stop the headaches, so I embrace them as well as I can. Two days...fifty one and a half hours now without rest, and now the sun has downed. It has been three hours since I sent her to hell. Surely the media dimwits will document the tale of her slaying. Petulant dog. I hope she rots in the deepest bowels of Hell now, like her demon flesh deserves.
I turned on my television. Channel nine. And...
...there it is. They are documenting her.
"Witnesses attest to seeing a man with a concealed face covered in winter attire who was hiding a small blade weapon..."
I had to bundle up. The headaches make me feverish.
"...caught up to the man, but persuer Jaime Kelsor was assaulted by the killer..."
Killer...? Me, a killer? I am God's soldier. They should be thanking me. But the Lord said through Gabriel that I would be looked down upon, and lambs and unbelievers would mark me as a monster. God's crusaders are never viewed in a golden bath of light, and I understand that. It is an unrewarding job and someone must do it. Well, unrewarding in this life, but the fruits of my labors shall be savored upon my death surely. God promises a rewarding afterlife for my deeds.
"People believe that the killer was a Central Park derelict, about six feet tall, the female victim had been accounted expletively by a man who wished to remain anonymous, who had encountered her earlier that day."
A man blurred out by the camera appeared on screen and began talking.
"The *edit* was *edit*-ing nuts. The bitch grabbed at my coat and tried to manhandle me, and she began shouting at me like I was a mother*edit*-ing child, the mother*edit*-ing cu-*edit*..."
They shouldn't allow such unmannerly persons on screen to speak for anything. The mans voice was like a cheese grater to the eardrums with all his cursing and swearing. He was blurred out but certain features could be made out, like his black coat and the movements of his mouth. They didn't even really try to edit out all the swearing he was committing, you could read his lips and make out what he was saying most of the time. The blur of his hair reminded me of my next target and it almost made my headache return, so I shut the television off and made tea, and settled into my bedroom for a good nights rest.
May God have mercy on their souls. Pro deo, pro futura, e pro tanto...
