I was awakened in the night by the sound of gunfire in the distance; the rebels
were at it again, attacking some munitions factory or state owned pig farm, or
who knows what. I opened the window
above my bed and heard the screams of the wounded and the shouts of
soldiers. In the air was a billowing
smoke lit by the Illuminati searchlights, sweeping back and forth in long lugubrious
arcs.
That is when she appeared to me – a vision within the smoke, the dangerous Virgin
with her mercury tinted lips, la Belle Dame
sans Merci, the Madonna of Viggiano – and she said to me, “Now is the hour of
your demise, sad knight-at-arms. Now is the time. Make prayers to such saints as you believe
will help you.”
I shivered in my night clothes and stammered, “G-g-good saint Tillich, you were
especially fav...”
I stopped suddenly for her eyes flashed in fury. “Make no prayers to Tillich,
that addict of sadomasochistic pornography, for the ground of his being has
been shaken beneath him!”
I crossed myself and began again, “Holy Saint Yoder, gentle and powerful in
your help…”
And once more her voice like discordant chimes interrupted my faltering prayer,
“Call not upon that abuser of women, lest you wish join the hidden dead angels.”
“O heavenly patron, Martin Luther King jr., in whose name…”
“Stop!” she shouted from the cloud of billowing smoke. “Say no more. The
adulterous King is but a peasant here. It seems you have none left to call
upon. Now clasp your holy medallion and
prepare to accept thy fate.”
At that moment there came another great shout from the streets below; the
rebels had pressed their advantage and were surging through the streets. Another furious round of gunfire erupted and
the Illuminati search lights were extinguished.
And with that she disappeared from the sky, and no birds were singing.
