Song of the Blessed


Even the pensioned and salaried operative
who pays the mortgage promptly,
who keeps both cars cleaned and washed
and topped up with petrol,
who can afford a daughter’s six-figure bridal gown,
who teaches children on Sunday;
Even the officer, the jury, the judge;
Even the governor.
There is no sort-of sacred,
No mix-and-match option.
No pick and choose your own.
Sanctity is all or nothing. Even the Sanctioned One
with the needle, the bullet, the rope;
Even the Prefect of Judea with freshly cleansed hands,
the centurion ready with forged iron nails;
Even Longinus standing to one side with a spear.
Yes,
even the executioner
commits murder.

© 2022 Vera S. Scott

Sneak Peek at today’s writing/editing – I may have shared this before, but it’s one of my favorite passages:

Smiling at Louisa, Albert escorted her inside then lifted the palm of her hand to his lips to kiss. “Your fingers are beautiful, Louisa. Every day I listened for the sound of your footsteps. Light but purposeful. Different from anyone else’s. You brought me things. Food. Water. Toothpaste. Soft slippers that you flattened to get through the gap at the bottom of the door. My old shoes no longer fit. Those slippers were the only thing I had to keep my feet warm. Once in a while, you’d bring a smaller tray with whiskey or a bit of wine. I’d use one corner of the tray to pour it into one of the two, chipped pottery cups I found. I always toasted you before drinking. The best thing. The most special. The most important. What I prayed for and hoped for and couldn’t ever get enough of was holding your hand when you reached your fingers under the door. No one else touched me all that time I was in that room. The Old Duke, or his steward, would hurt me. But I mean, gentle touching, ordinary, day-to-day touching, like when Edward would bump his shoulder against me as a joke, or the cook messed up my hair after she’d given me an extra cookie no one else knew about. I had to lie on the floor to wrap my fingers around yours. Did you realize that? Did you have to, too? I memorized each fingertip, each nail, the crease of each knuckle, knuckles usually ruddy from scrubbing. I would have lain on the floor for hours, day into night, night into day, to keep holding your hand, continue caressing your elegant fingers. May I hold them now, Louisa? Your beautiful hands?”

A Rant about Algorithms

To date I have not recorded nor posted anything of my own on TikTok, and I don’t know that I will. However, I have found musicians, poets, and other folks whose videos I enjoy, and I like to spend time browsing through their posts to see what they’re up to.

I made the mistake, though, of stopping to read several posts deliberately written to convey an entire story in only two or three sentences. The problem is the posts I looked at were horror stories. I read them because of how tight and precise the use of language was; the writing was superb. Unfortunately, TikTok thinks I read them because they were horror stories about inflicting pain on other people. Now I am being inundated with posts about people hurting each other, or being hurt by someone else.

Grrr

SNEAK PEEK at today’s writing/editing:

“What happens to the souls?”

“What happens?”

“Yes, when we go ‘through the Veil” what happens?”

“You get drunk. You lounge around and get high from the chemicals inside Giric. He gets nourishment from the aura, ah, gas and things, that drunken souls emit. It’s symbiotic. Souls can stay as long as they wish, leave when they wish, or move on to Heaven or whatever is ‘beyond’. Many decide to simply hang around and enjoy it. Most likely I won’t hang around, but will follow Giric. He and I are almost one and I can’t imagine my life without him.”

“How did that happen?”

“My mother found a damaged Veil egg and out of kindness tried to save the being inside. That was Giric. Her mistake was to rest Giric on her abdomen when I was growing inside her womb. We bonded. We’re called Brothers of the Dance. Eolians dislike me at the same time that they revere me. They don’t consider me an abomination, exactly, the way Earth Christians Label me.”

“You’ve had trouble with Christians?”

“Yes, once. They burnt me at the stake. But, you see, I can’t die.”

A gasped escaped Finn’s lips. Seth smiled and added, “Giric came for me and repaired me.”

###End of Sneak Peek###