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by: Dottie Taylor
word count: 468
“Blessed be, Mother, for I have sinned....” the prayer started the same as it fell from her parched, cracked lips. Morgana laughed at it's meaninglessness, it echoed through the empty church. “Forgive my trespasses, as I forgive those trespass against me.” As she uttered these last words, she lifted her face, eyes closed, and again she laughed, louder, deeper, bolder. She twined her hands, clasped her fingers as if lost in prayer. Her mouth spilled silent words, then she grimaced, grinding out, “As I have forgiven those who have trespassed against me.” Suddenly, the room flooded with power, pews flew back into the wall, scattering into splinters. She lifted her face higher, and opened her black eyes, her soulless windows. Morgana raged, her throat raw, “As. I. Have. Forgiven!” But no more.
She stood as the smoldering burn of power rolled from her body. She flung her head up, threw her shoulders back, and spread her arms wide as if to welcome the world in a strangling embrace. Arcs of electricity erupted from her hands, sparks fell like firecrackers, and a deep rumble of laughter engulfed her small form.
“With this prayer, I offer this humble servant.” She clapped the streams coming from her hands, creating a massive bolt of lightning. Her body shook as the power increased, building for release. “Save me from trial and deliver me unto evil.” She whispered. With the last words, the lightning arced from her clasped hands and into the man outside the small building. She heard his chuckle before the force of her power slammed into his jerking body.
The church could hardly be recognized, it's steeple gone to the surrounding heap of destruction. The neighborhood which at one time housed young families was now rubble. And the battle raged on.
“Come to me, Little One,” Miguel called lovingly to Morgana, “come to meet your true destiny.” His voice stroked her tired nerves.
“Never will yours be mine.” She growled, fought for the control her needed, fought to save herself, even as she felt herself slipping toward the promised salvation of his voice. Lies. What she had supposed to be another nuance worked into much more. Miguel demanded her, body and soul, to use and discard, as he had all those he encroached upon, those who wielded power such as her own.
She started her prayer again. “Forgive my trespasses, as I have forgiven those who trespass against me!” Mother Earth expected the prayer; therefore, she gave it. It meant little, other than to focus the force building within her. “With this prayer, I offer this humble servant!” She shouted to the emptiness. “Save me from trial and deliver me unto evil!”
Never had the words been more true.
Have a great weekend!!!!