Blessed Virgins

DISCLAIMER: These characters are led down a path of destruction and spiritual warfare, wherein they commit obscene acts in the name of faith.

The virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favoured one! The Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women.”

            – Luke 1:27

***

“You’re a virgin, really?” (he was incredibly sceptical, given that she was gorgeous, and practically glowing in a way he had only seen on actresses in old movies) 

            “Yes, we are.”

            “Both of you?

            “Yes, we are.” she said again, softly. “Like Mother Mary, we shall remain a perpetual virgin, until the time of our death.” Both girls smiled coyly.

            The night progressed with sweet patience. The girls chuckled softly together, as they watched these foreign creatures (the boys, of course) adjust their belts and twist their pelvises. Their eyes glazed a little and the room felt sticky with heat.

            They think they’re going to have sex with us! It always makes us laugh a little. Each boy thinks it’s endearing, a nervous giggle of anticipation. It’s not. We are just glad that we made it here, to their home, to assumed safety. These boys seem more susceptible than the others.

            One of them rose from the bed to collect scattered belongings. The other went for the boy’s jeans, knowing a pack of cigarettes would be hidden in one of the pockets. A lighter sat on the desk. Blue, plastic, Bic. We grabbed a cigarette and the lighter, and opened the alcove window. Now both sitting on the roof, with one cigarette between both girls, letting the ash fall to the cold sheet metal. The little ring of red creeped toward the filter, their fingers, the dead boys in the room at their backs. With a third of the cigarette left, the girls began their prayer.

            Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women and            blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us      sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen. 

            The cigarette burned out, leaving only a small pile of ash at the girls’ bare feet. A small altar had been created, through prayer and a small offering of destruction.

***

They slurped at a pear, together. An odd sight to behold, one pear, two mouths, both pairs of eyes intent on the same piece of fruit. The fruit of the Mother’s womb, not their biological mother, but the true Mother, the Mother of God, Mother Mary. They continued to bite, interchanging the pear between them, until there was nothing left but the core, white and pithy.

            One girl stood (it doesn’t matter which, they are largely interchangeable) and took the dripping core to the centre of the room, to their altar. Surrounding a tall, creme candle, not yet ablaze, scattered stems of irises, periwinkles, dried rose petals, and an assortment of herbs picked carefully from the garden. Small pieces of polished blue quartz and limestone to promote grounded energy sat alongside a small vile of anointing oil.

            She left the pear core on a small trinket plate beside the limestone, clasping her hands in thanks for the nourishment it has provided their bodies. One pear, the girls believed, would nourish them for the entire day, with the primary nourishment hailing from their heavenly Mother. Fasting is yet another method to bring their mortal bodies closer to almighty Mother Mary, an overwhelming pit of hunger is a consistent reminder of who looks down upon their lives from inside the heavenly gates.

***

A brief encounter with the girls tended to render all onlookers speechless. From the outside, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but immediately upon interaction, beholders were forced into reconsideration. Even now, an encounter with a new pair of boys inspired a spirit-filled conversation.

            “Silly girls, they don’t know anything.” The tall one boasted to the shorter boy. He seemed brisk in his assertion, filled with malice and animosity.

            “It is a shame really, they are both so pretty and young and filled with spirit.” The shorter one replied. Suddenly, the conversation was open to the girls contemporaneously.

            “Oh, darling, we are not the silly ones, no” one girl replied, the other stood meekly, smiling sweetly. “For you are the silly ones, truly, and that is what we hope to resolve.”

            “Resolve? What do you mean, resolve?” The tall one has an attitude, agitated and grating.

            “Why, don’t you know what resolve means? To put it simply, I’d say ‘to resolve’ means to settle, to find a solution, or maybe to decide.” She said with a sense of presumption, and also a considered kindness.

            “I know exactly what resolve means, girl!” Ah, he is upset! “I want you to explain exactly what you want to resolve!”

            “Oh, of course, the matter of which we hope is to resolve your foolishness! You seem to believe that we are silly, and that means you do not realise the true gravity of our pursuits.”

            “And what exactly might these pursuits be?”

            “Why, the worship of Mother Mary, Mother of God Jesus and perpetual virgin.” One claimed impetuously.

            The other intervened, “that’s right, it is called Mariology! And Mariology is the devotion to the study of Mary, Mother of Jesus, throughout the history of Christianity. Not only in the context of scripture, but as a guiding light unto our lives!” 

            The girls were more than delighted to be talking about their Mother, and it was evidently clear. This outburst of Mariological passion ignited the girl's conversation partners. Although a debated topic, this energy seemed to spur their energy, especially stimulating their virility.

            “That seems like idolatry!” The short boy was clearly well-versed in modern Christianity’s disfavour toward the extreme admiration or reverence of an image or deity!

            “Oh, it absolutely is! But Mother Mary is not a pleasure of life, She is a beacon of direction and the one who has the ever-most power over our lives.”

            With inflammatory intent, the short one continued, “correct me if I am wrong, but isn’t idolatry frowned upon?”

            “Yeah, I thought it was like, one of the Ten Commandments, not to put anything above God?” The tall one tacked on.

            The girls were undeterred by such remarks, “oh of course that is what the Bible has you believe! But we do not, no. Idolatry, as you call it, is how we worship our Mother.”

            “That is what she wants, and what she deserves!” Enraged and vivacious, the girls turned on their heels and strode towards the door, boys snipping along behind them. The Mother had worked Her magic once again, two more sacrifices added onto the quota! Their blasphemous intrigue had worked, once again, to lure some ripe counterparts into participating in their Sunday evening ritual. Of course, the boys would not live to see the light of Monday morning, wherein the girls will summon their beloved Mother, and she will surely be fond of their freshly acquired meat.

***

The morning was sharp and hot, and the sweltering heat gave way to a wine-soaked afternoon, and finally, the cool touch of evening air.

            Ave maris stella, 
Dei Mater alma, 
atque semper Virgo,
felix caeli porta

            They began in Latin, as usual, to honour the ancient roots of their Mother. The girls then repeat the same verse, this time in English. A singular final verse of Ave Maris Stella concludes the prologue to the girl’s libation.

            Hail bright star of ocean
          God's own Mother blest,
           Ever sinless Virgin,
          Gate of Heavenly rest.
Virgin all excelling,
Mildest of the mild;
Freed from guilt, preserve us
Pure and undefiled.

            The girls opened their eyes but continued to gaze down toward their clasped hands, breathing softly. The stars watched from outside the window and the sky was clear, although a shared bottle of wine fogged the girl's thoughts.

            They circled their table, a candle burning at it’s centre, chanting:

            And then perhaps you'll take him by the hand
           And comfort him from fear when he must stand
          Before God's dreadful throne; then, will you call
          That boy whose bullet made my darling fall,
          And take him by the other hand, and say . . .

            A poem-turned-hymn written by Irene Rutherford McLeod. The girl’s felt much more connected to women’s writings, opposed to that of a man. Poems, especially, do not have the same emanation, undulation, intrigue, when penned by a male. Perhaps that is why the Mother continually asks the girls to dispose of them. As they both continued, the room seemed to become imbued with smoke, much too light in colour to be given forth by the lone candle:

            "O God, Whose Son the hands of men did slay,
            These are Thy children Who do take away
            The sins of the world . . ."

            They coughed on the smoke as it hit the back of their throats, and fell to their knees. With heavy lungs and light heads, they gazed through the smoke at a beauteous creature shimmered in the moonlight. A Marian apparition appeared before the girls, hazy white and utterly inconceivable. As soon as it began, it was over. Their Mother gone, having only spent a few brief moments hovering weightlessly above their altar, vanished. The girls were motionless, both sets of eyes facing toward the extinguished candle at the centre of their altar, the pear core gone, flower petals spilled over the table. Slowly, they blinked, filled with spirit and verve, yet frozen, motionless.

***

The girls had a faint smoky scent, as if you set rose petals on fire and doused the ashes in oils. Not only smoky, but ashen, burnt, not burning. They were always deep in something, never just at the beginning. Deep into their prayers, entirely consumed by fasting, wholly devoted to the Mother Mary. They would whisper to each other, every morning, upon awakening from resting their heads on the same small pillow:

            Now I awake and see the light;
           Lord, Thou hast kept me through the night.
          To Thee I lift my voice and pray
          That Thou wilt keep me through the day.
          If I should die before 'tis done,
         O God, accept me through Thy Son! Amen.

           (A Morning Prayer)

***

“This is our Christian pilgrimage, to the ends of the earth for the woman we devote our lives to. To put an end to an utterly useless sect of humanness, the male figure.”

            “I know! We have been consecrated into virginity and chosen by God almighty to uphold the most sacred of vows.” A pearlescent beaded rosary sits neatly upon the girl's kitchen table. The table sits proudly in the centre of the open living space, acacia and oil stained. 

            “Mother Mary, bless our actions on this day and allow us to act in your image and for your purpose. We have been anointed, chosen to worship the Mother to the highest regard!”

            They must recite an Apostles Creed, a Lord's Prayer, thrice the Hail Mary, once of Glory Be To God, once more the Lord's Prayer, and five further decades of Hail Mary’s. That is the rosary, a piece of traditional Christianity the girls abide by. It takes almost an entire hour, and they do it together, simultaneously. Incense is lit, and the smoke travels up to the heavens, carrying prayers with it. The girls are desperate to see their Mother again.

***

As the smoke rises, so does the sin of man. The sin of woman, on the other hand, must be purified intensely. Eve was the first to sin, the snake did not approach Adam, for what reason, we will never know.

            The woman saw that the tree’s fruit was good to eat and pleasing to look at. She also        saw that it would make a person wise. So she took some of the fruit and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her. And he ate it.

           — (Genesis 3:6)

            “Blessed are you among women, Mother Mary, thank you for your redemption. Please, take our souls when we have done your bidding.”

            “Please Mother, we are tired, we have shed much blood.”

            “Please…”

FIN