Prayer,
Yes, prayer.
The incessant chiming in the belfry,
But no Christian heeds its Sunday call.
Deserted was the small town,
But she knelt, palms put together,
Head bowed,
Prayer.
Alone in a cursed-deserted town.
The perculiar breeze from the open door,
Sweeps dead leaves down the aisle,
Towards her dust-coated boots
She doesn't stir, too still.
Noon suddenly morphs into darkness,
Crazy sky licking nasty lightnings,
Obscured by tumbling grey clouds.
Above the church, a grotesque's eyes comes alive
Wings shoots and it swoops below
With a noxious cry.
She scrambles out of prayer,
Lips quivering.
In steps into the old church,
The grotesque silhouette,
And into her almost due pregnant bump it plunges!
A cry of anguish!
She doubles in pain!
Eyes going inky black!
A cobweb of welts envelopes her stomach!
Something crawls within!
Bells' chimes!
A baby cries!
Imagining a deserted town with a lone woman who carries an unwanted pregnancy from an unrequited love affair. She runs away from home and happens upon an old church. She is almost due and goes on her knees and prays wordlessly without as much as a sound. What plagues the town- one of the evil body-possessing grotesques, senses two living souls- one, a young woman, another, an unborn child and it makes its malevolent choice to be reborn.