Woman of The Apocalypse

One Christian In A Room Bitching/My Psychological Issues and I

The whispering went on for quite a while, and I feared the worst as I held my breath, biting my lower lip waiting for Mary's response as Galician tongue floated in the air and mingled with Russian patois. I wanted to help with the cleaning of the poor besmirched, begrimed fellow; but suddenly, and without warning, I spotted Michael, dressed in red and green like a Christmas elf, his sandy blond hair blowing in the breeze as he patched up the man, inviting me to watch his work--mostly tapping my feet and humming, thinking about everything and nothing specific. 

I noticed them hovering above me like hummingbirds, whispering and chattering before one of them spotted me eavesdropping, floating back to the ground. 

"Vostede me ama, como eu te amo?" "O noso relación é unha ilusión, miña raíña. Vostede é casado, sen esquecer morto en liña recta."  "Entón non me ama, entón?"  

"Imaxino que o meu mozo me imaxina - que é encantador e complicado e - eu ereções señora cando ver e escoitar a súa voz, senón tamén a súa É ... é -. Vexo vostede e eu vou náuseas, pero cando velo eu- "

I blinked, then gazed at the scrawny punk running toward the mansion as if it were a sanctuary, suddenly interrupted by the rusty voice of Princess Olga, peering at my reworked habit and the child bobbing in my hand, fed by a bottle of creamy milk and tilting her head at my foot-taps. 

"Vy khotite - ya znayu, chto vy oba khotite yego Vy khotite, chtoby yego guby na tvoyey Vy khotite uslyshat' yego grudi b'yetsya Vy khotite, chtoby sosat' yego chlen, poka on -..., Takiye chelovecheskoye udovol'stviye dano vam, grekhovnoye padeniye Yevy imitiruyetsya - da "?"

"Da. No ya lyublyu yeye tak zhe, sestra Ol'ga! YA khochu, chtoby ugodit' i zaveryayu moyu dushu k koroleve serdets, a takzhe moy lyubovnik i moy devochka. Moy dragotsennyy."

We stared at each other for a second, her eyes firing like lasers into mine as she sharply replied, touching my cheeks and chin before looking at the risen hobo, who thanked Michael and then snuck up behind me as though I were a lost child, having overheard the conversation. 

"Vashi kryl'ya krasnogo i sinego tsvetov. Vashe obucheniye bylo kovanogo s utverzhdeniyem i iskusheniya ..." "Pochemu, ya budu sudit' ob etom, sestra. Hello, little woman. What is the matter? Come sit near me and bring the child as well to--as you twenty first century young adults say, "chirp" everything!"

I immediately began to back up from him, for any person who attempted to connect with modern day technology, even jokingly, sounded entirely off to me, whoever they were. Luckily, the man caught my discomfort and immediately began to talk like a human being would.

Hopefully, this wasn't another hallucination, though it sure felt a lot like one. A hazy dream...but for now I was one Gentile with another one and three middle aged-projecting Jews in a room: about to spill to a man who appeared 33 and a woman who appeared--huh, did she even die?

40, then. 44, I estimated her age of death. Maybe. Maybe not. All of these people seemed a mystery to me somewhat, and I craved to know more. I hated being left in the dark...in heat.