✞ John 1:5 ✞
✞ The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. ✞
A former sleazy nightclub singer with a gloomy past and afterwards a devotional sister of the church, Sister Jude Martin, running with an iron fist the most nef...
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The time elapsed as the sand was emptying partly the hourglass between the thin gap, calculating the elapsed time for today. The hours seemed like centuries for Jude.
After the naps and having a fresh, hot bath along with a scrumptious lunch, the afternoon hours were dying as the evening ones were looming, as a result of the darkened sky and the daylight petered out. Both episodes of the day were significantly changing.
The daylights were reckoned as the reincarnation of the day. The sole part of the day that blooms and the light nurtures every being.
The evenings were deemed as the incarnation of death with its darkness and cryptic aesthetic serenity, flourishing the ineludibly gruesome, yet soothing evanescence looming on the starless horizon.
Whilst the former priest was putting in the microwave bowls of a pool of potato soup after warming them in the oven with the garlic bread, Judy was sitting on the kitchen table with their baby son, who lay peacefully and securely in his mother's arms.
The dim moonlight was vaguely battered by dispersing its bright moonlight through the blinds that guarded the kitchen window. The days were commencing to be as cold as the glacial winter, despite its just late September only.
The middle-aged unwed mother rocked her sweet ray of sunshine by cradling it into her protective, doting arms by lulling him in a velvety voice that was sufficiently audible just for her and Edward.
"Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky! Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are!" Jude's naturally roseate plumpish lips parted in the lullaby to their baby son, molting her and her former lover's heart as his ears could hear a couple of curt lullaby lyrics.
A beaming, kindhearted smile cracked upon his fresh, still youthful face as he set the microwave for half a minute to zap the bowls of potato soup as he had a limited time to wait and do for these thirty seconds something than just waiting impatiently.
The last time the former sister of the Roman Catholic church was masticated was a few hours ago but her appetite wasn't stabilized at all. The kitchen's ordinary climate was chillingly cold as if they were outside and feeling the autumn breeze brushing gingerly their flesh and frail skeletons, sweeping goosebumps nonetheless.
