This centers on a deranged woman's path to becoming a complete nihilistic and feral serial killer. Emma Woodburn was put in the asylum for eleven years after killing her own husband and ten-year old son, along with the aging mother of a detective.
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At approximately 5:23, Father Moss, a man who was spiritually healed from severe chest pains and numerous colds at the time he was no believer, chose his favorite black church shoes and priest-collar for the usual afternoon sermon. He took the Bible from the wardrobe he was once locked in by armed robbers during the night and carefully wrapped his green robe around his WHITE long-sleeve t-shirt.
What followed was his glasses to call him Mr. Four-Eyed, then his inconsistent humming of the Holy Hymns as he walked out of room 34, locked the brown door behind then wandered off from the motel into his black Jaguar. He cursed, then prayed for forgiveness, at the sight of the damned traffic jam that he was heading into. When Father Moss looked at the car watch, which read approximately 5:34, the time he did not want to arrive at the church on, he cursed louder this time.
He checked his wrist watch, it read approximately 5:34, he cursed even louder. This time aiding his roars with hard knocks on the car horn, causing the cab driver in his front to extend his left arm and a middle finger at him.
"Fucking Americans...", Father Moss curses under his moody cloud. Tightening his grip on that stirring wheel and knocking his head on it. When he closed his eyes for a little nap, a wave of insults, curses and abusive language were hurled at the Latin priest to move his ugly Jaguar forward.
"Fuck you!", he cursed again, then prayed for forgiveness as he drove on. His eyes caught a gaze at the time, which now read approximately read 5:39. His wristwatch, the same.
"Fuck!", he cursed, the traffic light hit red by the time he was nearly past the insolent taxi driver, "Me!", he concluded. The impact of his foot slamming the break hard causes his glasses to fall off hard.
"Fuck!", he cursed again. He pleaded from a miracle to fall above. Prayers were said in his head. He forced his eyes not to stare at the car watch, but the digits were a bright red and unbearably 5:40. The traffic light then changed to yellow then green. Moss speeds up with all his effort to make it to the sermon exactly right before 6:00 but more shit happens.
He drives past the KN.News center where the irritated Kimberley was sighted yelling her emotions at the crew. The engines start to heat up and for all he knows, it would only take a few minutes for the battery to die down.
"Fuck it! Fuck it!", the angry priest curses.
The black Jaguar drives past the truck loaded with products from JukeBox Inc., then a swarm of bats are seen soaring down from the right side of the windshield. Moss turns his gaze to the front and sees more blind bats rippling through the skies and past the large trees. He bends down to pick up his glasses from the bottom seat and by the time he gets up, another truck loaded with logs is seen a short distance away from him.
"Fuck!", Father Moss curses. He makes an immediate left turn. So hard, he feels himself slipping off the edge of the seat and feared he might somersault in the Jaguar and break his neck.
"Fucking American!", he curses. His eyes catch the time at approximately 5:43 when he pummels the break yet again at a drunken man whom he nearly knocks off the road.
"Fuck. What the fuck?", he cursed again. The man suddenly burst into a fit of rage as he walked toward the front door and started to bang mercilessly at the glass. He was calling the uneasy priest for a brief knuckle brawl on the sunny road.
"You almost knocked me down, you fuck!", the drunk roared, "Come on out of there and let me see your face!"
"Go fuck yourself," Father Moss cursed under tone, now distressed so much he felt tempted to go out and beat the idiot senseless. He drove on like a rampaging lunatic, unconcerned for the mouthy hooligan that was actually chasing after him in full rage.
"Come back here! Where do you think you're going, I ain't done with you, you pussy face!", the drunk yells. He ran with all his might and effort, but it just ended up effortlessly. His tattoos illuminated when he rubbed the itch on his neck and spat at the road.
"Puta!", he yelled, finally giving up.
Father Moss drove past a block where hooded teenagers could be seen graffitiing the words "SATAN STALKS NY" on the newly erupted building that was meant for the JukeBox Inc. He wanted to turn on the radio, but yet again his eyes caught the time to be approximately 5:45. Is time actually screwing with me right now? Moss muttered in his head.
The spirit of the Good Lord suddenly spoke to him and he heard it at exactly 5:46. The spirit spoke in a calm and dense tone; "If you don't hurry the fuck up and pull the damn accelerator, you're gonna be late for service, Father Moss."
It was a voice of motivation. Completely forgetting that his short sightedness was a problem without his glasses, the priest pulled the accelerator. Just a few more blocks and he would make it to the church at exactly 5:49. Just a few more blocks, he spoke to himself. Nothing was going to stop him now. Not even bad karma or the Devil that was preying on innocent saints at Broad Day light.
No more distractions. He'd reached the critical point. If he made one more stop, he wouldn't be there by six as promised. When he almost forced his hand to reach for the glasses under the seat, a siren was now heard audibly.
"Fuck!," Father curses again, not including it with a prayer for forgiveness this time, "Fuck it! Fuck it!"
The police vehicle reflected on the car door mirror that read Objects appear closer than they are on the know what. He had to stop. He just had to stop. The officer, a blonde fat ogre with a nasty zit on her cheek, and shades walked up to his door and did what every cop would do at a time someone was being hunted down, chased by a killer or on the mission to rescue his kids. After giving the nice lady a look at his driver's license and ID, the speed ticket followed without acknowledging the fact that he was a preacher. There was no respect at this moment.
And it was like he had just stated minutes ago. He made it to the church at approximately 5:54.
"Thank you, God, for a fucking day!", Father Moss cursed aloud, "Sic Sempa Terranus indeed!" Getting out of the Jeep in a suspenseful manner, Moss straightened his collar and took the walk of faith.
