The Seel

Tiffian Eliz

©Shades of Gray

(collective works)

7/31/12

The Seel

March 30, 2012

‛Are we live, oh okay!' ‛Just stay calm and tell our audience what really happened.' The voice was reassuring and pleasant. Not like the other one, who would surface from time to time. ‛Well it all started about twenty two years ago...'

March 30, 1990

The vision raced on, gruesome pictures reeked havoc on the human mind. The Arch-Bishop tossed and turned, unable to find some peace of mind in this sleepless sleep. Waving to the masses and then to have it all snatched away in the blink of an eye. He would never live long enough to be Pope. To see ones self as an embittered old man, wasting away on the same bed one used to find so comforting. The Arch-Bishop jolted upright in his bed. Before he knew it he was out of breath. He'd been having the same nightmare for about a week. It always yielded the same results, yellow stained sheets, sweat soaked pajamas and pillow cases. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out. After all these years dedicated to the study of theology and ordained practices. Not to mention those God forsaken raffles and bake sales. The Friday nights wasted, watching pumped up blue-haired old woman, stamp dots on a piece of paper, like their stomping on roaches. Yelling, ‛Bingo Fucking Bingo,' from badly covered moustache mouths. The sheer thought gave Arch-Bishop Gerard an eerie shudder. A feeling that had been buried for so long began to surface. It made him dizzy, this feeling was so alien to him. It could only be one thing, hatred Arch-Bishop Gerard's bare feet clamored down the stairs, to the churches archieves. His balmy hands gripped onto the railing, as if he was holding onto dear life itself. With flashlight in tow he scanned across the sea of books. The dust raised and settled again, as his short breaths blew small clouds of smoke from forgotten parchments. He accidentally inhaled and started to cough. ‛Can we try using less powder next time. This shit's going up my damn nose.' ‛So, you should be used to it.' Came the loud voice over the mega-phone. ‛Line!' He fingered the tightly bound corners of the heafty encyclopedias. A large Atlas that would take its readers on a journey through any ancient kingdom of their choosing. Some other time, he thought to himself, when the fate of his future wasn't at stake. His fingers finally landed on the aged book he was looking for. His Latin was rusty on a good day, but he could still make it out. Novus Intium, the book smelled old, the frayed pages decayed before the Arch-Bishop's pensive touch. ‛New Beginnings,' he mumbled. The sheer thought of saying it out loud, gave the words a meatiness. He began to flip through the pages with utmost care, like a surgeon preparing for a skillful incision. He held the flashlight firmly in his mouth. His eyes darted back and forth decifering the ancient language. When he found what he was looking for he set his small light on the bookshelf. The beam peered over the edge exposing the thief. The man would single handedly destroy the world as we know it, for fame. Anthony began to read, a momentary grin formed on dry lips. Perverse, sinister sounds escaped through gasps of rough spoken Latin. He really should have been better at this, good thing he wasn't being graded on it. Too late to turn back now! That feeling of hate had turned into a thought. Now that single thought had been acted on. ‛What will become of me now?' said the Arch-Bishop.

March 30, 2000

The rain beat in rhythmic vibrations against the window pane. Streaks of energy shot across the sky and crackling thunder seemed as if it would break the sound barrier. And the wind, dear God the wind, it was just shy of a tornado. ‛I've never seen the weather this bad,' said Kevin McMatthews, the amazed priest stared at the anomaly. The TV blared the highlights of the day. ‛It would seem that the 4 corners of the earth have been rampaged by death and despair. Europe has been the site of one of the most bloodiest wars this planet has ever seen. Small radical groups have banned together to overthrow Parliament. In South America a vicious famine has swept its willowy hand across the continent. Relief efforts from the United States have been futile. Unfortunately, here at home, the African Hanta Viruses has claimed another life. The victim was a 28 year old woman. Family and friends say Tina Rosen, was a dedicated wife and mother... Scientist are doing all they can to try and find a vaccine to the highly contagious disease...' said the undisturbed reporter. A soft click came from the remote, as the priest stared in silence at the blank screen.