Hora Mortis Nostrae (pt 1)

Oh dear lord... I don't know how well this is going to be received, but here is the first part of my story. It's fictional (duh) and it's based on Catholic beliefs and mysticism. I truly do not mean to offend anyone with my take on this stuff, I just found it interesting. And no, I'm not trying to copy the Da Vinci Code or anything like that. Anyway, if you have no knowledge of Catholicism, really the only thing you absolutely need to know to understand my story is this:

There are seven deadly sins that every human is guilty of: Pride, Lust, Gluttony, Sloth, Wrath, Greed, and Envy.
There are seven heavenly virtues that every human can work to achieve in order to purge themselves of these sins: Humility, Chastity, Temperance, Diligence, Patience, Charity, and Kindness.

Note that each sin has a corresponding virtue. I've listed them in corresponding order as well (Pride is stopped with Humility, etc).
Ok.... well, here goes....


Prologue:
"Ave Maria
gratia plena
Dominus tecum
Benedicta tu
Et benedictus
Fructus ventris tui.

Sancta Maria
Mater Dei
Ora pro nobis
Peccatoribus
Nunc et in
Hora mortis nostrae."

Every Sunday, without fail, my mother would tell me, "Felix, it's time for worship." and then she'd press a rosary into my hands and drag me to church where I'd solemnly sing these words along the rest of the congregation. As my apathetic tones rose through the thick chapel air and joined with the voices of the choir, I'd always end up glaring at the large crucifix above the altar and feel resentment swelling up from the pit of my stomach. If Jesus died a few thousand years ago, then why should I spend my Sunday mornings singing to him, let alone to his even more dead virginal mother?

I'd sing every hymn and raise my palms to the arched chapel ceiling, and listen to every sermon. My mother would clutch at her bible and her rosary and hang upon every word that priest spoke, simply expecting that I'd do the same... But I went church every Sunday for eleven years, and through every moment of it I became more and more convinced that God didn't speak Latin. As it turns out, She does; but I'll get to that later.


Part One

The wind in the summer is soft and rippling, necessary, but not actually cooling. As a breeze caught my jacket and ruffled my hair, I realized that the air had only gotten warmer. I groaned, frustrated, as I made my way down the suburban street towards the home of my best and brightest friend, Marc.

Marc was a stocky music snob who somehow managed to attract girls like I attracted trouble. He lived in the neighborhood across the street from mine, a suburban hell right next to a suburban hell. As I approached the the one busy intersection between my side of suburbia and his, another summer wind blew through the trees. The cars rushing past are kicking up dust into the air, which swirls feebly inches above the ground, then settles, only to be kicked up once again.

Suddenly, I hear that unmistakable screech of tires, and I look up to see a girl standing in the middle of the intersection with her eyes closed, an almost placid expression on her face. As one car narrowly misses her and skids out of the way, without thinking, I run out and grab the girl's wrists, trying to pull her out of the street. Instead, I have dragged both her and I into the path of an on-coming SUV, which tries to slow, but hits the both of us.

I hear the smack before I feel it, but the impact is crushing. The girl and I go flying, limbs thrust out at odd angles, before we hit the ground ten feet away from the SUV. The hot pavement presses into my cheek as I struggle to stay conscious. I can feel blood in my mouth, squishing between my teeth. I try to lift my head to see what has become of the girl, but I can't move. My eyelids threaten to close and I strain to stay awake, listening hard.

The driver of the SUV, a woman, has become hysterical, and is now blubbering into her Blackberry, trying to explain to the 911 operator that "It wasn't my fault! I couldn't stop! They were in the middle of the road!! One of them's bleeding pretty bad-- " I bet that'd be the girl. What was she doing, standing in the center of an intersection? Did this girl have some intense death wish?
Did I just thwart a suicide? Wait, is she dead?

Sirens pick up in the distance, and I give up the fight to keep my eyes open. I can still hear the woman screaming into her phone, but she sounds like she's yelling down a tunnel. I'm still conscious, barely.

Suddenly, there's this horrible yanking in my gut, and then I'm looking at two mangled bodies lying in the street. I look up to see the girl, standing above her own body, with a perturbed look on her face. She beckons me out of the street, and I follow, leaving my body behind.



Shall I continue?
Julia