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darker_london2010-11-02 05:40 pm
hauntedsongs.livejournal.com) wrote in darker_london2010-11-02 05:40 pm
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November 2nd to the 6th (Patrick, Miriam)
The Templar designed their purifications to hit the heart of the sinner, and while Patrick was being purified for being an alcoholic, it fell under the sin of gluttony. The obvious purification for such a sin was deprivation until the sinner appreciated what little he did receive.
Having led a blessed and lucky life up until the car accident that killed his family, Patrick had never experienced deprivation like this before. He had always had enough to eat, despite being a musician which was a career choice that often saw its hopeful stars turn to other jobs just to survive. He had never ever gone to bed hungry without having the means to remedy it if he did happen to wake up to pangs at some time in the night.
Now, Patrick was going hungry. He had had his purification explained to him and when he had been told he would fast for four days, it didn’t sound so terribly long. Especially not in the face of alcohol withdrawal which had been worse by far at the beginning of it all. Patrick had been sure he would never stop shaking. He did stop shaking however. And then he felt empty and there was nothing else to fill it up with and no illness to take his mind off of it. He was suffering hunger.
His stomach had stopped growled and now it simply ached. The pain never stopped. His insides felt like they had shrivelled and they constantly throbbed, aching for food. He drank as much water as he could, since that was all the Templar provided him, but it only made him feel ill. He felt weak and dizzy and when he wasn’t being forced to pray by the Templar, he lay on his cot, curled up in a ball, sobbing his misery out, his tears falling onto the crook of his arm. He had no idea how long it had been, or how long he still had to go. Time seemed to crawl and he had no watch and no view of the sky. He was in a standstill, alone in his torment.
And then his cell door opened and a black-robed figure stepped in. “Patrick.”
Patrick lifted his head, though the effort was not easy. “Mmm?”
“Your fast is over, Patrick. You are to rise and break bread with us.”
Patrick wanted to jump to his feet, but his body was uncooperative. Instead he rose slowly, and he stood on unsteady feet. When the Templar helped him out of the cell, he found himself feeling both grateful and betrayed by his own feelings of gratefulness.
Halfway to the dining chamber, Patrick caught a whiff of food and though it was simple and hearty fare, his entire mouth filled with saliva at the thought of it and he had to swallow quickly or drool. It was as if some of his strength returned. Survival instinct kicked in and he tried to pull away from the Templar who was leading him into the hall, though he was still too weak to do much good. The Templar kept Patrick from rushing and descending on the food like a voracious whirlwind, which was actually to his benefit. Had he eaten like he wanted to, he would only have been punished for gluttony again and a double sin in the eyes of the Templar, meant irredeemable heresy. Patrick might have been killed, simply for being hungry after being kept starved for four days. It was the way of the Templar, punishing people for giving in to their needs instead of just punishing for excess.
Patrick was instead seated at a table of four Templar and he was forced to sit still for twenty agonising minutes, staring at the feast he would eventually get to partake of, as a small mass was given and his redemption was prayed for. And then one of the Templar said something terrifying to him.
“You must now pray for your forgiveness, Patrick. Worship your God who is merciful and forgiving. And ask that you never again be led astray.”
He had to come up with a prayer himself and it had to be worthy of the Templar’s ears? He had to come up with this on an aching stomach in full view of food he wanted to tear through them all to reach? Patrick felt like me might cry again, but he knew he had to do this, or go back to his cell to suffer yet more hunger. He had to give a worthy performance here, and if Patrick was anything, he was a performer. With something to focus on, even though the dizziness and the desperation, he could manage not to break down completely.
“Thank you,” Patrick said, sounding heartfelt while anger and outrage at being tortured for a religion he didn’t subscribe to boiled beneath the surface. He was too terrified not to bend to their will. “Thank you for showing me the error of my ways.” Then he bent his head, and he prayed to a God he didn’t believe in any more.
“Dear Holy Father, I thank you for sending your agents on Earth to me to show me that I have been a foolish sinner. I have been saved from a life of degradation and sin and I pray for the strength to never again stray from the path of righteousness. Forgive me for my sins, O Lord. I have been lost, but now I am found.”
What sounded ridiculous to Patrick must have sounded fine to the Templar. Because they asked him then to say grace for the meal they were about to eat and Patrick wished very much to take his butter knife and slit all their throats. Instead he said, “Heavenly Father, I offer my humble thanks for this meal which we are about to eat. Glory to your Name, Amen.”
It seemed to take hours for the plate of food the Templar had prepared for him to reach him, but eventually it did. Patrick wanted to shove it all into his mouth at once, but he managed by the thinnest of thin margins to eat at a slower pace only because he was too terrified that his food would be taken away from him if he ate it quickly. He was past the point of caring that it might make him feel ill. He ate until he was full and when it was over, he was almost willing to sing God’s praises because in his stomach there was the surprisingly amazing lack of pain. The fact that he was suddenly not hungry in the least felt strange and alien, but he was grateful for it.
Now that the feast was over, Patrick had begun to believe his punishment was at an end as well. He had been promised he would be returned home after this, but instead two more Templar stepped up to take hold of his arms.
Another Templar, the woman, stepped in front of him and her imposing voice shattered his hopes for freedom. “You have done well and repented for your sin of gluttony and now you will face purification for the sin of blasphemy, which you committed in full view of the tribunal. Take him to the work room.”
Patrick was dragged, full and sated, to the work room where he had no idea what he would face over the next few days. But in the end he would decide it was far worse than a little hunger over a four day fast in his cell room.
Having led a blessed and lucky life up until the car accident that killed his family, Patrick had never experienced deprivation like this before. He had always had enough to eat, despite being a musician which was a career choice that often saw its hopeful stars turn to other jobs just to survive. He had never ever gone to bed hungry without having the means to remedy it if he did happen to wake up to pangs at some time in the night.
Now, Patrick was going hungry. He had had his purification explained to him and when he had been told he would fast for four days, it didn’t sound so terribly long. Especially not in the face of alcohol withdrawal which had been worse by far at the beginning of it all. Patrick had been sure he would never stop shaking. He did stop shaking however. And then he felt empty and there was nothing else to fill it up with and no illness to take his mind off of it. He was suffering hunger.
His stomach had stopped growled and now it simply ached. The pain never stopped. His insides felt like they had shrivelled and they constantly throbbed, aching for food. He drank as much water as he could, since that was all the Templar provided him, but it only made him feel ill. He felt weak and dizzy and when he wasn’t being forced to pray by the Templar, he lay on his cot, curled up in a ball, sobbing his misery out, his tears falling onto the crook of his arm. He had no idea how long it had been, or how long he still had to go. Time seemed to crawl and he had no watch and no view of the sky. He was in a standstill, alone in his torment.
And then his cell door opened and a black-robed figure stepped in. “Patrick.”
Patrick lifted his head, though the effort was not easy. “Mmm?”
“Your fast is over, Patrick. You are to rise and break bread with us.”
Patrick wanted to jump to his feet, but his body was uncooperative. Instead he rose slowly, and he stood on unsteady feet. When the Templar helped him out of the cell, he found himself feeling both grateful and betrayed by his own feelings of gratefulness.
Halfway to the dining chamber, Patrick caught a whiff of food and though it was simple and hearty fare, his entire mouth filled with saliva at the thought of it and he had to swallow quickly or drool. It was as if some of his strength returned. Survival instinct kicked in and he tried to pull away from the Templar who was leading him into the hall, though he was still too weak to do much good. The Templar kept Patrick from rushing and descending on the food like a voracious whirlwind, which was actually to his benefit. Had he eaten like he wanted to, he would only have been punished for gluttony again and a double sin in the eyes of the Templar, meant irredeemable heresy. Patrick might have been killed, simply for being hungry after being kept starved for four days. It was the way of the Templar, punishing people for giving in to their needs instead of just punishing for excess.
Patrick was instead seated at a table of four Templar and he was forced to sit still for twenty agonising minutes, staring at the feast he would eventually get to partake of, as a small mass was given and his redemption was prayed for. And then one of the Templar said something terrifying to him.
“You must now pray for your forgiveness, Patrick. Worship your God who is merciful and forgiving. And ask that you never again be led astray.”
He had to come up with a prayer himself and it had to be worthy of the Templar’s ears? He had to come up with this on an aching stomach in full view of food he wanted to tear through them all to reach? Patrick felt like me might cry again, but he knew he had to do this, or go back to his cell to suffer yet more hunger. He had to give a worthy performance here, and if Patrick was anything, he was a performer. With something to focus on, even though the dizziness and the desperation, he could manage not to break down completely.
“Thank you,” Patrick said, sounding heartfelt while anger and outrage at being tortured for a religion he didn’t subscribe to boiled beneath the surface. He was too terrified not to bend to their will. “Thank you for showing me the error of my ways.” Then he bent his head, and he prayed to a God he didn’t believe in any more.
“Dear Holy Father, I thank you for sending your agents on Earth to me to show me that I have been a foolish sinner. I have been saved from a life of degradation and sin and I pray for the strength to never again stray from the path of righteousness. Forgive me for my sins, O Lord. I have been lost, but now I am found.”
What sounded ridiculous to Patrick must have sounded fine to the Templar. Because they asked him then to say grace for the meal they were about to eat and Patrick wished very much to take his butter knife and slit all their throats. Instead he said, “Heavenly Father, I offer my humble thanks for this meal which we are about to eat. Glory to your Name, Amen.”
It seemed to take hours for the plate of food the Templar had prepared for him to reach him, but eventually it did. Patrick wanted to shove it all into his mouth at once, but he managed by the thinnest of thin margins to eat at a slower pace only because he was too terrified that his food would be taken away from him if he ate it quickly. He was past the point of caring that it might make him feel ill. He ate until he was full and when it was over, he was almost willing to sing God’s praises because in his stomach there was the surprisingly amazing lack of pain. The fact that he was suddenly not hungry in the least felt strange and alien, but he was grateful for it.
Now that the feast was over, Patrick had begun to believe his punishment was at an end as well. He had been promised he would be returned home after this, but instead two more Templar stepped up to take hold of his arms.
Another Templar, the woman, stepped in front of him and her imposing voice shattered his hopes for freedom. “You have done well and repented for your sin of gluttony and now you will face purification for the sin of blasphemy, which you committed in full view of the tribunal. Take him to the work room.”
Patrick was dragged, full and sated, to the work room where he had no idea what he would face over the next few days. But in the end he would decide it was far worse than a little hunger over a four day fast in his cell room.