Judas' and Jezebels.

An elderly woman sits in front of a desk, a stack of papers laid before her. A man sits behind in a sharp suit, absolutely frozen in time. The stage is bare save the minimalist office scene. She speaks-

I died long ago. The day an innocent babe clutched unto my finger, and I smelt the stench of sin upon its breath. The morn of which was filled with cries and blood of children, when one of my own with dirtied hands undid all that that was done, all that was taught. The day a seven year old girl spat upon my brow and the residue was my efforts that have most likely gone to vice. I died the day I learnt that sin, un-cleansable, un-repent able sin resides behind each of their little faces in the glow of morning.

The other morn- one of similar disposition as I lay in bed just after morning thanks, the wooden floorboards began to moan and creak from the corridor outside. I could smell the sin through a dozen walls, a familiar haze that seemed somehow here, at home. I could hear the leather of a man's glove, as it peeled onto the door. He pushed-"Julius Brack." The figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the bare light that streamed in from the hallway window. He smiled at what I had said, his eyes hidden by the shadow of a low brim. The man approached, took my hand in his and answered, "Mother."

She writes-

'Murid Perpetua Derling,' That name, the name they would never call me. My children would always call me Mother. My children of course being runaways, lost causes or perhaps plainly out of control. We would take them in, give them routine, a path, the cross; for does the Bible not say 'I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.' Luke 5:1-32.

What would I leave? Though death has claimed me once before, a life remains in tact. My psalm books to waste paper depositories, my home to concrete waste! Who would I leave them to?

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She writes-

'On the 11th of the 8th, I hereby leave all my worldly possessions to the Lord God almighty and the Christian Church, St John's Chapel.'

Murid Perpetua Derling is sat in a slumped position in bed: A dingy brown retro-styled wallpaper peels from the walls which are hung with various images of Jesus on the cross. Underneath is bare moth eaten, floorboards. A dusty combination of light rays work their way through the boarded windows to form a surreal effect upon the scene.

The next day, near to the time of the morn before, ...

This is a preview of the whole essay

She writes-

'On the 11th of the 8th, I hereby leave all my worldly possessions to the Lord God almighty and the Christian Church, St John's Chapel.'

The next day, near to the time of the morn before, an even more familiar moan of floorboards sang at me from the corridor. He brought with him that sudden light that is never seen at that time of day. He came and cut out of the stream a shadowed spot where he would stand- the figure of Julius Brack. And all that was needed to be said was, "Sit."

As the hands turned and I found this creature sitting by my side: dressed from head to toe in a black suit, covered by a gentlemen's coat and trilby. I wondered, if this indeed is the Julius Brack I knew I should ask if the police have caught up with him yet. The answer was delusional, delusional because it was lies-

"So, have the police caught up with you yet Brack?" He laughed, I don't take kindly to comics-"Hardly, dearest Mother. I find the law, more of a comfort these days. I now have a thriving law firm to my name; the cornerstone of British justice," he replied with a haughty tone to his voice. "Vengeance don't you mean?" I commented-

Pause

"Are they not the same thing? There is a particularly big case on at the moment. Being Head on cases of morality this is somewhat vital at the minute; a mass scandal, some of us have dubbed it- the seven Mary murderess's.' "

Such nerve, such cheek! Such violation! My stomach turned in disgust!

"You will keep that number sacred under this roof, blasphemer! 'John to the seven thrones of Asia'; 'grace to those who see the seven spirits who lays before the throne almighty!' Call it six murderess's and let the devil have his way with them!"

She heaves-

It was then he leant in close, and slowly brought round my glass of water and into my hands. I let the liquid wash over my throat which blissfully cleared the discomfort. Brack sat back, contented in his chair.

There he would sit for hours at a time, gazing at my person. Back he comes, day after day, to sit at my side and watch as the days roll by. I can tell, every thought that wavers in and out, every glimmer in his eyes. They are riddled by a deep love, a deep understanding for which I thank God. Then one day he turned to me and said-

"But is so much that I owe you. So much I wish to pay you back for; tell me Mother how can I repay you?"

I reached out a hand to my chest beside me: it glided over a rosary, over my pills to a leather bound Bible-

"For starters you may read me a psalm."

It is dark outside, rain paints the boarded windows a streaked grey. The visible part of Brack's face is illuminated under the hat by the stormy glow

One night, I asked him to relieve himself of the hat he so obviously attempts to hide himself with, and in turn fails to conceal and exposes his cowardliness.

"Do you wish to die a coward Brack? Be smart, you were tainted none the less but you were smart. Smart enough to let the Lord make you a future. To let Jesus Christ almighty welcome you into the light; to make you a being worthy of his mercy- or at least, attempt to."

"You made us other things."

"I made a man out of you boy."

"You did more, you made us what we are today-"

Pause

"-Scoundrels, the lot of you.

An airy laugh echoes all around-

My little devil angels: if I ever were to have had children -if it had been in the Lords plan- they would have been my angels, you were my children none the less and so you were and will always be my angels. "

Murid Perpetua now resides in a hospital bed. The stage is bare once again save her, the bed and a wooden chair, the scene is dark.

This morning, he came to my door, silhouetted just the same as that first morn when he walked back into this house. He brought a tray with breakfast, and glass of water for my pills. I watched as he broke them over the rim and he in turn as I took them down.

"Read me a psalm again would Brack. That's my lamb."

"Which will it be today Mother?"

"Revelation to John."

I sat back as Brack opened the drawer of my chest. The sudden jerk made ripples in my glass of water, and the second time along with a ruffle and confusion of Bibles the contents spilled over the top leaving the glass half empty, almost all empty. The cool and subdued expression had disappeared from his face, leaving a fearful glint in his eye. Drip drip drip, I leant over to see the mess of what had been made. Single droplets of water splashed heavily onto a heap of journals and prayer books. On the summit lay a red book, especially tired looking and coated with dust. I held out a hand, and the boy's gaze turned to look at the book. I saw both eyes follow the droplet as they made thin lines between the dust. A single hand closed lightly around the cover and passed it into mine from the floor.

How long it had been, since I had run my fingers over its pages; my very own 'Book of Life.' The day, the hour, the minute of each moment lies within those pages. The day a seven year old girl spat upon my brow and the residue was my efforts which have most likely gone to vice. The frame in time in which I learnt that sin, un-cleansable, un-repent able sin resides behind each of their little faces in the glow of morning. Every look of fear after the crimes on the face of Julius Brack.

"Page 66-78 weren't you Brack? You remember don't you?"

"I'm sure I could try," he replied.

His eyes still held the memory of the evils that plagued him. They would sit couched in heaps, hands bitterly grasped in desperate prayer. Do not be fooled, but a societal conditioned indentation in their skin: Hardly a fleeting appearance of conscience or soul. No, they would realise the nature of their being, they severity of their sins and in a moment of weakness and cowardly fear would beg for forgiveness -" Hear my prayer, O God, and give ear to my cry, Hear my prayer, O God, and give ear to my cry," again and again. Naive and blinded by the devil, they would sin once more, for does the Bible not say: 'But when ye pray, use not vain repetitions as the heathen do: For they think that they shall be heard much for their speaking.' Then I would draw near, and hold them close…

Pause

…and they would pray harder.

For all my hours, for all my days, the satisfaction of knowing which souls will be welcomed is one I was never meant to know. For does the Bible not say 'In the beginning was the Word,' the word of Jesus Christ almighty who lies like a light upon the heart, like a Psalm upon my breast, like a rosary between my grasp.

The elderly woman holds the crucifix, imbedded in her grip-

'For there are certain men crept in unawares, who were before of old ordained to this condemnation ungolding men, turning the grace of our Lord to this lasciviousness and denying the only Lord God, our Lord Jesus Christ who lies like a light upon the darkest hearts.'

She begins to quiver, and shake as her fist turns white-

I died long ago, but the Lord is righteous; he has cut me free from the cords of the wicked: and upon the pages of life my name shall be written in gold, beneath the words 'Jesus Christ almighty lays like a light upon my heart.' One name that shall Nye be ordained and pronounced throughout the kingdom is that of Julius Brack.'

A trickle of blood emits from the clench-

Does the Bible not say 'For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ all shall be made alive,' welcome me O loving Father; for thine is the Kingdom the power and the glory, for ever and ever: I come.

Pause: Drip, drip drip.