Quiet Paul
Tribune
Fantastic. What a brilliant story. And the nuns in my part of the world are all of a certain age - mostly in their seventies. To have images of a younger woman of the cloth makes this so much more enjoyable.
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Sister Angel In The Deep South...
- Thread starter thehangingtree
- Start date
After the photography session Sir Wragg reappears beneath my cross. I hack phlegm from my throat and spit before saying “I knew you were behind this.”
“You give me far too much credit, Sister Angel” he protests.
“Are you a Klan’s man?”
“No, I am a reporter but to get a story a reporter must often develop some nefarious sources. I only facilitated you crucifixion. Your Mother Superior wrote me and told me you were coming and told me of your crucifixion fascination and her doubts that you could keep to your vows.”
“So you seduced me?”
“Dear Sister Angelica, I have attempted to seduce many women, sometimes successfully but often not, but as a ‘celibate’ nun few were easier than you!”
“Touché” I groan.
“May I interview you? I assure you, you will be the cover of the next issue of the Crux Chronicle. It will be a far better story in your own words.”
“I’ve nothing to do but die” I reply “but may I ask you something first?”
“Of course you may, Sister Angelica!”
“How do you know Mother Superior?”
“Oh I have crucified her numerous times… You don’t subscribe to the Crux Chronicles, do you?” he asks. I shake my head ‘no’. I have no money to subscribe to anything. He pulls out a pad of paper and a pen that holds its own ink!
“What do you think of being crucified?”
I don’t answer him at first. What the hell am I to think? I hurt and the hurt will not stop until I die. He says “You need to say something, Sister Angel. What are you thinking?”
I look about at the gathering darkness and take a deep breath. “I slept with you… I trusted you… but I do not blame you for this. I have a free will and I chose to sin…”
“You chose to enjoy your body and events placed you there. Why did you become a nun, Sister Angel?”
I don’t remember… I think it was parents’ idea but that was some other time. I look down at him and ask “What do you want to know, Sir Wragg? I don’t know how long I will be lucid.”
“Is It what you thought it would be?” he asks me.
“No, it is not! Naïve, perhaps stupid, I expected to hang here admired as a sanitary picture of beauty…
…I knew it would hurt… but I thought I would hurt a bit and I would die. I don’t think I am dying anytime soon, am I, Sir Wragg?”
“You might, one never…”
“Don’t lie to me!” I scold from my cross!
“No, Sister Angel, I would think not.”
“Will I get to see pictures you took of me?” I ask.
“If you make it to the morning, perhaps.”
I am already cold. I hurt where I never knew I could. I ask Sir Wragg “Even if I don’t make the night promise I make the front page of your paper.”
“That I can promise..”
Tree
“You give me far too much credit, Sister Angel” he protests.
“Are you a Klan’s man?”
“No, I am a reporter but to get a story a reporter must often develop some nefarious sources. I only facilitated you crucifixion. Your Mother Superior wrote me and told me you were coming and told me of your crucifixion fascination and her doubts that you could keep to your vows.”
“So you seduced me?”
“Dear Sister Angelica, I have attempted to seduce many women, sometimes successfully but often not, but as a ‘celibate’ nun few were easier than you!”
“Touché” I groan.
“May I interview you? I assure you, you will be the cover of the next issue of the Crux Chronicle. It will be a far better story in your own words.”
“I’ve nothing to do but die” I reply “but may I ask you something first?”
“Of course you may, Sister Angelica!”
“How do you know Mother Superior?”
“Oh I have crucified her numerous times… You don’t subscribe to the Crux Chronicles, do you?” he asks. I shake my head ‘no’. I have no money to subscribe to anything. He pulls out a pad of paper and a pen that holds its own ink!
“What do you think of being crucified?”
I don’t answer him at first. What the hell am I to think? I hurt and the hurt will not stop until I die. He says “You need to say something, Sister Angel. What are you thinking?”
I look about at the gathering darkness and take a deep breath. “I slept with you… I trusted you… but I do not blame you for this. I have a free will and I chose to sin…”
“You chose to enjoy your body and events placed you there. Why did you become a nun, Sister Angel?”
I don’t remember… I think it was parents’ idea but that was some other time. I look down at him and ask “What do you want to know, Sir Wragg? I don’t know how long I will be lucid.”
“Is It what you thought it would be?” he asks me.
“No, it is not! Naïve, perhaps stupid, I expected to hang here admired as a sanitary picture of beauty…
…I knew it would hurt… but I thought I would hurt a bit and I would die. I don’t think I am dying anytime soon, am I, Sir Wragg?”
“You might, one never…”
“Don’t lie to me!” I scold from my cross!
“No, Sister Angel, I would think not.”
“Will I get to see pictures you took of me?” I ask.
“If you make it to the morning, perhaps.”
I am already cold. I hurt where I never knew I could. I ask Sir Wragg “Even if I don’t make the night promise I make the front page of your paper.”
“That I can promise..”
Tree
L.T.
Magistrate
Many are unaware the Klan had/has great enmity for Catholics and Jews as well as Blacks. One of the most notable events in Klan history took place in 1924 in South Bend IN when a Klan march was met by Notre Dame students and much Klan ass was kicked.
Did not know about the 1924 thing but I will bet the NBC network wishes the Irish would kick ass again!!!Many are unaware the Klan had/has great enmity for Catholics and Jews as well as Blacks. One of the most notable events in Klan history took place in 1924 in South Bend IN when a Klan march was met by Notre Dame students and much Klan ass was kicked.
The Klan did not like Catholics, Jews, or black, or anyone relate to the Federal government...
Who would have sent this young nun to this place????
Tree
Thursday 18th December 1868
CRUX SPECTACULAR IN THE DEEP SOUTH
By Newton Wragg Bt. Photography by R Rodent FRPS
Sister Angel did not believe me when I informed her that they still crucified people in the deep South.
She believes me now.
Naked. Bleeding. Pierced by three grotesque spikes.
Her breathing laboured, each gasp an exhausting duel with the devil for a few more agonised moments of life.
And yet….this was something she sought. This nun had for so long contemplated the imagery of crucifixion; so many hours of her life had been spent kneeling before silver crucifixes that Sister Angel had been able to imagine no other end for her life. Not for her the creaking, groaning descent into senility. Her skin shall not bear the creases of age, the nails pierce smooth skin, tender skin. The nerves of her youth carry with terrible faithfulness their awful message of pain.
"I knew it would hurt… but I thought I would hurt a bit and I would die." she said, from her cross. "I expected to hang here admired as a sanitary picture of beauty."
Ah, but she is to be admired! There is a terrible, yet heart rending beauty in the sight of a nude woman on a cross. It is a sight that entrances every fibre of the viewer's being.
And so her slender arms are spread in a last embrace of the cross of which she dreamed, but which she also dreaded. Her breasts, stretched by her outstretched arms, are capped by crowns of tumescence which betray to those of us that watch the ecstasy of her struggle. We see, too, the beads of moisture processing down her leg, as once processions of priests and nuns approached the high altar.
Yes, we hear her groans of agony. Yes, we see the nails, and can imagine her torture.
But this, gentle reader, is a woman in the ecstasy of torment.
Quiet Paul
Tribune
Thursday 18th December 1868
CRUX SPECTACULAR IN THE DEEP SOUTH
By Newton Wragg Bt. Photography by R Rodent FRPS
Sister Angel did not believe me when I informed her that they still crucified people in the deep South.
She believes me now.
Naked. Bleeding. Pierced by three grotesque spikes.
Her breathing laboured, each gasp an exhausting duel with the devil for a few more agonised moments of life.
And yet….this was something she sought. This nun had for so long contemplated the imagery of crucifixion; so many hours of her life had been spent kneeling before silver crucifixes that Sister Angel had been able to imagine no other end for her life. Not for her the creaking, groaning descent into senility. Her skin shall not bear the creases of age, the nails pierce smooth skin, tender skin. The nerves of her youth carry with terrible faithfulness their awful message of pain.
"I knew it would hurt… but I thought I would hurt a bit and I would die." she said, from her cross. "I expected to hang here admired as a sanitary picture of beauty."
Ah, but she is to be admired! There is a terrible, yet heart rending beauty in the sight of a nude woman on a cross. It is a sight that entrances every fibre of the viewer's being.
And so her slender arms are spread in a last embrace of the cross of which she dreamed, but which she also dreaded. Her breasts, stretched by her outstretched arms, are capped by crowns of tumescence which betray to those of us that watch the ecstasy of her struggle. We see, too, the beads of moisture processing down her leg, as once processions of priests and nuns approached the high altar.
Yes, we hear her groans of agony. Yes, we see the nails, and can imagine her torture.
But this, gentle reader, is a woman in the ecstasy of torment.
'beads of moisture processing down her leg, as once processions of priests and nuns approached the high altar.'
You've been spending far too much time in church,old lad. I should know, especially at this time of year. I'm not sure I shall ever again be able watch the bishop processing down the nave without thinking very strange thoughts! And all this i the week we appoint the first woman bishop!
Thursday 18th December 1868
CRUX SPECTACULAR IN THE DEEP SOUTH
By Newton Wragg Bt. Photography by R Rodent FRPS
Sister Angel did not believe me when I informed her that they still crucified people in the deep South.
She believes me now.
Naked. Bleeding. Pierced by three grotesque spikes.
Her breathing laboured, each gasp an exhausting duel with the devil for a few more agonised moments of life.
And yet….this was something she sought. This nun had for so long contemplated the imagery of crucifixion; so many hours of her life had been spent kneeling before silver crucifixes that Sister Angel had been able to imagine no other end for her life. Not for her the creaking, groaning descent into senility. Her skin shall not bear the creases of age, the nails pierce smooth skin, tender skin. The nerves of her youth carry with terrible faithfulness their awful message of pain.
"I knew it would hurt… but I thought I would hurt a bit and I would die." she said, from her cross. "I expected to hang here admired as a sanitary picture of beauty."
Ah, but she is to be admired! There is a terrible, yet heart rending beauty in the sight of a nude woman on a cross. It is a sight that entrances every fibre of the viewer's being.
And so her slender arms are spread in a last embrace of the cross of which she dreamed, but which she also dreaded. Her breasts, stretched by her outstretched arms, are capped by crowns of tumescence which betray to those of us that watch the ecstasy of her struggle. We see, too, the beads of moisture processing down her leg, as once processions of priests and nuns approached the high altar.
Yes, we hear her groans of agony. Yes, we see the nails, and can imagine her torture.
But this, gentle reader, is a woman in the ecstasy of torment.
Sister Angels End in two versions...
Phlebas reaches for the "like" button. NO! Hold, he wants words, not likes!
um
Nice combination of word and picture, Tree, as always, and nice blend of period atmosphere and moral downfall. Innocence corrupted? Or desire fulfilled? You decide, dear reader.
yes, oh yes, Wragg, nicely chronicled
And Madiosi, nice manips
Thanks for all the kind words, just one more segment to add. Since I started this story on Sunday I think it still qualifies as a short story by Tree's standards. Hope you all enjoyed the journey...
T
T
“So what happens from here?” I ask Sir Wragg as he writes on his pad my every word.
“From here? Are you asking about, you or me, Sister Angel?”
“I was thinking more ‘you and me’, really” I reply.
“Oh that… You were a good fuck for a virgin. You are a better fuck than you are a nun.”
“Most comforting words, Sir Wragg; may I ask when you witnessed the death of a woman crucified how did that come about?”
“More or less the same way yours came about. Your Mother Superior told me a young nun, a Sister Magdalen, was coming to witness for your Lord. The Klan takes a dim view of Catholics and they have a thing for crosses anyway. It did not take much to convince them to put the two together. I only regret the photographs did turn out that well and I had to ink them so I could publish them. When your Mother Superior said you were coming here your crucifixion was preordained!”
“Even if I would not have had sex with you?”
“You would have been crucified no matter what. You were doomed when you left the convent. While I have denied you the virgin martyr status that Sister Magdalen died with, you at least have the comfort of your sin to suffer for” Sir Wragg explains.
“You didn’t nail Mother Superior to a cross, did you?”
“No, of course not, but the last time I left her on the cross far longer than she bargained for!”
It is getting dark and besides the torches and bonfires there is no light on this clouded night.
The mob is thinning and the fires are starting to dim. I am sure the night is still warm but I am feeling cold.
“Sir Wragg, how long did Sister Magdalen last” I ask.
“Oh I don’t know. She was crucified around 3 o’clock in the afternoon and she was still alive when I rode past her around 9 the next morning” He says casually.
“You left her alone on the cross?” I exclaim.
“As I will you! My work here is done. It is up to you when you give up your life to the cross. You are dead, you know, Sister Angelica, in every way but breathing…”
He begins to walk down the mound when I call out “Where did you crucify her?”
“Her cross stood in the same hole yours is in. Good bye, Sister.”
I am left alone with my cross as my only company…
tree
“From here? Are you asking about, you or me, Sister Angel?”
“I was thinking more ‘you and me’, really” I reply.
“Oh that… You were a good fuck for a virgin. You are a better fuck than you are a nun.”
“Most comforting words, Sir Wragg; may I ask when you witnessed the death of a woman crucified how did that come about?”
“More or less the same way yours came about. Your Mother Superior told me a young nun, a Sister Magdalen, was coming to witness for your Lord. The Klan takes a dim view of Catholics and they have a thing for crosses anyway. It did not take much to convince them to put the two together. I only regret the photographs did turn out that well and I had to ink them so I could publish them. When your Mother Superior said you were coming here your crucifixion was preordained!”
“Even if I would not have had sex with you?”
“You would have been crucified no matter what. You were doomed when you left the convent. While I have denied you the virgin martyr status that Sister Magdalen died with, you at least have the comfort of your sin to suffer for” Sir Wragg explains.
“You didn’t nail Mother Superior to a cross, did you?”
“No, of course not, but the last time I left her on the cross far longer than she bargained for!”
It is getting dark and besides the torches and bonfires there is no light on this clouded night.
The mob is thinning and the fires are starting to dim. I am sure the night is still warm but I am feeling cold.
“Sir Wragg, how long did Sister Magdalen last” I ask.
“Oh I don’t know. She was crucified around 3 o’clock in the afternoon and she was still alive when I rode past her around 9 the next morning” He says casually.
“You left her alone on the cross?” I exclaim.
“As I will you! My work here is done. It is up to you when you give up your life to the cross. You are dead, you know, Sister Angelica, in every way but breathing…”
He begins to walk down the mound when I call out “Where did you crucify her?”
“Her cross stood in the same hole yours is in. Good bye, Sister.”
I am left alone with my cross as my only company…
tree
Well, why did more holes than you have to? Cruxifixion is labor-intensive enough as it is
Tree, this has been a real tour de force. Sir Newton was honoured to have been associated with it
Thank you, Sir Wragg, for allowing me to sully your good name again so Sister Angel could suffer her death on the cross. The only thing left is the... (Epilog, Tree, we all know there is ALWAYS an epilog to you tales -CF) ...epilog. I have one more short story to do before I wrap up "Rosie's Crucifixion" back at your abbey then must get back to sharpening spikes...Well, why did more holes than you have to? Cruxifixion is labor-intensive enough as it is
Tree, this has been a real tour de force. Sir Newton was honoured to have been associated with it
I smell a rebellion in the air...
Tree
Sister Angel hung from her cross. Not only have the darkness enveloped her as an approaching thunderstorm lit up the night.
She looked about with her rational mind telling her no critter big enough to do her any harm could reach her while her emotional mind told her demons wanted to eat her alive!
She did not know what time it was when she saw a flash of light and felt a hot searing pain in her abdomen. She felt her blood run down her belly before the report of the gun reached her ears.
‘Well, shit, I should aimed higher’ Tree thought as he holstered his pistol ‘but I have to get out of here before I have the whole Mississippi Klan on my ass…’
So Sister Angel died nailed to a cross, sooner than if Tree hadn’t shot her. Sir Wragg went back to England and bought the Cruxton Abbey where all sorts of unthinkable debauchery occur to this day. The Negros of Mississippi took Sister Angelica’s body from the cross, anointed it and wrapped it before burying her in a proper grave.
She was considered a saint… the Negros’ descendants might figure in a rebellion some 150 years later…
Tree
That’s all folks!!!!
She looked about with her rational mind telling her no critter big enough to do her any harm could reach her while her emotional mind told her demons wanted to eat her alive!
She did not know what time it was when she saw a flash of light and felt a hot searing pain in her abdomen. She felt her blood run down her belly before the report of the gun reached her ears.
‘Well, shit, I should aimed higher’ Tree thought as he holstered his pistol ‘but I have to get out of here before I have the whole Mississippi Klan on my ass…’
So Sister Angel died nailed to a cross, sooner than if Tree hadn’t shot her. Sir Wragg went back to England and bought the Cruxton Abbey where all sorts of unthinkable debauchery occur to this day. The Negros of Mississippi took Sister Angelica’s body from the cross, anointed it and wrapped it before burying her in a proper grave.
She was considered a saint… the Negros’ descendants might figure in a rebellion some 150 years later…
Tree
That’s all folks!!!!
A cigar in his teeth, a six-shooter in his holster, a weathered hat on his head, and a half-bottle of Seagram's in his hand ...our hero rides off into the sunset as the workers in the cotton fields raise their heads to sing his praises.
...strange things happen on this site, Barb, can't judge them... only watch...
Tree
...goodnight all
By the authority vested in me as a Leader of the coming Great Slave Rebellion of 2015, I hereby award you, Mr. Tree, the first CF "fistfull of dollars" award for this amazing piece of artistic entertainment.
Please come to the stage to accept this specially designed statuettte for your mantle at the Tree house.
No speeches... we don't trust you not to do something outrageous on prime time television
and we already know you want to thank Leo, Joan, Ulrika and all the rest of the Mizzou gang.