Post by The Stargazer on Jul 31, 2007 20:38:58 GMT -5
The next morning, Michael awoken from 2 days sleep in a rickety old bed, on the far side of the monastery. His head was pounding, his throat parched, and weak, his muscles sore, and his spirit scattered. A man dreams a lot when you never wake, dreams that cloud judgment, that make sense out of little, and confuses all. Michael dreamed a dream not meant for mortal men, not meant for the eyes of the un-lead. It was almost like God himself sent Michael a message, a message that would soon be deciphered by a holy man.
Father Tommy Mathie helped Michael release what inner demons he had bottled inside of his body, through a powerful exorcism Michael was left exhausted, and lifeless.
Michael staggered out of his chambers, barely able to keep his weight on his legs. Sister O'Brien came rushing to his aid, knowing full well where he wanted to rest. He looked down at her, she was Irish, red hair, freckled, couldn't of been above 25 years of age. She nodded and started to help Michael to Father Mathie's office. He stumbled a few times she was well enough to keep his balance. They went down what seemed to be endless corridor's, stone wall's, cold, dank.
Michael reached the officer, the sister guiding him through the door, Father Mathie saw him struggling and rushed to the aid of his friend. He guided Michael to a chair, where he left all of his weight boom down. Father Mathie gave a slight chuckle to the site of his friend, exhausted beyond belief. Mathie went back to work, until Michael was ready to talk, it was 10 minutes before he was.
"Did you dream?", Father Mathie finally said, catching Michael off-guard.
"I wish I hadn't Father, the dreams were frightening, they felt like premonitions", Michael unwillingly exclaimed.
Father Mathie stopped his typing, and started to drift into a daydream of fear, and doubt. He slowly took his reading glasses off of his face, he set them down on the desk. He pushed his hands against one another, in a prayer motion, and put his fingers on his mouth and face.
"What were your dreams, my son?", saying almost like he didn't want to know.
"At first I couldn't make out what they were, then I heard sad voices, calling my name. I dreamed that the Spring never ended, but yet the dreams still ran through my mind like water. I saw rolling hills covered with gold, skies filled with fire, oceans that were made of nothing but tears. Then after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, I saw one man on a hill, over looking a graveyard. He was playing a fiddle, an old man, dressed like he hadn't changed in centuries."
Father Mathie had a single tear roll down his eye, Michael didn't catch it. The sisters that were present in Father Mathie's office, doing paperwork had stopped their work, all of them had their hands covering their mouths. Michael stopped describing his vision, trying to gather the rest of his thoughts. Michael looked up at the ceiling, a stained glass picture of the ten commandments were drawn in. He then continued describing the vision,
to the despair of the present company.
"After a while of walking towards the hills over looking the graveyard, the fiddler turned to me, he was smiling, but it was the most frightening thing I had ever seen. As soon as we made eye contact, I died. Yet I didn't die in vain, the fiddler brought me to his plain of existence, I became immortal. Then he started to explain that he was the reaper, the graveyard were of those in limbo. The graveyard looked like it filled the entire countryside, then some. The man explained to me that I was given a second chance at redemption, my time hadn't come yet."
One of the sisters stormed out of the room, faintly reciting a hail-mary. Michael noticed that and started to feel ashamed at what he had been saying, for most of his tale surely was blasphemy. Father Mathie leaned back in his chair, giving the second sister permission to leave by a nod. Father Mathie then sat in thought for a moment, trying to think of something to say.
"My son, what you tell me is...a miracle. To have such a vivid dream, is miraculous. Upon our religion it is told that such dreams carry more meaning then the vision itself, a meaning of life, death, love, power, anything. Our God entirely observes the skies, filled with a trillion stars. Upon these stars lies only one planet with life..."
Michael rolled his eyes and slumped in his chair after the last remark.
"Well, I'm going off into a tangent again, what else was in your vision my son?", Father Mathie said, unenthusiastically.
Michael started to think, the dream felt like it lasted a hundred lifetimes.
"After my trip with the fiddler, he brought me to a place I often see in my normal dreams. A dark room, sitting in a corner all alone, starring from the bottom of my soul. I was watching the night come in from the window. A little boy came in from one of the rooms, and sat down next to me, he started to cry. I gazed upon this sight for what again felt like forever, and noticed that the man was me, and the boy, was also me. Before I get say anything, the fiddler took my arm and brought me back to the graveyard, where I again saw my two selves crying, this time kneeling in front of my parents tombstones. The tombstones looked desecrated, ruined, destroyed."
Michael then stopped describing the dream again, this time to the sight of Father Mathie trying to fight off violent emotions of sadness and despair. The church obviously knew more about these dreams then Michael. Father Mathie quickly got up and turned his back onto Michael, he fought off the feelings then turned back to him.
"Are you well enough to walk?", Father Mathie inquired.
Michael felt his legs now, he nodded.
"Then come with me".
Michael followed Father Mathie deep down a corridor not many trotted, it was a closed off part of the church. Father Mathie stopped at a gigantic wooden door, he opened the door via chain-link-lock. It opened to a stairwell, going deep into the sub basement of the cathedral. They followed the stairs, spiraling down to what felt like hell. It opened up into a huge open area, filled with glass cases stuffed with relics of past times. Father Mathie brought Michael up to a huge tapestry, it must of been 30 feet long. Humans were depicted on the tapestry, giant red crosses painted across each one of their chests. Slaying those who dare to go against the word of God, and the pope.
"My son, do you know what these paintings represent?", Father Mathie questioned.
"They look like...crusaders", Michael said with hesitation.
"Paladins, bringers of light, this was the time the holy cross was marching through Europe with unstoppable might. You can see the sadness in their eyes, devoid of the passion they once had for their God. I cry and pray for these type of men, martyr's to a time where death was but a step in the kingdom they fought for. These men that fought for their King's, Queen's, holy men, their God's, had the same visions in their sleep as you do. Visions of lifetimes gone, death and life converging into a simple spiral of chaos."
"Are you telling me, I'm a paladin?!", Michael surprisingly stated
Father Mathie laughed out loud, the echo was deafening. Michael looked relieved, then gazed upon the tapestry, carefully noticing the carnage that was painted across the cloth. Men slicing off the heads of those who dare cross them, horses trampling the dead, crosses raised, swords clashing with swords, it was sobering to say the least. Father Mathie walked to the side of the tapestry, and pointed out a prayer in th corner.
"My son, come read this for me."
Michael walked over, the prayer was barely legible.
"Quicumque vult salvus esse, ante omnia opus est, ut teneat Catholicam fidem: Quam nisi quisque integram inviolatamque servaverit, absque dubio in aeternam peribit."
Michael then gazed upon Father Mathie.
"What does it read my son?", Father Mathie already knew.
"Whoever wishes to be saved must, above all, keep the Catholic faith. For unless a person keeps this faith whole and entire he will undoubtedly be lost forever."
Michael then looked shocked.
The dream, to him...made sense.
FADE TO REALITY
TO BE CONTINUED...
Father Tommy Mathie helped Michael release what inner demons he had bottled inside of his body, through a powerful exorcism Michael was left exhausted, and lifeless.
Michael staggered out of his chambers, barely able to keep his weight on his legs. Sister O'Brien came rushing to his aid, knowing full well where he wanted to rest. He looked down at her, she was Irish, red hair, freckled, couldn't of been above 25 years of age. She nodded and started to help Michael to Father Mathie's office. He stumbled a few times she was well enough to keep his balance. They went down what seemed to be endless corridor's, stone wall's, cold, dank.
Michael reached the officer, the sister guiding him through the door, Father Mathie saw him struggling and rushed to the aid of his friend. He guided Michael to a chair, where he left all of his weight boom down. Father Mathie gave a slight chuckle to the site of his friend, exhausted beyond belief. Mathie went back to work, until Michael was ready to talk, it was 10 minutes before he was.
"Did you dream?", Father Mathie finally said, catching Michael off-guard.
"I wish I hadn't Father, the dreams were frightening, they felt like premonitions", Michael unwillingly exclaimed.
Father Mathie stopped his typing, and started to drift into a daydream of fear, and doubt. He slowly took his reading glasses off of his face, he set them down on the desk. He pushed his hands against one another, in a prayer motion, and put his fingers on his mouth and face.
"What were your dreams, my son?", saying almost like he didn't want to know.
"At first I couldn't make out what they were, then I heard sad voices, calling my name. I dreamed that the Spring never ended, but yet the dreams still ran through my mind like water. I saw rolling hills covered with gold, skies filled with fire, oceans that were made of nothing but tears. Then after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, I saw one man on a hill, over looking a graveyard. He was playing a fiddle, an old man, dressed like he hadn't changed in centuries."
Father Mathie had a single tear roll down his eye, Michael didn't catch it. The sisters that were present in Father Mathie's office, doing paperwork had stopped their work, all of them had their hands covering their mouths. Michael stopped describing his vision, trying to gather the rest of his thoughts. Michael looked up at the ceiling, a stained glass picture of the ten commandments were drawn in. He then continued describing the vision,
to the despair of the present company.
"After a while of walking towards the hills over looking the graveyard, the fiddler turned to me, he was smiling, but it was the most frightening thing I had ever seen. As soon as we made eye contact, I died. Yet I didn't die in vain, the fiddler brought me to his plain of existence, I became immortal. Then he started to explain that he was the reaper, the graveyard were of those in limbo. The graveyard looked like it filled the entire countryside, then some. The man explained to me that I was given a second chance at redemption, my time hadn't come yet."
One of the sisters stormed out of the room, faintly reciting a hail-mary. Michael noticed that and started to feel ashamed at what he had been saying, for most of his tale surely was blasphemy. Father Mathie leaned back in his chair, giving the second sister permission to leave by a nod. Father Mathie then sat in thought for a moment, trying to think of something to say.
"My son, what you tell me is...a miracle. To have such a vivid dream, is miraculous. Upon our religion it is told that such dreams carry more meaning then the vision itself, a meaning of life, death, love, power, anything. Our God entirely observes the skies, filled with a trillion stars. Upon these stars lies only one planet with life..."
Michael rolled his eyes and slumped in his chair after the last remark.
"Well, I'm going off into a tangent again, what else was in your vision my son?", Father Mathie said, unenthusiastically.
Michael started to think, the dream felt like it lasted a hundred lifetimes.
"After my trip with the fiddler, he brought me to a place I often see in my normal dreams. A dark room, sitting in a corner all alone, starring from the bottom of my soul. I was watching the night come in from the window. A little boy came in from one of the rooms, and sat down next to me, he started to cry. I gazed upon this sight for what again felt like forever, and noticed that the man was me, and the boy, was also me. Before I get say anything, the fiddler took my arm and brought me back to the graveyard, where I again saw my two selves crying, this time kneeling in front of my parents tombstones. The tombstones looked desecrated, ruined, destroyed."
Michael then stopped describing the dream again, this time to the sight of Father Mathie trying to fight off violent emotions of sadness and despair. The church obviously knew more about these dreams then Michael. Father Mathie quickly got up and turned his back onto Michael, he fought off the feelings then turned back to him.
"Are you well enough to walk?", Father Mathie inquired.
Michael felt his legs now, he nodded.
"Then come with me".
Michael followed Father Mathie deep down a corridor not many trotted, it was a closed off part of the church. Father Mathie stopped at a gigantic wooden door, he opened the door via chain-link-lock. It opened to a stairwell, going deep into the sub basement of the cathedral. They followed the stairs, spiraling down to what felt like hell. It opened up into a huge open area, filled with glass cases stuffed with relics of past times. Father Mathie brought Michael up to a huge tapestry, it must of been 30 feet long. Humans were depicted on the tapestry, giant red crosses painted across each one of their chests. Slaying those who dare to go against the word of God, and the pope.
"My son, do you know what these paintings represent?", Father Mathie questioned.
"They look like...crusaders", Michael said with hesitation.
"Paladins, bringers of light, this was the time the holy cross was marching through Europe with unstoppable might. You can see the sadness in their eyes, devoid of the passion they once had for their God. I cry and pray for these type of men, martyr's to a time where death was but a step in the kingdom they fought for. These men that fought for their King's, Queen's, holy men, their God's, had the same visions in their sleep as you do. Visions of lifetimes gone, death and life converging into a simple spiral of chaos."
"Are you telling me, I'm a paladin?!", Michael surprisingly stated
Father Mathie laughed out loud, the echo was deafening. Michael looked relieved, then gazed upon the tapestry, carefully noticing the carnage that was painted across the cloth. Men slicing off the heads of those who dare cross them, horses trampling the dead, crosses raised, swords clashing with swords, it was sobering to say the least. Father Mathie walked to the side of the tapestry, and pointed out a prayer in th corner.
"My son, come read this for me."
Michael walked over, the prayer was barely legible.
"Quicumque vult salvus esse, ante omnia opus est, ut teneat Catholicam fidem: Quam nisi quisque integram inviolatamque servaverit, absque dubio in aeternam peribit."
Michael then gazed upon Father Mathie.
"What does it read my son?", Father Mathie already knew.
"Whoever wishes to be saved must, above all, keep the Catholic faith. For unless a person keeps this faith whole and entire he will undoubtedly be lost forever."
Michael then looked shocked.
The dream, to him...made sense.
FADE TO REALITY
TO BE CONTINUED...
