✞18 Days since my Last Confession✞
Feb. 9th, 2010 03:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
13th_crusader[✝]Psalm 147:12-18
Praise the Lord, O Jerusalem; praise thy God, O Zion.
For He hath strengthened the bars of thy gates; He hath blessed thy children within thee.
He maketh peace in thy borders, and filleth thee with the finest of the wheat.
He sendeth forth His commandment upon earth: His Word runneth very swiftly.
He giveth snow like wool: He scattereth the hoarfrost like ashes.
He casteth forth His ice like morsels: who can stand before His freezing cold?
And yet He sendeth out His Word, and melteth them: He causeth His wind to blow, and the waters flow.
Praise Ye the Lord![✝]
[☨]Regal Roman cadence murmurs across the receiving device without the Archbishop paying heed, as per usual, to the wretched toy. Curled in a ball, and blanketed so tight in his hospital bed, he looks as if his spindly body would cave in. Maxwell clutches to his jingling cross and continues his methodical benediction, a hitch in his words that reminds him another certain stammering pontiff.[☨]
My God, my R-rock, in Him will I t-trust... My sh-shield, and the horn of my Sa..salvation... He lifteth me up-p, and is-s my Refuge.. m-my Saviour, Thou wilt deliver me fr-from iniqu-quity.
[☨]Misty seas in his gelid eyes, he glances to the frosted window, looking to catch sight of some idiot out there braving the storm and making Live Snowmen out of themselves.[☨]
I sh-should hope those babes have stopped their wailing n-now. Being forced to stay in this hospice against their wi-wills will save their bl-blasted necks.. instead of just giving rise to their innate bo-boredom.
Ve, were it not for my Liturgical Duties I'd k-keep this refuge for as l-long as pos-s-sible.
[☨]Despite the cold and his intrinsic hunger they were all facing, he bloody well tolerated it here. Far better than anything he'd be facing out there. Oh they'd never bemoan again he was sure. The screen times-out as he returns to his utterances and pulls the thin cloth over his head, sealing the opening of his cocoon as if he'd emerge a butterfly once spring came around.[☨]
Praise the Lord, O Jerusalem; praise thy God, O Zion.
For He hath strengthened the bars of thy gates; He hath blessed thy children within thee.
He maketh peace in thy borders, and filleth thee with the finest of the wheat.
He sendeth forth His commandment upon earth: His Word runneth very swiftly.
He giveth snow like wool: He scattereth the hoarfrost like ashes.
He casteth forth His ice like morsels: who can stand before His freezing cold?
And yet He sendeth out His Word, and melteth them: He causeth His wind to blow, and the waters flow.
Praise Ye the Lord![✝]
[☨]Regal Roman cadence murmurs across the receiving device without the Archbishop paying heed, as per usual, to the wretched toy. Curled in a ball, and blanketed so tight in his hospital bed, he looks as if his spindly body would cave in. Maxwell clutches to his jingling cross and continues his methodical benediction, a hitch in his words that reminds him another certain stammering pontiff.[☨]
My God, my R-rock, in Him will I t-trust... My sh-shield, and the horn of my Sa..salvation... He lifteth me up-p, and is-s my Refuge.. m-my Saviour, Thou wilt deliver me fr-from iniqu-quity.
[☨]Misty seas in his gelid eyes, he glances to the frosted window, looking to catch sight of some idiot out there braving the storm and making Live Snowmen out of themselves.[☨]
I sh-should hope those babes have stopped their wailing n-now. Being forced to stay in this hospice against their wi-wills will save their bl-blasted necks.. instead of just giving rise to their innate bo-boredom.
Ve, were it not for my Liturgical Duties I'd k-keep this refuge for as l-long as pos-s-sible.
[☨]Despite the cold and his intrinsic hunger they were all facing, he bloody well tolerated it here. Far better than anything he'd be facing out there. Oh they'd never bemoan again he was sure. The screen times-out as he returns to his utterances and pulls the thin cloth over his head, sealing the opening of his cocoon as if he'd emerge a butterfly once spring came around.[☨]
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
[voice - locked]
Date: 2010-02-18 02:31 am (UTC)The other half of his expectation was that he would've died a little more suddenly, a little more elegantly - a heart attack, a bullet to the skull, a miscalculation on his too-fast motorcycle. No warning. Not languishing in agony after being crushed by damaged walls of his apartment. You stayed too long in one place. You got sloppy, you got lazy. You failed.
Offscreen, Mello doesn't move to kneel - the pain is almost paralyzing at this point, he can't move much at all. The best he can manage is transferring the communicator to the hand of his broken left arm, propped up by his knees, as he makes the sign of the cross with his remaining mobile hand.]
Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been - [how long? too long] - it's been a really long time since my last confession. Couple years, I think. [He takes another labored breath.] I guess I'm not even really sure where to begin, Your Grace.