excerpt
“So true my friend” Anton added, “so we still have to take
care of what we owe to these kids; be vigilant, record whatever
wrong is done upon them, and report all these to the proper
authorities, that would be our resolve and goal. By the way sometimes
I’ll spend my night here, in my office, so I can keep an eye
on what might transpire during the night.”
George nodded his head and left to go and check on
today’s dinner.
Darkness spread over Kamloops, the streets turned quieter,
street lamps vaguely greeted the few night walkers, the odd
car would pass with its headlights flashing on unintended targets,
the odd animal sauntering in the fresh moist of the night, the odd
civilian walking to Molly’s diner, the odd cricket singing of a
lost summer love, the odd saint perusing the Indian Reservation
School grounds and covering his eyes not to witness the unspeakable
atrocities taking place within the walls of the mausoleum.
Then surely silence would appear as if from nowhere to command
the rest of the night, a light breeze would keep it company
as both assume duties allotted to them: the task of keeping watch
over souls lost in the humdrum of everyday life or newly found
glamour of self-belief and containment.
The half moon threw glints of phosphorescence over the
two bodies of Father Jerome and Sister Gladys giving them the
pale shade of the dead, yet these two bodies were far from being
dead, in fact they were consumed with an unfulfilled erotic oestrus
which overwhelmed every inch of their skin. Father Jerome
was resting his head on one of his hands while he was marvelling
at the esthetically beautiful lines of Sister Gladys’s breasts.
Securely one of his hands was supporting his chin while his other
hand was travelling up and down the hillsides of her breasts first
over the left one and around her nipple, then over the right one…
Mayanaam
vequinox
Manolis 