Irreverent

Charles Mandrake was a very poor priest. He was not living sparsely, in point of fact he lived very well, but managed that which he was entrusted with very badly - spending the excess contributions and taking the donations largely to fund his personal wants and needs …

The price of smokes had escalated over the years and his own holy fire needed the small stubs of light … Midnight when the cathedral had evacuated, when the prayerful and the mournful had departed to their solitary beds, Father Charles strode the aisles of his empty church, drawing breaths of frankincense and Marlboro. Stubs were buried beneath the prayer candles, where he had snubbed them into the tray of sand.

Spicy imported foods littered his fridge, half eaten. Chocolate wrappers glittered in the bin. Silk and cashmere piled in his wardrobe. Designer watches and assorted gifts from his adoring Parish draped his bookcases and filled his drawers.

Father Charles loved life and it loved him. He could recite the newspaper backwards and his congregation exalted its meaning imaginatively. He would analogise the racing form, or sing the bingo with intermittent psalm references, rich with obscure context and subliminal affirmations.

All in all he was an ecclesiastical success.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

Beneath a Bridge

Master Tu was born into an average life, with average parents, who had average hopes, for their less than average son.

Both his mother and father were from Chicago, and their forebears were touched with the enchanted psyche of the Irish mixed with the propriety of the Scot.

From the time he began to talk, his questions were answered with contempt. Both parents had no idea of the complexities of their child’s mind, and the value of a loving and enthusiastic conversation escaped them entirely.

Stuart’s (Tu for short) first suffered depression manifested at puberty, and one that strangled him duly during his teens. The gremlin of impossible sadness would sit at the end of his bed and taunt him nightly; keeping him from falling asleep. With this constant sleep deprivation Stuart found that a certain twilight took over his mind - so much so that he learned to sleep without his body laying down, and ignore the world in a daze of adaptive static complacency.

And so, beneath a bridge, settled amongst the modern trolls and geriatric alcoholics; between the casino rats and withered junkies, Puck found Stuart propped up against a shopping trolley gazing into nothingness.

“It was too soon” he had whispered in the vagrant’s ear. “Too soon for you to be coming back.”

With Elvish strength he picked the sorry youth up from the pee-stained ground, and hoisted one arm over his shoulder, dragging him to the gold Mercedes he had waiting.

“This is no life my King,” he said respectfully, hauling his thin frame into the back seat and fastening the belt around him snugly.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

Master Tu

The Master’s whiskers were trailing in his soup, and Goober could not help noticing that crumbs from the unleavened bread had settled throughout its white twisted strands. It was certainly unusual to have one so young as leader of a monastery of this size - beard or no beard, he was still only twenty-two.

This sensei had been homeless a few years earlier, and some of his habits from living rough had remained. He appeared to be utterly without pride, and completely unaware of any social etiquette.

When Puck had found him, his fingers and toes had begun to disintegrate with mould, and the tip of his nose had blackened also. This youth could not have cared less for shelter and warmth at that stage of his short life - for he gone for so long without having anything, he had forgotten what comfort was. The bite of the wind or ice beneath his feet, felt nothing in comparison to the pain in his soul continually throbbing, nothing at all.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

Feeling Better

“Thats it!” exclaimed Goober. “I’m out of here - we can meet back at the Seedery if want to find me.”

“You’re forgetting something,” Puck said, as he watched Goober reach into the hole in the wall, covered by a curtain, to get his suitcase.

“And what’s that?”

“You have not sneezed once since we got here.” 

Goober reflected. It was true.

“Been too irritated to sneeze.”

“Haven’t passed out either.”

“True,” again agreed Goober thoughtfully.

“Well then - aren’t you feeling a whole lot better?”

Goober could finally see through his eyes that were usually itchy and red. He actually hadn’t felt this good in a very long while - maybe a century or so.

“Ok then,” he said belligerently, sitting back down at the table.

Puck rolled another egg towards him. “Eat up old boy, we’ve got work to do.”

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

Boiled Eggs

“I might have preferred the delivery food old friend”, Goober said with distaste looking down at his bowl of cold hard boiled eggs.

“These are not ordinary eggs Peanuthead - just try them”, said Puck throwing one, that sailed over Goober’s shoulder and on to the floor behind. The whole room smelt of sulphur and the chanting beyond the atrium wall was grating on Goober’s nerves.

“I thought we might be going somewheres peaceful - you know - somewhere nice - but it's all work here or meditation - and even the beds are bleak. Are they magic eggs?” he asked hopefully.

What is it with Goober and magic eggs? Puck thought to himself as he rolled one about on the walnut table and the shell crumbled beneath his hand. He peeled off the remainder and ate the hen’s egg whole.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

  

Paranormal Play

When Jon-Jon returned to the camp Tindle had woken and was sitting in the half light, eating from a bag of dry beans.

Jonathon immediately thought it better to keep this romance to himself - that perhaps Tindle might not approve of this paranormal play. The Church, after-all, would hang a man for less.

He privately hoped that Fatima would return to him - even possibly the next night or the night after so. The fact that she was quite obviously deceased did not bother him - for even as a spirit she felt warm to the touch. It was complicated, but at least he had found her, and she him. He twitched, and his member tightened, remembering her caress. For the first time in his young life he felt blest.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

Bare Before Him

Evelyn De Morgan

“Jon Jon” a voice whispered close to his ear. It was the sweet voice of Fatima. He shook himself awake, happy beyond belief.

In the half light he could not see her. Nathanius was sound asleep, with his head resting on a goose down vest, with his hat draped over his eyes. It wasn’t him that he had heard call his name, Jon assured himself.

No, the familiar “Jon-Jon” was her pet name for him - it was her, or at the very least, a dream of her that came to him.

A cold wind enveloped where he lay, and a heavy darkness descended upon their camp. This woke him completely. Jon stared with melancholy into the trees beyond - and there - there amongst the stringy birch trees he saw Fatima … in spirit form and naked - she was just standing under the shimmering branches watching him from afar.

Jonathon tried as quietly as he could to push himself up from the ground, and barefooted, he strode across the greasy moss to be with her. It was her spirit-self he could see - not a wraith or ghoul, but a warm-blooded soul, although without a body - this ethereal girl, seemed more beautiful than when she had been alive - full of light and true warmth, her essence, the essential her, was bare before him.

She lightly touched his face and drew him close - and into the alcove he entered with sweet relief; he gave his love to her.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series