Existence Womb (10)

   
   "Existence Womb (10)"
    
   Miriam couldn't believe what Dr. Luke had confessed to her--it was all soooo very bizarre, yet tranquil.  Especially the Chiastolite, wearing it as an amulet of sorts to ward off the reptilian paralysis of slumber with sodomy, implantation, monitoring, and all the rest for the chosen to be blessed demonic or victimized as slaughtered lambs--those slimy, cold-blooded bastards wanting to tear away at the immaculate flesh of the lovely flock.
   So, Miriam raced home on her 50cc scooter, again, pushing it to the redline, not minding that the engine may overload as it shot black smoke from its wimpy muffler, buzzing non-eloquently, like a beehive disturbed by some wandering child thinking it a pinata. 
   As she entered her house, having safely anchored the scooter on its kickstand, her Mom was deliriously talking to herself about the Grackle again, that mysterious bird, like a Rook but highlighted with blue hues atop its head, as if a halo granted from the shimmering rainbow praise of God and gifted to the Saints like the little fool for Christ, Saint Francis himself. 
   Miriam took a sweet hold of her mother, shaking her in a gentle, almost baby-rocking fashion, wanting the truth of her life, and the lives of all others manipulated and monitored to be unearthed, asking gently:  "Mom, why didn't you tell me Dr. Luke is Dad?  Why didn't you tell me?"
   Her Mom, saliva dripping forth from a mouth corrupted by neurological distress muttered:  "That crazy, old Hebrew man.  What a lovely way to make love; next, fade away into government cover-ups.  He did it Miriam, my child.  He finally passed the torch onto someone who can make a difference."
   Miriam was like:  "What me?  I'm just a naive teenager with visions."
   Mom back with:  "So was the Virgin Mary.  Now wrap that Chiastolite around your neck, and blast off to God.  Oh my--it's Grackle season I do believe."