Mary Magdalene (gospel_of_mary) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2013-05-04 15:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | mary magdalene |
WHO: Mary Magdalene [narrative]
WHEN: Wednesday night
WHAT: Considering her options
WARNINGS: talk of death and blood
In Mary's dreams she cradled the body of a broken boy in her arms, blood pouring from the wound where his heart had been torn free. He was speaking to Mary but she couldn't quite hear any of it, only the longing he had to be free of pain. Sometimes his face reminded her of someone else and even in the dream she flinched against it.
She woke crying, her room aglow with the orange light of sunset.
The shower was as hot as it would go - which was never very hot - and the clothes she pulled on afterwards were the same things she'd worn the night before. (Not the dress she'd worn during the ritual. That she'd changed out of and folded back into the box at the Hummingbird's home before leaving.)
At the laundromat down the street, Mary sat on one of the plastic chairs and watched her laundry spin inside the machine, letting it lull her into a more quiet place in her mind. Then she slowly brought the prayers in her mind into sharper focus, allowing them to become more than just the usual background noise.
Most she could do nothing about. Many prayed to her when their faith wavered, and Mary would have laughed at that if it wasn't so sad. The idea that Mary, of all people, could help anyone with that. She wished that she could. She hoped the idea of their prayers helped them more than she could.
After ten minutes of listening to hopeless souls, she pushed the voices back down again with a long sigh. None of them she could help. None of them she could solve. They wanted her to intercede with God but Mary didn't even know if the Father heard her. Despite that, she was sure that the Son saw her. Her knew of her sins are much as she herself did.
Pulling out her phone, Mary scrolled through the numbers, looking for... something. Was it comfort? Or someone to berate her? Or talk sense into her? She didn't want any of them though. She lingered above Judas' names, thumb moving back and forth as she considered it. Judas, the betrayer, who turned against them all, who brought the death of Jesus to them. Judas understood failings and betrayals better than anyone.
She almost dialed.
But then, with a grunt, she shoved the phone back into her pocket and crossed her arms, returning to watch the sloshing water behind the glass.