As the helpless vampire watched the transformation, it started screaming. It was still screaming when his rows of razor sharp teeth sank into its throat.
Of course, Mary Magdalene would have very little tolerance for the Christian platitudes and vapid optimism that seem to swirl around these kinds of tragic events. Those platitudes are tempting, but they're nothing but luxuries for people who've never had demons (or at least have never admitted to them). But equally, she would reject nihilism, or the idea that there is no real meaning in life or death - ideas present in so much of postmodernity. Those ideas, too, are luxuries, but they are for those who have never been freed from demons.
Pastrix: The Cranky, Beautiful Faith of a Sinner & Saint
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Of course, Mary Magdalene would have very little tolerance for the Christian platitudes and vapid optimism that seem to swirl around these kinds of tragic events. Those platitudes are tempting, but they're nothing but luxuries for people who've never had demons (or at least have never admitted to them). But equally, she would reject nihilism, or the idea that there is no real meaning in life or death - ideas present in so much of postmodernity. Those ideas, too, are luxuries, but they are for those who have never been freed from demons.
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Demons? No problem. Just find your local stalker psycho and ask the whistling dear head hanging above his fireplace how many licks on a toostie pop does it take to make a demon go away.
Ha!_ cackled the fiend, __ expect you__ like revenge on that husband of yours. Murder shouldn__ go unpunished, and no creature enjoys delivering chastisement as much as I. What about giving him a taste of his own medicine? If you__ be so kind as to lend me your body, I__l set him dancing to my tune.__he wife__ spectre grimaced and nodded, at which the wicked Likho stripped off the nightgown, then the dead woman__ pliant skin, peeling back the flaccid folds. These it left in a slack heap. It gobbled her flesh and sucked the bones clean. These it hid behind the stove, before inserting itself inside the empty, wrinkled carcass, taking the former position of the corpse. Its fat tongue swiped the last juices from around its lips.When the husband returned home, all was as it had been; there was not a speck of blood to be seen, although the strangest smell of rotten eggs lingered
Despite the horror, we survivors were endowed with a will to survive. Or instinct. Or maybe it was faith.
Love is an exorcism of angels.
Humankind is but the pieces in a game, plastic soldiers waging war between boy gods.