. . . Bear Witness to All.

I saw Thine following me,
I heard Thee calling me,
I even felt Thine arrows in my tears;
I know Thou art shadowing me,
And wilt yet, forestalling me,
Whip out the vanities of all my years.

. . . I ran and still run away from Thee.

[The Fugitive     /     Ameen Rihani]

Religion is full of fallacies. Inconsistencies, vacuous promises. Pews emulate the staunchness of barracks amidst wartime, and You travel down the rows to Your preordained doom. Craned neck, hands clasped, You bear yourself raw in front of the crucified effigy of God's Son. Silent pleas filter through an emptied chamber. Kneeled on the splintered altar, Your knees will ache, and they'll scab. In return for Your grief, You shall see nothing more than the sunlit windows portraying stills of promised salvation. Aureola's golden above Christ's head. Beg as You may, an answer will never come.

(But when you ask, you must believe
and not doubt, because the one who
doubts is like a wave of the sea,
blown and tossed by the wind).
James 1:6.

You must pray more.

You are not giving enough.

You must ask for forgiveness.

          It is a step away from the selling of Your soul.

          And as time evolves, You wonder if you have done something to warrant the hollowness, the wrath of the mighty Lord. Your priest consoles You in weekly confessions, but his nondescript mutterings offer little solace. With a seething scold, he brands You a sinner. You have forsaken Your God; it is Your fault He refuses to answer. Unwashed, unclean. Sinned. Your priest spits upon Your lack of service, Your disgraceful tithings. He implores You to give, unless You'd rather submit to eternal damnation. In Your fear of abandonment, You listen. For You will do anything to feel the warmth of Your God.

     Give.

               Give.

     Take.

          Your faith begins to dwindle. Seated for Mass in the pews, clutching a rosary in your trembling hands, You gaze into the downturned eyes of Christ.

          Why? You utter, barely a whisper. Why have you abandoned me?

          There is no answer. Your jaw clenches, while a tear betrays Your stilted facade. Yet, You are seated come Sunday, head bowed in prayer because it is the fear that keeps You in attendance. Hell. It is the thought of enduring the Devil's punishments that garners Your submission. And as You travel down the line to partake in holy communion, muttering a breathy 'Amen' as you indulge in Christ's body, Your priest wears a smile. Halfhearted, You return it.

          Religion is fear, and it is unkind.

Behind all foundations are the ones who weaponize faith. They are shielded behind God's Will, Divine Right, Absolutism. Revelations is their rite. Judgement Day and the return of Christ, wherein the chosen meek shall inherit the earth. All who sinned, all who worshipped false ideologies, will endure each circle of Hell. Spewed throughout every small town is this perverse, fear-mongered version of God's Will. It is upheld strongly by the weak-minded and silver-tongued ministers. Like Hellfire, these evils spread, and it engulfs sensibility. In the bayous of Louisiana, one rumor of sin is all it takes to ignite the mob mentality.

Sarai Coulter is plagued by the Devil!

The girl has claimed to see things. Events yet to pass; things the righteous cannot access. A dutiful husband turned adulterer; honorable countrymen losing themselves to the bottle, breaking bones instead of bread; falseness plaguing the structures of the Church. The girl knows all that has come before her and what has yet to rejoice fruition. In the eyes of the fearful, Sarai Coulter danced with the Devil. She is unholy, a godless harlot, a sinner. She drank blood from a golden goblet slit from her own palm and tarnished the earth with an engraved pentagram. She carries the Book of the Damned and sacrifices to goat-headed idols. She is siren song through bloody lips, a lure into depravity. The harbinger of the Antichrist and the indoctrinator of The Blind Eye.

          Religion is full of lies. Sarai Coulter pleads innocent of all claims. In her heart of hearts, she seeks salvation and the comfort of her God. One slipped word is all it took, a fading cigarette in a bushel of dried foliage. But her testimony is overshadowed by an overzealous mob. The Court of Public Opinion is seconded only by the Church. The question remains: Who to believe? Can a sinner's plea be recognized?

ENTER: Father Pontius Byrd.

(Do you not know that wrongdoers will
not inherit the kingdom of God?)
1 Corinthians 6:9.

If Sarai Coulter cannot exhume the Devil, It shall be beaten from her.

     Repent! Child, Repent!

Crack! comes the swing of the cane. Each stinging welt does not exorcise the demons inside nor dispel her witchcraft. Those thrashes serve as a reminder of the cruelty man can possess. This is the foretold barbarity declared from Future's lips. Father Byrd whipped her raw in the name of God. Yet, the Lord's Prayer cannot sate her sin.

Then her vision begins to falter. Brown into a cobwebbed gray, pupils engulfed by white. Father Byrd is pleased. He says it was God's punishment for her sacrilege. A success, he said. She should be so lucky. On the altar, Sarai Coulter writhes in agony, sinking her fingertips underneath her eyes as the world ascends into darkness. Affixed to the cross, Jesus Christ gazes down at her. Together, They lay in their suffering with no reprieve.

(When I am afraid,
I put my trust in you)
Psalm 56:3.

Father Byrd asks for repentance.

          Religion is crafted by fear. Sarai Coulter begs for forgiveness on the altar. She knows naught the sins she committed nor why she is cursed to suffer, but her lips utter pleas in hopes of sanctuary. And so, she is hailed as the Church's greatest blessing. A child of the Devil, brought forth into the Lord's light. The Blind Eye falls into Past's embrace. All is well in Louisiana's sheltered towns.

Sarai Coulter has glimpsed Hell. As she convulsed upon the altar beneath her Savior, eyesight dissolving into static, Hell was all she experienced. A torment of painful fire and helplessness. There is nothing one can do, the priest had said. Above all else, she knows the Devil inhabits Father Pontius Byrd.

Justice is blind.

This is her salvation.

Sarai 'Sara' Coulter     𓃶     Olivia Cooke

" Coveted sin,
I rebuke thee! "

Ramón Sepúlveda     𓆣     Diego Calva

Laake Coulter     𓅻     Matthew McConaughey

Father Pontius Byrd     𓃵     Hamish Linklater

📍 Teddy's Corner ;

(literally me)

━━ after several long years, i'm officially back in my marvel era. feels like coming home after a terrible war. a very long time ago, i had an entire connected marvel trilogy. it was very convoluted, confusing, and messy as fuck. but i cannot allow my girls to rot under piles of dust, so im bringing them back! turns out i am still emotionally connected to them.
━━ THIS IS VERY RELIGIOUS HEAVY! i have experience with religion, i also live in the southern united states (close to the bible belt), so i have quite a bit of it. however, i recognize that religion is an incredibly personal topic. everyone's experience is different. i'm not aiming to offend, only to approach spirituality and trauma through the lens of my characters. this is a work of fiction and the topics discussed will be explored by my characters. this does not reflect my own personal beliefs! we're about to get philosophical and existential here so buckle up!
━━ because i'm a film freak, check out true detective and midnight mass! a lot of inspo from those two phenomenal shows.
━━ aforementioned, this is a part of a trilogy. i highly doubt they will all be published at the same time, but if so, you do not need to read them in any order. references will be very light.
━━ dedicated to my favs: sectxmsemmpra astrellore
          (especially to quicksilvrs for consistently hyping me up and being my motivator to continue pursuing my fics! check her out!)
━━ thank you all very kindly for coming on this journey with me. it's been a long, long time in the making. hopefully, it lives up to teenage me's expectations <3

© Teddy 2020-2024