There is no worse prison than a prison run by nuns. If you are thinking I am talking about yardstick nuns, you are wrong. Those are Past Nuns. These are Future Nuns.
Future Nuns have lasers.
The lasers won’t just rap your knuckles, they will burn through your fingers bones. The red-hot heat cauterizes while it slices, so there is no blood for the nuns to mop up. Nuns hate mopping; they told Jesus that, and he finally listened.
That’s the only way to explain it: The nuns’ sudden power. Jesus came back and he gave his juice to the ladies in black. The priests were surprised for sure. They thought they had an “in” with the guy, but they must’ve down something to get shoved off the good list.
The good list is very short. By my reckoning it looks like this:
No one has seen New Jesus but we think he is a scientist. That explains the lasers and the gas masks and Sister Agatha’s bionic arm that crushes the windpipes of the ungrateful.
If you think those metal fingers will play the organ for you come Sunday morning, you are still dreaming of Past Nuns. Wake up.
We have lost Sunday. We have lost the order of the days.
We think it might be Tuesday, but we have thought that for weeks.
Front page image by Anita Carril.
GHOST WRITER is a project by Tracy Danger Mumford. New sections are released every other Sunday. If you’d like to receive email alerts—and that’s all you’ll get, a short email—saying the new one’s up, sign up here: