Canis Lupus Lupus: *** Is a Sin
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There’s a wolf amongst the congregation, wearing sheep’s laments. The wolf creeps through the sheep and she is dressed in mourning colors. They all sit about grieving, and she too sits grieving, her tears as fake as her innocence. As she looks at the perpetually sleeping man at the front, her mouth twitches through the imitation tears. The sheep do not know, they don’t understand. She walks to the front and lays a hand on the marble being within. There’s nothing wrong with just a taste of what you toiled for. She wants to tell them, but if she does, then she would be a wolf no longer. She returns to her seat, and once more melds into the sheep. A silent lamb creeps to the front of the audience, and suddenly the pulpit is a witness box. The wolf is caught and trapped in her act, and the sheep shall know. The words echo through the wailing and lamenting, and the sounds are caught and smothered as an intake of breath is sounded simultaneously. They, the sheep, turn on her, the wolf, and she is caught in her precarious act. They advance, an unstoppable army, and she finds her back pressed to the wall, looking for an escape from this play. She suddenly finds that she cares about making sure that she is not the one lying in the box, on display at the front for observation. She is caught, she is trapped, there is strength in numbers. The people sense something, an emotion titled desperation. Predator transforms to prey.
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The entire congregation is made up of sheep turned wolves, and the wooden coffin holds the remains of another so similar to them. There are no laments, or tears. The spectators are clad in grim satisfaction. The preacher doesn’t speak; he’s a wolf, identical to the rest of them. They all are sitting under the roof that has a steeple above, but none of them think of the pious mark. She got what was coming to her. She should have known better. She has finally paid for her sins.
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A ghost is laughing above the room. She got her revenge. She made all of them just like her. The wolves gathered below, all do not realize that in their woe, they became just what they despised. Murder is a sin.
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The entire congregation is made up of sheep turned wolves, and the wooden coffin holds the remains of another so similar to them. There are no laments, or tears. The spectators are clad in grim satisfaction. The preacher doesn’t speak; he’s a wolf, identical to the rest of them. They all are sitting under the roof that has a steeple above, but none of them think of the pious mark. She got what was coming to her. She should have known better. She has finally paid for her sins.
.
A ghost is laughing above the room. She got her revenge. She made all of them just like her. The wolves gathered below, all do not realize that in their woe, they became just what they despised. Murder is a sin.