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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: dreamscape

Anglican preachers having come to spread holy word, forced to kill gangsters.

‘Disparar.’ A woman familiar with the region had instructed this much. Enabled by guns in hands of her makeshift army. The flowing of red was at hand. Moments to be bodies would be motionless or suffering. The ‘desperadoes’ were in range. The woman in question in their plain view. Not less than two guns are pointed her way, a portion of their arsenal, fingers clasped triggers. The first muzzle erupts, how could one of their number fall first?

Joined by more from the same direction, unfortunately for the group of desperadoes, not from their lot. After over ten seconds and rounds tearing into or flying near them, did the wits to return fire dawn. 

She'd convinced a group of Anglican travelling preachers stand and fight.

‘Disparar, disparar!’ she urges.

The crescendo of gunfire went on, a round pierced flesh, body it belongs too writhes in agony. The men fire at the source and do see their tormentors. The mad lead of death abates in barely three quarters of a minute. Time it took for several bodies to collapse. But silence doesn’t lift the vale. Painful groans from the wounded carry in the air.

An Anglican ‘soldier’ overwhelmed, drops their gun.

Her ‘army’ had prevailed over men who had little qualm dripping blood from their maws. Furnished by the woman’s improvised plan to present her personage as bait allowing them to spot her and draw attention, compounded by the men’s formation that let bullets reach from the side. Militarily the enfilade tactic. Again improvised.

Chance the biggest factor aside from a will to live.

The field of carnage lay bare. A few ‘troopers’ have the stomach to walk up close, one among them even makes the sign of the cross over a body.

So what went through consciences having taken lives? The preachers’ reactions are not as one - shock, surprise, disbelief, disgust.

The woman herself incredibly it can be safely said spilled not a drop, she herself unarmed. 

The story transpired when they were convinced these drug dealing foot soldiers were out to get them, feeding that ilk on word of the gospel wouldn’t avert their cutlasses nor bullets. There existed a dichotomy no matter how unjustified these messengers of the Lord had originally come South America to spread the holy word. 

The realization of dipping their hands, the same they clutched the bible with, in blood, a stain that won’t be soon cleansed. This not unnoticed, the woman is accused of pulling a trick by one, another holds her culpable for placing the people near guns. She reiterates preservation of their lives, 'History will absolve me, señor.’ A particular Cuban spoke near exact. 

‘Learned nothing that plomo o plata isn’t all to life!’ Churning inside that somebody had to die so that they may live.

Answer not from her mouth, but from observation by one traveler – life and death go hand in hand in these times.


Submitted: January 23, 2019

© Copyright 2021 dreamscriber. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



And isn't that the truth! You certainly have a way with words, dreamscriber, that paints a very vivid picture.

Thu, January 24th, 2019 9:18pm


Thank you. Presents a real conflict of beliefs, trying to do good isn't going to wipe away sad reality all times.

Thu, January 24th, 2019 1:44pm

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