A young priest walking by himself
said silent prayers inside his twisted
head. He wished that he was dead
so he could know if all that faith
was ever worth it.
She was perfect aside from clearly being
wounded on the roadside.
There was moonlight in the mixup of her hair.
He didn’t care that they were strangers
he was sure he had to see
if she was okay or in need of some repair.
He knelt beside her on the damp street
on that cloudy night where only she
was bright. He tried to wake her up
and clearly saw her bleeding
from her neck, but not a lot
like she was dying, but started crying
while he covered up the bite.
He called an ambulance and as the sirens
closed in on them waiting there.
She woke up and saw him holding back the blood.
He asked her if she felt alright
and the only thing that she could say
was that he looked like him,
and wasn’t far away.
The medics took her out of there
and he watched them drive
the same way they arrived.
He heard some footsteps from behind him
and turned back to see the bishop
of the parish looking over
things like they were now concluded.
They didn’t speak but the old approached
the new like there was something
secret getting in the way.
It overwhelmed him just the thought of it.
The young priest knew the devil
had enough tools in his arsenal
for almost everything,
the cross was never clean,
but needed every nail.
He didn’t fail in taking care of it
he dumped them in a proper pit,
the bishop and the girl,
without a problem.
And now the priest is up all night
turning on and off the lights
afraid there could be more of them,
or that he could be one too
waiting to change.