The Last Reflexive

By: Col. Brunhilda 'Iceberg' Buriman, ret.

Sorority Sister of Pi Loda Cum

Chapter Eight: Faithinwhat

"As promised, Harriette," Father Costanzo replied, stepping out from behind a curtain with what appeared to be a small leather billfold tucked under one arm. He was wiping his hands with a wet rag, attempting to free his hands of what looked like chocolate. "Please do come in, and shut the door. Don't want any more pests bothering us, if you know what I mean," he said with a wink, smiling once again at her appearance. Harriette shut the door as the priest opened the door of a small refrigerator. "Beer? From the monastery," he asked reaching for one. He looked over his shoulder at her.

"Most certainly! But maybe we should split one, ha, ha," Harriette joked, placing the forty-five on the table."

"A sturdy Irish lass needs a good stout beer once in a while!"

"Okay, I'm ready for one of those bad boys," Harriette said, taking a deep breath. She stood pressing her thighs together, awaiting for an order, embarrassed as never before, amazed at how wet she'd gotten from a single orgasm, and how she now wished she'd worn panties and tights with a crotch. Harriette grabbed a piece of cloth from a nearby table and jammed the material up between her legs, pressing it to her pussy quickly, before the Father's gaze returned.

"Pests..." Father Costanzo said quietly. Harriette knew the 'pests' he referred to, gossips with ears everywhere. But more importantly, the pest he was most concerned with was the Beast. He's often warned her she'd soon find the electronic eyes and ears of the Beast going up everywhere. The Beast will arrive as a psychological savior state, there to fill a void caused by collective one-sidedness, barbarism. Soon entire cities will be turned into giant prison courtyards, complete with electronic watchtowers, in the name of security. Eventually freedom to speak, and even think will be challenged by the very persons forbidden by the highest law of the land to make the challenge, in the name of national security. Father Costanzo handed Harriette a beer, then placed a towel on the seat of the chair for her to sit upon. He then seated himself in a chair whose back was to the door, Harriette put the bottle to her lips and picking her head up and back, chugged almost the entire contents.

"Ahhhhhhhhh, a mighty fine brew," she said after swallowing. Then she released one long loud belch she made to sound like Father Costanzo's name. The Father was disgusted but happy sister Catherine wasn't here to join Harriette, as they sometimes got together on Sunday mornings and ruined a mass. Together they can empty a theater.

"Harriette, sit, sit! Don't get your panties in a knot. This day seems to have been a rather wet and wild one for you, in more ways than one, but I've some difficult issues to confront you with." Harriette wished she had worn panties, and wondered how difficult sucking the juices from her tights would be for Sven. She hated sending anything to the cleaner's dirty.

"Think I'll just stand Padre, thanks," Harriette replied gulping down the rest of her beer, once again belching out the Father's name. "Damn, I'm getting good at that," she said smugly, with a shake of her head, while lighting a cigarette. She was still having some difficulty adapting to the sticky tights which now clung to her in a rather uncomfortable way. It felt as if she'd coated her thighs with Elmer's glue and it was slowly drying. She sought relief by spreading her legs a bit wider, yet not wide enough to release the cloth. "Think better on my feet," she went on, her discomfort evident to Father Costanzo. "Standing keeps the mind working, you know." she said, wishing Sven was with her now, he was superb at sucking juices out of her clothing before they dried, and he so enjoyed doing so. She debated whether or not to excuse herself in order to slip out of her damp tights, but didn't think it would do much good, and besides, Sven preferred cleaning them while she wore them.

"As you wish, daughter, as you wish," Father Costanzo finally said, smiling at her discomfort. "But no more beer for you," he said, sweeping her wetness aside. Then he got down to brass tacks. "I want to start by letting you know your father... mmmm. Was a secret agent."

"He wha- ," she choked, almost allowing the cloths to slip from between her thighs. She pushed the stickiness from her mind.

"I'm serious. And here's something else. That man, Dude, the one you just met with, whatever he told you is truth. Believe him." Harriette opened her mouth to speak, letting the cloths fall from between her legs, landing on the floor. Harriette bent to pick it up, and Father Costanzo paid it no mind, except to smile knowingly. She placed the fabric in her pocket to bring Sven; he so loved little treats.

"Say nothing yet," Father Costanzo blurted. "Just listen. We'll have question and answer period later. There's much you need to hear. This may sound strange, but..." he began, handing her the small pouch he'd been holding tucking under his arm. "...Take this... ah, thing, and put it in your pocket. When you have time, try and figure out what it is." Harriette stared at the item for a while, turning it before her eyes before slipping it into the pocket of her jacket, a quizzical look on her face. The priest continued.

"Here's the story that goes with it, as it was told to me. See what you think of it. First, you must find a painting of the rose window, an exact rendition of the one found engraved on the corner of the, uh, folio I gave you. There you should find a scrap of papyrus pressed to the canvas and painted over. Inscribed on that scrap is the location of a key, the key needed to open that folio I've just given you." Harriette patted her pocket. "In there," he said pointing to where Harriette had placed the folder, "is the recorded location of The Ark." Harriette looked at him and cocked her head in disbelief.

"Dad, a secret agent? Like in the movies?"

"Yes, but not like in the movies, of course."

"An ark, the Ark?"

"Yes, daughter. The Ark."

"Uh, look, Padre..."

"Harriette, for Christ's sake! Lines are being drawn in the collective human psyche! And with people unable to recognize evil, the more dangerous the collective unconscious becomes, the more prone to mass hysteria and psychosis the people become. From the collective unconscious will emerge the mother of all psychosis, and its psychological manifestation will be that of the Beast, with all its eyes and ears already in place among the unsuspecting masses."

"Father," Harriette replied with a questioned look, not meaning to offend a man she dearly loved. She reached for his hand.

"That's okay, dear, it's just that, it's getting late..." He smiled at her with growing excitement.

"It's getting what?"

"Out there, out there," he said waving as if to a crowd. "The psychologies of intolerance permeating society today are making the minds of the people go numb, to surrender consciousness for stupor. Between over-taxation, and regulation, our children dumbed down in our schools, entire families addicted to pharmaceuticals, television, sports, and all sorts of new opiates, guaranteed to keep people numb, their minds off the essential principles. Those very ideas that make a nation truly great, like individual Rights and Liberties, and acceptance of difference, of opposites. These are the cornerstones of a well-balanced and prosperous people, one culturally sound in both its history and future. When the Nazi's occupied our village in Italy, those were the first things they destroyed and corrupted, just like certain members of the Democrat and Republican Parties are doing today, and today's citizens are just as ignorant as we were then. In the old days the Nazi occupation stationed armed soldiers at every corner watching everything we did. They would stop us on the street at will and without reason, and often enter our homes like bands of mad wolves, wrecking and destroying property, searching through our personal belongings for no legitimate reason, degrading and humiliating innocent people, fishing for some reason to arrest and execute some poor soul, sometimes simply because the person had something in their possession a Nazi wished to confiscate. Today they use the growing war on drugs, and other lies as an excuse. And as a truly great monster once said: the efficiency of a truly national leader consists primarily in preventing the division of the attention of the people, and always concentrating it on a single enemy. So they gave us blacks, then Mexicans, Puerto Ricans, witches, and now drug users. The intolerant never run out of victims, though I wish they'd run out of followers." The priest became sullen whenever he thought of his home town, and how the monster that destroyed it was now coming for him, to lead the Democrat and Republican Parties into darkness, but he went on.

"I won't re-tell the old story of the first school day, when the state challenged the church in front of the children with producing an apple for each child. You've heard it before. At one time it was told to the children in our schools, lest they forget, but it was discarded along with the Pledge of Allegiance, and forget these things they have. Our acceptance of intolerance demonstrates how easy it is for a child of errant parents to be taken-in by a bit of glimmer without realizing its deadly snag, until too late."

"In my town they turned our school into an indoctrination center, run by loud mouthed, mean-spirited school marms, quick tempered and quick with the cane. Sturdy Aryan women with long black hair kept piled atop their heads in a stern coif, their bright blue eyes glowing against the tight fitting well-starched grey blouses they kept buttoned to the collar, with matching skirts. Armed soldiers stood in the halls and rooms, watching over every child, intimidating them, denying them every shred of decency, or privacy, preparing them for Hitler's New World Order, of being watched always, living in fear of saying anything wrong, for our own safety of course. As children we were told to obey the state and not our parents. We were instructed to tell a teacher whenever a parent disciplined us, or threatened to punish us. We were taught our parents were no longer permitted to discipline, and such parents were taken to areas for re-programming, for the good of the state."

"School discipline was swift and severe, and at first it was not unusual to see a fellow student pinned to the ground with a couple armed monsters kneeling on her neck after something important, like a wad of chewing gum, or note from a fellow student. Heavily armed goon squads would raid the school occasionally, to frighten and intimidate students, preparing them for their future, and I'm sure you will see that tactic re-emerge in this Country soon. The sight tapered off as the children learned to stay obedient and stop thinking for themselves. Ordinary childhood behavior became criminal, a danger to the state, or more to the point, a danger to the validity of the male principle then over-running Europe, as manifested through the far reaching influence of its human personification, Adolph Hitler. Make no mistake, Mother Russia was accomplishing the same thing. She is very much a nanny state which promises its citizens everything, provides little, and takes most."

"Father, I think I'm beginning to see what you mean. I notice cameras going up everywhere. And I heard certain members of Washington already spy on the citizens, collecting data to use later, after they successfully get the Constitution suspended. Is this what you mean?"

"Soon our people will find themselves under twenty-four hour surveillance, their conversations no longer secure, their correspondence no longer safe, and they will be lulled into another false sense of security, another generation lost in a stupor of TV programs praising the concepts of a police state. And it's time you learned the truth. About everything," the priest said with a belch of his own. Together they laughed.