THE LAST MONK .1.

THE LAST MONK

1.

When the door opened and he walked in I smiled a greeting at him because he was every bit as unusual as I expected.

Let me set the scene.

I was in my cell at the small and thankfully little known monastery where I have spent just about all of my life. I was probably born there, squealing and sobbing as a w***e gave birth to me and the monks looked on. Then I was brought up by the only three people I have ever known, the monks, educated by them, loved by them, punished by them if I subconsciously did something wrong, fed by them… everything by them. And now I am old. At least, the last thing they said before they climbed into their tomb was that I would soon be old, and here I am, old. It is a must be.

I have had plenty to do since they went away. The cell, my cell, needs to be kept clean and tidy and the rest of the monastery needs to be shut down. I’ve done that, locked doors that will never open again, made sure that windows can’t be opened from the outside because I just know there are devils out there ready to smash their way in if I let them. And in addition to all that I’ve had to feed myself, tend the gardens where our food (I say our, but I really mean my) food is grown, and done everything the entire monastery filled with monks used to do before the rest of them passed down the steps into our tomb.

Now, as you can tell, I’m on my own and waiting to go the same way, into the tomb which is connected by goodness-knows how many secret corridors to the centre of the Earth itself where we lie in state until the rebirth.

That will be an adventure! All the other monks (I say other because I suppose I’m one too, though nobody said I was) have gone to the tomb and the proof if ever proof were needed that their time in death is a wonderful adventure is that not one of them has returned. I’ve not even heard a sound from the tomb, no laughter, no sobbing if prayers have gone wrong, not even the flushing of a toilet from the depths of their death.

“Your Lord will come for you, Betty,” Celestial said to me, the last of my senior monks and loving protectors to step on the steps of their tomb before clanging the door shut behind him and leaving me in a terrifying sort of silence.

I think I just mentioned that my name is Betty That’s what my w***e mother called me befoore Celestial snatched me from her arms and slew her. That’s what he told me times many over the years since then. And August told me the same thing before he climbed down the steps, and I think I can remember Colonius saying it too, a long time ago, because it’s a long time since he climbed down away from life.

I don’t want to give any wrong impressions. I loved those monks and wept when they left me, especially when Celestial bade me goodbye, tears streaming down his face as his last words ‘I don’t want to die’ reminded me of August teling me he had so much to live for and was heart-broken to be going and even Colonius, smiling, and telling me to be a good youth.

But back to what I was saying about the door to my cell opening and my visitor, the only visitor I have ever known, walking in.

I don’t know exactly who I was expecting, but not this devil.

Did I mention hat I had been warned that I would be taken by a devil when my time came? It would have to be a devil because all the gods have long been dead, and that left only devils and if I treated them with courtesy they would look after me.

So the devil came in to take me as I was promised, but my first shock was there were two of them. Because of that I was filled with love and gratitude, for they were clearly of a vastly superior nature to me and the monks I had grown up with. And yet two of them saw fit to claim me for the Afterlife

For a start, they were serious. I have no idea what a female may be, but one of them was clearly so different that it must have been female, with a well-trimmed beard like I’ve seen in books in the library. And she (again let me reiterate, I’m sure it was a she) was wearing the smartest blue suit imaginable, a jacket with exactly matching trousers, and topped with an equally blue a helmet held in place by a strap that passed under her chin. The other, male like myself, wore a skirt not unlike my own, but shorter, having a hem level with his knee, and it was blue, exactly matching the woman’s suit.

If these were devils, then I wanted to know more of them.

“Madam, we have been ordered to take you to the station, for questioning,” said the woman, and I knew straight away that they were devils and that the questions would be the most important interrogation I would ever receive, for they would determine which destination was meant for me. There are the bright fields and the all-consuming flames waiting for us all, and questions need answering so we go to the right place. Of the two, I feared the all-onsuming flames, but the choice would not be mine.

“I’m coming in peace and love, your evilness,” I said.

Was that the right word, evilness? It didn’t sound right and the dour expression on the woman’s face indocated that she was not exactly happy. But I followed the two as they led the way out of my cell and towards the tomb, which is where I supposed I was going after the questions had been asked.

“What devils are there?” I gasped as I saw a group of women and some men in white overalls seeming to climb all over the sacred tomb. A door in it was open, the door of descent and the only door, and they were even passing inside it, and then, to add confusion to my mental disarray, climbing out of it as if it was a mere shed.

“Come with us madam,” said the woman, and that caused me to flush with anger.

“I am no madam!” I protested, “I am Betty, and I am a monk in the service of Satan!”

There it was. I had uttered my master’s name and my passing was decided with that two syllables. So, feeling the claws of destiny grabbing through my skull at my brain, I fell to the ground and scrabbled at its ancient crumbling stone slabs until my fingers bled, driven by a mixture of shame and confusion.

By then two white-coated devils picked me up and, my mind in a fog of uncertainty, laid me on a portable platform and carried me off to whatever fate awaited me. All I knew was I had been deceived and captured by enemies of my great master, and as soon as I could I should get away.

Or my fate would be torture for eternity, and I doubt I would be able to tolerate that.

END OF PART ONE

© Peter Rogerson. 05.08.23

...

Reviews

[emmajoygreen]

What an incredible find - a unique ( to me), piece of writing, a story within a story, evil versus past, its faith and goodness. An individual journeying from birth in the extraordinary into the now unknown. Your first chapter is finely written, descriptive and beckoning. sir. Now to the second chapter....

[Ruthies]

Hello Peter, just to let you know that I have re-joined writerscafe with a second e-mail, as I was not managing to get in under my old one, which is still in use....anyhow - am so glad I'm now able to read your stories again!! The Last Monk is something else - don't quite know what to expect - but it sure sounds interresting...happy to be here again !

[Peter Rogerson]

Thanks for joining me, Ruthie. And you know, on holiday in Austria a few weeks ago I couldn't get my stuff on Wrierscafe either.

[Ruthies]

I believe they had some issues, which seem to have been fixed!