The Ceremony

This is the continuation of the story "January 17th". The cult I grew up in got me pregnant that first time in 1996 on purpose, to sacrifice my unborn child. Several weeks after the abortion had been preformed in a clinic, this ceremony was conducted at a local church, a church I had before and have since attended and sung in many times. Please be kind in regards to spelling and grammatical errors. This was written by Lisa, one of my alters who was born on the night of abortion, in one shot, and I have not edited it at all.

Please read with caution. The following is graphic and true.



It's dark.

And I'm waiting..

The baby is gone, sputtered from my womb like diarrhea. They gave me ten minutes to clean my self up, redress and get back outside. Ten minutes wasn't enough.

Six weeks later and I'm waiting in white, somewhere in the bowels of the church. Fuck, I hate it here at night. It's so spooky. I can feel the darkness of this closet pressing in against me. Where were they now? The few who had noticed the cuts on my arms? How sick I was every morning? I know they couldn't know; I didn't even miss one day of school; it was forbidden. But still, they had bugged me with insipid questions when I was trying hard not to throw up right on them, the morning sickness was so bad, and now when I was stuck, where were they? Safe, that's where. Tears came again.

NO NO NO!! There was NO way I was doing it that way; not tonight.

I rehearsed my part over and over in my head to keep the tears at bay. As the air in the closet became stale and still, I had to fight crying even harder as I knew it would use up my air more quickly. If they came for me and found me passed out this time, there'd be real Hell to pay.

BONG!

The church bell rang once. I jumped in the pitch black and hit my head on something. God knows what else was in this closet with me. I just hoped it wasn't someBODY else.

CLANG. Two. I held my breath.

Silence. It would be tonight.

The door flung open and a Red Sir stood there. Shit! RED?! This was really going to happen tonight. I needed no command or hand to lead me, not that he would have touched me anyway and defiled himself in his holy relics. I stepped out, my face uncovered for once and relished the fresher air, though relief was fleeting to say the least. I held the lillies in front of me, like a wedding bouquet. My hair was pulled back; my dress was white. Blood shows up better on the white. I followed the Red, and as I stepped out, a barrage of Blacks folded in behind me, moving, as they always did, as one, like liquid, like something gelatinous. I was puzzled at this; no brothers ever patrolled me; I was obedient; there was much more than freedom from physical pain riding on it. Red's sparkly symbols reflected even the dim lights and hurt my eyes.

We passed the giant organ, looming like a monster in the darkness, seeming to breathe, to be almost alive. I shuddered, remembering times behind and underneath it. Pleading with it silently. You have seen this, You know where we are going. DO something. But it loomed large and soulless. Another enemy. Of the more common kind. Not the kind that hurt me. The kind that sat and watched.

The organ was, however, a landmark and now I knew where we were. Down the staircase and past the bathrooms, pitch flooding from under the doors. I am sweating now, passing those rooms. Remembering having to wash my mouth in the urinal. What my breasts sound like slapping against the cold wall.

Just

Keep

Walking

As we near the sanctuary, I realize the need for the black escort behind me. It is full. Every seat. Every pew. Black hooded figures sit straight and still among the candlelight. I can't tell if they are people or trash bags. Either way, I give up then and there. It is all of them. This is it. If I don't die on that alter tonight...

As we near the glass double doors, the Red on the chancel raises his arms and the chanting begins. Loud. Unusually loud. And it grows as the doors are thrown open before me. By the time I somehow get myself to the chancel they are yelling.

Then it gets unbearably fast.

Hands everywhere. Must be the Blacks; the Reds cannot touch me tonight (thank God) for I am unclean. My underwear are yanked to my knees, the white veil torn off of my head; I hear it rip. My dress is lifted to my stomach and I am flat on my back.


Lifted

Onto


The Altar


The Holy Place


To die


It is silent. I hadn't known they would all be here. This is not our group; not our small cult.


It hits me.

She is the sacrifice for them all. For the sect; for the larger cult.


I close my eyes. Have on last tremor rip through my body and know that the drugs have completely worn off. As usual. Their timing is impeccable.

I am completely terrified and aware now. Sweat is everywhere. It runs down my legs and between my breasts, which still ache and feel stretched. Calm down! I tell them. There is no baby to feed anymore. Don't you get it?


But I don't. Not tonight. Tonight she is back. I can hear them hollering at me in the car through the drug haze.

“You are still pregnant, you whore. You only thought you killed her in the clinic. You will really give her to us tonight. In our church.”


I feel the blackness coming, but awaken just enough to hear the last words as one of them not yet hooded yanks my hair.

“And you'd better scream like it's real.”


The silence continues. Time crawls again, my worst enemy. I hold the lillies on my chest and breath shallowly. I keep my eyes closed, not pinched, but peaceful. As instructed.

There are words bellowed out by the Red. I jump again but quickly compose myself. I will pay for that small movement. I am supposed to be dead.


The words continue, but I can't hear. The ringing in my ears has started. Then it turns to fizzing. Blackness even blacker than closed eyes fills my sight and I know I must stay conscious. Passing out is not an option tonight. I breath as slowly and deeply as I can without giving away my liveliness. It works. The strong smell of the lillies fill my senses. All of them. The fizziness fades and I can hear him. The Priest Red. Whom I have come to realize is my grandfather.

“In her death, we shall live!” A yell from the crowd.


“We shall gather her life force to our sigma. We will carry it with us. We will have obeyed and will be rewarded.” Another cheer. Then silence.

I feel them moving around me. My heart races and I fight passing out again. He is beside me, at my head.


“Open your eyes.”

I see the hooded faces around me, but only on three sides. The audience has to see this time. No holy circle. Presentation is more important tonight.


He leans down and gets his lips as close as he can without touching my left ear.

“Give her.”


My whole body shudders.

“Give her.”


Another tremor, not caused by drugs, but my body's feeble attempt to fight back and hold onto something that had been taken six weeks before. My uterus clamps down and spasms, looking for her, trying to hold her in. It hadn't worked against the saline. And it wouldn't work tonight.

The spasms continue as the men surrounding me start their groaning. Some cannot even resist touching themselves, they are so aroused at what is going on.


They grow stronger and are soon thrusting my hips upward and then back down so that my bare backside slaps the hard wood of the altar. Sound finally escapes my lips as the internal cramps build and my back becomes sore.

He raises his hand. The groaning and self pleasuring cease, but my gyrating takes a moment to still and finally even a Black hand on my abdomen. I lay panting and swallowing hard, trying to stop moaning with the pain.


“Take her.”

That one wasn't for me. The privileged Black moves toward me, syringe in hand.


“No!” I cannot help it. I know it is only cow's blood to squirt into my vagina and make it look like the abortion had happened here in front of all of them, but the last time a needle was plunged into me, I delivered my firstborn. Dead. And in pieces.

He chuckles and inserts in into me. I feel the oily blood going in and know it is time.


“Now. Now! NOW!” He raises his arms to the heavens and screams. Laughs that unnatural laugh. The blood begins to trickle back out.

The small groan I meant to give to placate them grows into a scream. Then another that doesn't seem to end. It doesn't seem to need breath behind it. It just goes and goes. My father shows himself to me by speaking. He holds me in a sitting position and snarls in my right ear, “Push, bitch.”


I give up. One more raspy breath in from the screaming and I push. Feel the blood coming out, pooling around my thighs. The men dip their fingers in it and smear it on my chest, my face, in my mouth.

The buzzing in my ears is back and I can't fight it this time. I scream her name and black out.

Bad week

gets worse. So I tried all afternoon to get a dr appt and finally found one that has an after hours clinic. They told me to show up at 5:30. I was waiting expectantly for this appt as I have been sick for 5 days now, and I am still coughing up junk, and my chest is on fire. Got to the clinic at 5:25. I was told I was at the wrong location. Ok, no big deal. Back out into the cold rainy weather I went to try to find the other office. Finally did, at 5:45, and find out the receptionist I talked to didn't save my appointment and they are booked. SIGH. So now I am out in the rain, got lost, (of course) and wound up on I45 at 6 pm headed the wrong way.

Fantastic.

Had to call Allen to Google my location and help me get home. He was in bed cuz now he has this grunge I have been battling.

He was able to get me home, so now we are both here hacking on each other. What a week. Now I will just have to see if I can make it into the office tomorrow, or try to get into another dr.

UGH.

Sick and Tired

Of being sick and tired. Been sick since last Thursday and am still feeling like crap. Now I just get to wait for 5:30 when I can go see the dr. I am so tired of sitting at home and am really getting stir crazy and cranky. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bourne movies and Memory Recovery

Watched the Bourne trilogy this weekend for the first time; way cool. But of course, like so many other movies, this one is full of triggers for me. Happily, triggers no longer cause agoraphobia or panic attacks, but rather are usually just the nudge a memory sitting on the edge of my consciousness needs to be remembered.

The first thing it made me think of is how recovering lost memories is portrayed in the movies. These producers must have talked to at least a few trauma survivors as the flashes of visual memories popping in and out is quite accurate. For me, this is not the most common way things come back to me. Seeing things is usually the last part of the process. More often, it is flashes of feelings. I can be anywhere and suddenly feel the need to run and hide, or suddenly feel hot or cold. I smell things as if they were right under my nose, but which are not. The first time I began to remember the night of the last post, it came in a pain in my right side so bad, I had to leave my class with another teacher and was on the phone to my doctor asking if she had any explanation or if I should go to the emergency room. After an exam and ultrasound which showed nothing, the pain didn't stop. Once I found Richard, he laughed and immediately told me there was nothing wrong with my ovaries or appendix. It was a body memory of the saline needle going in. The mind is powerful enough to control the body like this. Scary, huh?

After a memory presents itself this way, in body memory or flashback form, I usually get sound. This is worse for me than seeing what is happening. In fact, can't say anymore about that now.

Lastly, if at all, I begin to be able to see. A lot of what happened to me occurred in the dark, so many times, there is little to remember being seen. Also, when children are afraid, they have the tendency to cover or close their eyes.

Anyway, just thought it was cool. Plus, people often ask me what remembering it is like. While hard to explain fully, this is a pretty good start.

January 17th

It was Friday, January 17th, 1997. I was a freshman in high school, having just turned 15 on December 28th. I was waiting for my mother to pick me up from rehearsal (I had been cast in the school's yearly musical, this year, Damn Yankees). I sat at the entrance to the auditorium with a girl named Sarah who was working on the technical side of the show. We chatted as we both watched out the glass doors for our parents. I remember enjoying talking with her and wondering if I had a new friend in the drama department. We seemed very much alike.


Except for one little detail.


I was about 3 or 4 months pregnant.


It is my best guess, as the morning sickness had just begun to subside (although for me it was more like 24/7 sickness) and I was beginning to feel like I might actually live through the ordeal.

Life in the occult always set me apart from other girls my age, but the pregnancy had made me feel more isolated than ever. I would start showing soon (when you barely weigh 100 pounds, it happens fast) and had no idea what people were going to say. I still had received no instructions about what I was to say, although I had assured the Brothers that I could tell everyone I had slept with a boyfriend. They had said that might be possible, but I now know that those comments were made to stop the hysterics that had come when the word 'terminate' had been uttered. This time, even their threats and a few slaps across my face weren't enough to silence my tears and begging. Finally, His Highest, whom I now know was my grandfather had conceded that maybe people would believe that I had slipped up and gotten pregnant with a teen aged boy and not one of them, a man in his 30's-60's. I remember being grateful and obedient ever since.


Sarah and I discussed the rehearsals, drama, boyfriends and parents. I remember saying mine were divorced and I had to pack as soon as I got home because I was going over to my dad's. Just like every Friday night.



And then something went horribly wrong.




My father's car pulled into the circle drive in front of the auditorium and stopped.


I could see my sister in the back seat and him behind the wheel, both waiting for me to come out and get into the car. I knew instantly; it would end tonight.



The color must have drained from my face suddenly, as Sarah asked me what was wrong.


A million thoughts flashed through my mind in an instant. How stupid had I been to believe for a second that once they saw how much an abortion would kill me that they wouldn't do it? I had been weak to show them my desires; it was just ammo in their hands and I knew by now their cruelty knew no limits. He was taking me now.

And my little sister, only 10, was coming too.


"That's my father. He's not supposed to be here," I answered Sarah in a whisper.


"Well, don't go get in the car. Go hide or something."

For a brief second, it seemed so simple. What could he do if I ran now? I could hide in the bathroom. Or just go out another exit on the other side of the building. Run until I couldn't stand.


And then in the next second, it was clear that running was impossible. My sister sat in the backseat. She would pay for their plan falling through, or even being delayed. And they would find me eventually. And take my daughter from me. And punish my sister for my sin in front of me. And lastly, punish me. Or if they found me too late, she would be born and killed, ripped to shreds in front of me. Or drowned while I watched. No, I had to go. Had to let it happen.

Like lambs to the slaughter.


"No," I said, a little stronger. "It's ok. See you Monday."


I didn't look back. I got into the front seat where the bag Mom had packed for me sat. My sister didn't say hi. She had already been warned.


I saw the needle too, but I pretended not to. I turned my head to the right, acting like I was looking out of the window and answered my father's small talk until I felt the burn in my left arm. Then I closed my eyes and left.



I awoke exactly when they wanted me to. Once I was already on the table at the clinic, prepped and strapped down, but not before anything had started.

My father and one doctor were in the room. Dad surveyed me from the corner, the doctor in his sparkling white lab coat bustled about, making preparations. I had no idea how they were going to do this, just that when I left this room, I wouldn't be pregnant anymore.

I stared at the bright light above me until it got too bright, then looked at the door and blinked. Everything seemed dim after staring at it so long. This continued until the doctor looked at father and said simply, "OK."

Though there were straps across my legs and upper abdomen, father came and laid across my chest. A familiar position for the two of us to be in, but it always amazed me at how scary it is not to be able to breath. His only words of instruction to me were, "Stay awake."

I felt the hospital gown being lifted off of my stomach and was cold. Then fire entered my body through a tiny spot on my lower right abdomen, spreading like wildfire, causing me to scream. I couldn't help it. I had never known pain like this. And I had known pain. Being vaginally penetrated for the first time at age 7 hurts. But not like this.

To my amazement, there was no punishment for crying out, nor even any attempts to quiet me. I just screamed until my throat hurt while all of the saline went in. When finally it was over and father got up off of me, I thrashed against the restraints. The pin prick pain where the needle had been still hurt some, but the fire was even worse now, continuing to spread everywhere. I continued to fight and scream and gasp as the doctor disposed of the needle and washed his hands and father just looked at me. I began to wonder why screaming was allowed this time. My last scream stopped short as I realized... my sister was probably nearby. Listening. Being warned by hearing my punishment. I silenced myself and simply gagged on the screams that wanted to come out as the sedative worked its way out of my system, the saline kicked in and I began to understand the severity of my situation.

They had injected me. If they had made me swallow something, I could have thrown it back up. If they had beaten me, I could have made sure they got my head as well as my abdomen to make sure I died with my child. But there was nothing I could do now but lie and wait for her to die. Which is, of course, exactly why they had done it this way.

It didn't take long. I watched the clock on the wall. The first contraction took my breath away. The second made me find my voice again. On the third, the strap across my chest was released and now I had my hands free. I wondered at this as I felt myself being sat up. Father held me in a sitting position as the doctor released my legs and put them in the stirrups. He sat between them as the pain continued. I vomited on myself twice. The doctor looked up and nodded. I felt my daddy's breath on my ear as he whispered, "Push, bitch."

I understood now. I had to help. No lying there strapped down, a victim. I had to sit up, to participate. To help kill her.

I bit my lip as another contraction came. I wanted her. I knew she was there. I could feel her. I couldn't let her go.

"Push, whore. Kill her. You deserve to."

For the first time in my life, I told my father "No"

It only brought cruel laughter from the doctor. "Oh, she will."

"I won't!" I retorted, then gasped. Another contraction. My body wanted to obey him. Something needed to come out. I NEEDED to push. But I couldn't let her.

I felt as though hands were tearing at her, trying to pry her from me. I fought. I clenched. I tried.

And then, the hands won.

I felt her die. I felt her leave me, be torn from my womb. Once she let go, I pushed.

My only satisfaction from the whole ordeal was that the doctor wasn't prepared. He was soon splattered with our blood, mine and my daughter's. I pushed a few times, feeling my first child sputter from me. I began to cry as it finished. Father laid me back down, needing no restraints. I had never been more exhausted and empty. He joined the doctor between my legs and commented that there could be no complications, the bleeding had to stop now. I would be going back to my mother tomorrow and we couldn't risk a trip to the emergency room.

"Oh there won't be one," the stranger looked me in the eyes." If she continues to bleed, she'll be quiet about it and die in her sleep. It's what she deserves, killing her own child."

I moaned and closed my eyes. The doctor chuckled. I felt another sting on my arm. Pain killers. I had to be normal this evening.

As they kicked in and the doctor tended to me, roughly at that, I remember catching a glimpse of my father, with my head at an angle where he couldn't tell I was looking at him. He was scrutinizing me. I remember thinking that he looked sorry. But surely, I was wrong.

When the doctor left the room, father started to follow him, then stopped and turned to me.

"You can have 5 minutes." And he closed the door behind him.