Love, Nuns and Tanks
This story was written in response to this post: http://theoatmeal.com/comics/facebook_likes. Thanks for the wonderful prompt!
In following with one of the prompts for how to get more likes, this is indeed a love story involving cage-fighting nuns and tanks. It is up to you to decide whether it is epic or not.
Old Habits Die Hard
It had been a difficult time for Sister Maria Lorenza of the Church of Our Mother of Eternal Piety. The calluses on her left hand were starting to wear down. Her right hook was still a sight to behold, but she wanted to stay balanced. She had splintered a knuckle in her left hand the other month, after she cracked it against a Benedictine’s jaw, and she had not had a proper opportunity to let it heal. So she just ended up babying that hand, and now her calluses were almost gone. Her competitors would start to notice soon, and then she would be beating back a bunch of angry mother superiors from raining blows onto her weak hand. That was just the way life went in the cages.
The Nun Harvests had started five years ago, and the only survivors were the ones who had made it through every single one of their fights. Not won, but made it through. There was no real victory here, just another night in the cells and another day of protein shakes and weight training.
They called us the Brides of Christ, Sister Maria thought, but in truth we’re just his bitches.
The only bit of light she had found in this hell of monastic beat-downs was her friendship with Cho, a Buddhist nun that had been thrown into her cell the first night after the mass captures.
Maria had never expected a pacifist to make it this far, but Cho’s lessons in the art of the dodge had helped Maria out of more than one tight spot. At night, she and Cho would hold whispered conversations for hours, reflecting on their lives in their old convents, and quietly dreading the next day’s return to the cages. Maria would watch Cho shave her head with a jail-house shiv, and question what her vows really meant in this place. Cho would lay a light kiss against her bruised knuckles, and Maria would know, in the depths of her soul, what it meant to be tempted.
But Cho was nowhere to be found today. She had disappeared sometime before the first mess, and the guards were trying to hide their worry. Eyes so attuned to troublesome schoolchildren had no problem spotting when a bunch of thugs got the shakes.
Maria wrapped her left hand especially tight, as she eyed up her next competitor. A Carmelite, which was a bit surprising: most of them had gotten taken out over the years. But this one had a glint in her eyes that explained her survival. The spectators started their shouting and jeering. It sure was a sign of the times that seeing little old ladies beat each other to a pulp was the can’t-miss entertainment.
The bell rang and they jumped into position, darting and weaving, measuring each other up. The matches didn’t get good until a few minutes in, and then tended to end quickly. Too many sisters had glass jaws underneath their habits.
Maria swooped in for a rabbit punch to the gut, and the crowd whooped in anticipation. The Carmelite jumped back in time and Maria had to roll under to protect her head. She was back on her feet in an instant, to the excitement of the crowing on-lookers.
But the ruckus of the beer-swilling audience was not the only sound filling the arena.
The side wall collapsed with a deafening crunch; brick and mortar filled the air. The huge barrel pounded through the side of the cage; Maria and the Carmelite just managed to duck. A heavy metal screech cut through the growing pandemonium as the top hatch of the tank opened. Maria watched as a saffron-clad goddess clambered out of the opening and met her eyes.
“Come out of the monastery, Sister,” said Cho.
Maria climbed the barrel of the tank to reach her. Their hands clasped one another’s; this little bit of contact all they could bear. It filled Maria more than a thousand communions.
“Come out of the monastery, Sister,” Cho repeated. “Your faith is needed outside these walls.”
In following with one of the prompts for how to get more likes, this is indeed a love story involving cage-fighting nuns and tanks. It is up to you to decide whether it is epic or not.
Old Habits Die Hard
It had been a difficult time for Sister Maria Lorenza of the Church of Our Mother of Eternal Piety. The calluses on her left hand were starting to wear down. Her right hook was still a sight to behold, but she wanted to stay balanced. She had splintered a knuckle in her left hand the other month, after she cracked it against a Benedictine’s jaw, and she had not had a proper opportunity to let it heal. So she just ended up babying that hand, and now her calluses were almost gone. Her competitors would start to notice soon, and then she would be beating back a bunch of angry mother superiors from raining blows onto her weak hand. That was just the way life went in the cages.
The Nun Harvests had started five years ago, and the only survivors were the ones who had made it through every single one of their fights. Not won, but made it through. There was no real victory here, just another night in the cells and another day of protein shakes and weight training.
They called us the Brides of Christ, Sister Maria thought, but in truth we’re just his bitches.
The only bit of light she had found in this hell of monastic beat-downs was her friendship with Cho, a Buddhist nun that had been thrown into her cell the first night after the mass captures.
Maria had never expected a pacifist to make it this far, but Cho’s lessons in the art of the dodge had helped Maria out of more than one tight spot. At night, she and Cho would hold whispered conversations for hours, reflecting on their lives in their old convents, and quietly dreading the next day’s return to the cages. Maria would watch Cho shave her head with a jail-house shiv, and question what her vows really meant in this place. Cho would lay a light kiss against her bruised knuckles, and Maria would know, in the depths of her soul, what it meant to be tempted.
But Cho was nowhere to be found today. She had disappeared sometime before the first mess, and the guards were trying to hide their worry. Eyes so attuned to troublesome schoolchildren had no problem spotting when a bunch of thugs got the shakes.
Maria wrapped her left hand especially tight, as she eyed up her next competitor. A Carmelite, which was a bit surprising: most of them had gotten taken out over the years. But this one had a glint in her eyes that explained her survival. The spectators started their shouting and jeering. It sure was a sign of the times that seeing little old ladies beat each other to a pulp was the can’t-miss entertainment.
The bell rang and they jumped into position, darting and weaving, measuring each other up. The matches didn’t get good until a few minutes in, and then tended to end quickly. Too many sisters had glass jaws underneath their habits.
Maria swooped in for a rabbit punch to the gut, and the crowd whooped in anticipation. The Carmelite jumped back in time and Maria had to roll under to protect her head. She was back on her feet in an instant, to the excitement of the crowing on-lookers.
But the ruckus of the beer-swilling audience was not the only sound filling the arena.
The side wall collapsed with a deafening crunch; brick and mortar filled the air. The huge barrel pounded through the side of the cage; Maria and the Carmelite just managed to duck. A heavy metal screech cut through the growing pandemonium as the top hatch of the tank opened. Maria watched as a saffron-clad goddess clambered out of the opening and met her eyes.
“Come out of the monastery, Sister,” said Cho.
Maria climbed the barrel of the tank to reach her. Their hands clasped one another’s; this little bit of contact all they could bear. It filled Maria more than a thousand communions.
“Come out of the monastery, Sister,” Cho repeated. “Your faith is needed outside these walls.”