eighteenth prayer. [Accidental video]
[A hand falls on the tablet, turning it on accidentally. All that can be made out is the hem of a jacket and suit pants backing away quickly, perhaps the fluttering of a black tie.
From what?
A pair of black, diseased smoker's lungs are floating about, swiftly moving in the direction of whoever flipped on the feed and making the sounds of heavy breathing. It's not a pleasant sound, like listening to someone on oxygen because they smoked all their life and can't breathe without it.]
Jesus fuck!
[Though with no mouth to speak of, a rasping, pained voice escapes the lungs, rattling as they move out with each shoddy breath.]
Look what you've done to us, John. The devil himself cleaned us and made us like new, and here you are, cigarettes hiding away in your duffel bag.
I'm quitting! The fuck do you want me to do, go cold turkey?
No, John. It is too late. Already, the tar and smoke has seeped in, blackening us from the inside...now, John, you will feel what it is like to suffocate.
[Without hesitation, the lungs seem to fly, and the tablet's knocked to reveal them gripping the exorcist's neck tightly. He struggles, one hand trying to remove them as he suffocates, another moving to the inside of his jacket.
He manages to pull out something that looks like an old key, which he immediately begins to stab what were probably his old lungs. Black liquid spurts from every spot he stabs, and with a dying breath, nothing short of a demon's laugh escapes them as they crumple up and shrivel even more.
Pushing them to the side, covered in tar, John sits up, grabbing a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping at his oily, black face.]
Jesus fuck, Lu, really? [And then, he spots the tablet.] Fuck me swinging.
[A shaking, black hand reaches out hastily, smacking the feed off as he begins to cough.]