By
Lisabet Sarai
“Better
shovel faster, Sister. Lucifer’s stallions will return any minute.”
Sister
Mary Alexander surveyed the manure still clogging the stables.
Minions had removed twenty wheelbarrows, without making a dent in the
horseshit surrounding her.
A
lock of hair escaped from her wimple. She couldn’t do anything.
They allowed her neither gloves nor boots. Filth smeared her hands.
Stinking brown excrement stained her white habit. Muck saturated her
hem. The horrid stuff leaked into her sensible shoes.
“Cleanliness
is next to godliness,” she’d scold, examining students’ grimy
fingernails before applying her ruler to their palms with righteous
glee. How many mouths had she washed out with soap?
Her
back ached, though they’d returned the lithe body of her youth. She
paused to rest. So futile!
“You
know how to make it stop.” Aside from the horns and tail, the demon
reminded her of that cheeky senior Mick O’Riley. Always undressing
her with his pale eyes.
“I
won’t break my vows.”
“You’re
in hell already, sweetcakes.” He cocked a pointed ear. “Hoof
beats!”
“Oh,
no!” Tears gathered. “Again!”
“On
your hands and knees, Sister.” Flipping her habit, he spread
her butt cheeks.
“Not—there!
Please...”
“Has
to be really dirty for you, baby!”
