Oracion A La Santa Cruz Novels & Stories

She holds it in both hands, praying softly. "Receive this cross, my child. Bear it with love. Let it remind you that you now walk the road to Calvary with Him My hands are shaky as I reach for it. The cap of the dildo presses into my thighs and sticks right at the entrance of my pussy… daring me to defile my worldly service for the convent.

Just the smell of ozone and unfinished responsibility lingering in the air. Selena stood there alone, blinking at the decaying altar while water from the storm began trickling across the stone floor like it was staging a coup. Her eye twitched. Her soul twitched. Her lower back twitched because she’d landed like a sack of wet laundry. God knew she tried. She recited every spell she vaguely remembered from internet rabbit holes. “Abracadabra,” “Leviosa”—not “Leviosar,” she corrected herself mid-prayer—and even, in desperation, “Escucha las palabras de las brujas, los secretos escondidos en la noche...” while raising her hands like she was in a soap opera for witches.

the old woman started chanting, her voice trembling with emotion. Damian didn't know what she was saying at first, but then he remembered what one of the native girls had told him and his friends. Life, blood, and moon. he recalled. She was praying to their gods, the moon god. Then it struck him- she was sacrificing herself to the gods! She continued with her chants, but then she started adding some strange words to it that Damian couldn't understand. “Vida, Sangre, Luna. Te maldigo por la eternidad. Caminar por la tierra. Solo en la cara de la luna. Sin saber nada más que sangre.”

"Enter, amor." She did with a thank you, her eyes falling on the Virgin Mary statue placed in the center of the room. Usually, she never took religion seriously, but she knew she couldn't avoid this ritual. Abuela went first, walking to the fireplace and going on her knees bent in prayer before Alex joined her, head bowed down as she said, "Dear Virgin Mary, I ask that you keep putting my family under your loving arms as you have done for years. I pray that you see our hearts desire, and grant it for all of us."

His Guards actually crossed themselves, muttering about how could such an angelic looking child be so cold-blooded. ‘Santa Maria, Madre di Dio, prega per noi peccatori, ora e nell'ora della nostra morte. Amen’ [Holy Mary, Mother of God, Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen] They prayed fervently, brought up in Catholic homes they were deeply superstitious and this beautiful, tiny, angelic looking child freaked them out. ‘Come poteva essere così calma?’ [How could she be so calm?]

“God, the Son, Redeemer of the world.” “Have mercy on us.” “God, the Holy Spirit.” “Have mercy on us.” “Holy Trinity, one God.” “Have mercy on us.” “Holy Mary, pray for us,” Father Kilroy begins the rambling list. After each invocation, the others chant, "Pray for us." “Holy Mother of God—.” “Pray for us.” “Holy Virgin of virgins—.” “Pray for us.” “St. Michael—.”

A soothing balm for her anger. And at the pulpit, toward the front, another stranger, a skinny young man with hair the color of orange flame and hands paler than her whitest whites, fiddled with something or other—papers, probably—his back to her. Behind him, on the wall above, a life-sized Christ hung on a crucifix. She closed her eyes. Pushed the image of Him away with a whispered . . . “Heavenly Father, allow Your Son Jesus to come now with the Holy Spirit, the Blessed Virgin Mary, the holy angels and the saints—”

Myra continued forward despite the torments. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas. Omnis incursio infernalis adversii omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo, draco maledicte, ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire. Te rogamus. Audi nos.” Suddenly, Myra bent over to pick up the fruit knife that she dropped earlier. Pastor Angelo continued to chant as loud and as fast as he could.

Determination. "I know your mami is watching over you from heaven," she said. "And so on her behalf, I want to give you a blessing before you walk down the aisle." She made the sign of the cross over me, her touch light but full of purpose. "Dios te bendiga, mi cielo," she whispered, pressing a kiss to my cheek, her pride shining through. "You look so beautiful." The lump in my throat returned, rising with heat. But this time, it wasn’t pain, it was love.

In her eyes, Alejandro's counsel was unwarranted interference, and she defiantly asserted her entitlement to navigate the labyrinth of her life guided solely by her own volition. As the reverend's sermon echoed through the sacred space, Marisa, in quiet supplication, began a silent plea. "Dear God, though I'm not a frequent visitor to Your house, I come today with a painful request," she whispered. A pause lingered before she resumed, "There's a devil haunting me since I spent a night with him, and I ask for your intervention. I don't want to see him again; please, remove him from my life. Take his life..." Suddenly, a thunderous "BANG!" shattered the solemnity as the church doors swung open