A New Virgin Mary

Everything was ready for the ritual. The room was void of light, the windows locked closed and the curtains drawn. The carpet was blanketed in a layer of dust that had previously lived upon the various cabinet shelves and surfaces, now having been brushed off onto the creme coloured carpet but not vacuumed up. But dust was not the only thing that contaminated the scratchy old carpet for it had been stained with deep red liquid in the shape of a pentagram. The liquid let out a chemical odour, the smell of laundry detergent and bleach. But the underlying metallic scent was enough to show that it wasn’t completely artificial. 

The star shape on the ground had five points. On the left and right adjacent points, two poles were stuck into the ground, a fishing line connecting them. The metal poles were rusty and nimble, the fishing line loose and used. 

The door slammed open to allow a beam of dimmed yellow light to emerge from the corridor. A line of women stood at the threshold, the lady at the front examining the room, analysing every crook and cranny. Her sharp stern eyes were filled to the brim with authority. It contrasted with the nervous gazes of the various women behind her. 

All ten women all wore the same dress. The fabric was coloured in a bland beige, the rim brushing against the wooden floorboards of the corridor outside. Their waists were tied with a tight white lace ribbon which dwindled down to embroidered flowers upon the brown skirt. Their chests were bound with the same fabric, the cut high to hide any type of cleavage. Their hair was tied back in a low bun, any remaining baby hairs clipped to either side of their head to leave their faces untainted by distraction. Their hands were clothed with white silk gloves that stretched up just past their wrists, the brim sewed with a pretty lace. Their feet were clad in black shoes with thin black laces, the material polished and shiny. They wore white tights beneath their skirts but it went unseen due to the length of their dresses. 

The front woman inhaled sharply, her chest puffing out, her back straightening with it, before she stepped into the darkness. Nine women followed behind her, all of which being various different shapes and sizes. Each one of them held a lit match in their gentle fingers, resting between their index and thumb. The small flames flickered in the darkness. As the door shut behind the ninth lady, the only source of vision were the tiny matches. Every single woman in the flock raised the match to the bridges of the noses, as close to their eyes as possible so they could walk to their designated area with no obstacle. The only thing that could be seen in the black abyss were twelve pairs of piercing eyes, floating through the darkness. The only sound to be heard in the room was the hurrying footsteps of the many women walking to their posts. 

While the sound was minimal, the smell was suffocating. The circulating aroma of chemicals and blood was intoxicating, and the paired scent of the unclean ladies was enough to make a normal person gag.

In creepy synchronisation, the women lifted the matches from their faces and placed them against the ten gas lights sticking out of the brick wall. In a smooth flurry, the room erupted into a dim golden glow as light was shed from the lamps. The women waved away the remaining flames from their short matchsticks and dropped them onto the dirty carpet floor. They turned away from the lit lamps, and faced the centre of the room. Again, in creepy synchronisation, they took large steps towards the pentagram. They all stood at the circle line, five of them at the five points of the stairs, and the other five at the crooks of the star (at level with the corners, not standing upon them literally). 

The lady who was standing at the front of the line previously now stood at the top point of the star. She looked upon the other women who all looked at her patiently, awaiting interaction. The lady inhaled smoothly before breathing out, exhaling her pent up stress and worry. 

“Sisters.” She gathered everyone's attention even though everyone was already very attentive. “Are you ready?” 

“Yes, Sister.” The nine women all responded together, their voices mingling to a layered chant. 

“Good.” She nodded. She lifted her dress, and lowered to her knees. The Sisters followed suit. 

The women all knelt onto the disgusting carpet, their dresses spreading out across the creme colour. Their white tights were stained by the dirt and dust, but it seemed as though they did not care. They all clasped their hands together in a praying gesture. 

“Dear, Our Gracious Lord,” the leading lady began, her voice hushed and whispered. “We pray to you today on this blessed night to worship your holiness from above. You have graced our land and bodies, and we are here to express our boundless gratitude and thanks for your presence upon our beings.” There was a pause. All ten ladies inhaled loudly together, exhaling quietly. “Please, Our Gracious Lord, anoint our bodies with your godly presence.” The ladies all bent forward, pressing their foreheads against the grungy carpet. “We ask for you to grace our open ovens with your holy seed which will grant us with the epitome of your power. We are worthy, Our Gracious Lord.” 

“We are worthy, Our Gracious Lord.” The women all repeated, following the leading lady. 

“We are worthy, Our Gracious Lord.” The leading lady said singly, and again, the nine remaining ladies followed suit. “We ask for you to sanctify our souls with your posterity, purify our innards with your spirit. Bless our wombs with your children, Our Gracious Lord!” 

“Bless our wombs with your children, Our Gracious Lord!” The women all chanted together. 

The ten ladies lifted their foreheads from the ground and settled back to their knees. Some of their foreheads were smeared with the “artificial blood”, and some with dirt and dust. But no one paid any attention to the dirtied appearance, their focus was solely on the Lord and his divine powers.

“Please, Our Gracious Lord. We are worthy.” The leading lady mumbled. She unclasped her hands and placed her palm over her heart, laying the other hand atop of it. Everyone followed her actions with exact timing and precision - almost as if they were possessed. 

“We are worthy.” The women chanted, their voices breathy and panted. “We are worthy. We are worthy.” They repeated, over and over and over again. 

They continued to chant, their eyes closed and their minds open, for approximately two minutes and twenty-seven seconds. Once they were finished, they allowed themselves to relax, taking their hands off of their bound chests and opening their eyes to look upon their fellow sisters who did the very same thing. 

“Sisters.” The leading lady began. They all looked upon her. She wore a soft smile with a light gaze upon the carpet. She remained silent for a few seconds before she lifted her sights from the ground and looked at every single woman around her. “Are you ready for the test?” She questioned quietly, her volume so low that it was almost just a mouthed sentiment. 

“Yes, Sister.” They all nodded. 

Together, they stood up from their kneeled positions. Despite their tights being stained with grey and splotches of brown (and rarely red), no one paid attention. 

“Ready, Sisters?” The leading lady inquired again, her brow raised as she eyed the fellow members. 

“Yes, Sister.” They repeated again. 

“Then, please begin.” She smiled, even gesturing to express her command. 

“Yes, Sister.” 

All nine ladies bent over, grasped the fabric of their beige dresses and hoisted them upwards to reveal their smudged tights. Awkwardly, they tucked the thickly layered fabric into their bent elbows, holding it tightly so their hands were free. They took their thumbs and hooked them into the hem of their tights. In synchrony, they pulled their tights down to their ankles, and with their tights, came down their underwear too. With their garments pooled at their ankles, they were bare to the rest of the ladies. Peeking from their insides was a long white string - a tampon string. But no one felt any sort of embarrassment. It wasn’t the first time they had done such a ritual. 

They dropped their dresses to hide their naked bodies, but their tights remained on the ground at their ankles. 

“Let’s begin, shall we?” The leading lady smiled.

She stepped towards the closest girl to her left. They made eye-contact, and with no clarification or audible exchange, the woman singularly lifted her dress while the others stared at her. She was now the only one exposed. But again, no embarrassment was felt. The leading lady bent down ever so slightly, her eyes darting down to the lady’s parts. Her hand reached out to the unshaven genital, and invasively brushed against the vulva. For a short millisecond, the leading lady’s hand remained uncomfortably on the girl’s private parts before she tagged on the tampon string. The girl pulled a nauseated face as the tampon was pulled from her uterus, soaked in deep red blood. She let out a trembled exhale, relaxing her tight muscles and making eye contact with the woman who held the bloodied tampon in the air. 

“Not pregnant.” The leading lady stated loudly. 

She turned towards the fishing line and tied the tampon onto it with the string. 

With no further contemplation, the leading lady turned to the next girl with a smile. And the process continued. With every tampon yanked from the innocent ladies, more grimaces and cringes were pulled. Every time it was revealed the leading lady would say; “Not Pregnant.” No one objected, no one interrupted. The fishing line was beginning to be weighed down with the bloodied tampons. There were a few spots of blood on the carpet from those with heavy flows where the cheap products would not completely withhold the immense volume of blood, allowing it to leak and drip. 

The leading lady reached the last girl. They made eye-contact, and just like the last eight times, no conversation was made, she simply lifted the dress skirt and allowed the woman to do as she pleased. The leading lady reached towards the girl’s vagina, her fingertips brushing against the sensitive labia. The girl tensed, a shiver running up her spine as she held her breath at the uncomfortable touch. 

The leading lady tugged. The girl let out a quiet squeak at the removal, her stomach sucking in at the fast motion, her legs feeling wobbly in discomfort. The group gasped as the tampon was revealed. 

It was clean. The white cotton was unstained, damp with fluids - but not blood. 

The leading lady’s eyes widened as she looked upon the untainted tampon. Her lips parted in a shocked gape. Her hand clenched around the string weirdly tightly, the tampon shaking as a result of the grip. 

The girl’s eyes stared astonishingly at her tampon, her iris’ filled with shock and disbelief. She made eye-contact with the leading lady and immediately recoiled away from her subconsciously. She gulped largely, her hands letting go of her dress and shielding her nakedness from the staring eyes of her sisters. 

It was uncomfortably silent as they stared at the tampon. The girl’s breath became heavy and hoarse as panic began to arise within her. Anxiety clouded her judgement. Her eyes darted across her fellow sisters.

The leading lady’s eye twitched. “Pregnant.” She seethed through gritted teeth. She turned to tie the tampon onto the fishing line. She sucked in a tight breath, mumbling to herself. “Pregnant.”