Mother Mary appeared to him in a dream.
She said, ‘Restituto, I want you to fight for women’s reproductive health.”
The mother of our Lord’s clothes were shimmering, like the material was made of some sort of bright colored metal. Her expression wasn’t the usual kindly one depicted in countless paintings and statuettes, but more of what they call a ‘resting bitch face.’ She looked beautiful and grace-filled nonetheless.
“But Padre Herminigildo said in that seminar that the RH Bill is evil, that …”
“It’s not evil.”
“He said that it’s a way for the New World Order to impose population control on the struggling Third World.”
“Padre Herminigildo studied this, and read all the books. He not only consulted religious books but scientific and economic books as well.”
“Also, God said in Genesis -”
“Shut the fuck up Restituto.” The Lord’s mom’s eyes were glaring at him now. Not even a hint of kindness in them.
She said, “Don’t ever quote scripture on me you little fucker.”
Restituto fell down on his knees, eyes upon her and begged for forgiveness. Is this a dream? But I know that I’m in a dream. Does knowledge of the dream invalidate the dream? Did I drink too much again? Why can’t I wake up?
“I’m not letting you wake up until you agree with me,” Mother Mary said. Then she slowly floated down to where the supplicating man was.
Warmth and joy emanated from his heart and spread throughout his body, to his scalp and the ends of his limbs. Restituto’s tear-filled eyes gazed upon the Mother of Our Lord as she descended.
Mother Mary stood in front of him, laid a callused hand on his shoulder, “Listen to me,” she said, then started punching.