Blessed Mother (preg, twins, snuff, gore, semi-cons, M + g-9yo)

First, I will reply to the facts of the news article. Then, I have been 
blessed with a story that I will share. 

<-----Original Message-----> 
>From: Gideon [nickf...@gmail.com] 
>Sent: 3/7/2009 5:04:31 PM 
>To: pgs2@googlegroups.com 
>Subject: Re: [pgs2] 9 year old gets an abortion. Church pissed. 

> http://newsblaze.com/story/20090307145022reye.nb/topstory.html 

>I should be working myself into a righteous rage over the Catholic 
>Church's madness, but my dick won't let me get over the fact that this 
>girl was IMPREGNATED at the age of NINE with TWINS and had an 
>ABORTION! I wish I could see her, with her belly growing, her helpless 
>twins trapped inside, completely at their mother's mercy. 

CNN reports that the girl was four months along. Her belly would be very 
large, with the two babies playing happily inside her. The New York 
Times says she was just 80 pounds, so even only half way to term, she 
would be very visibly pregnant. 

I can not find the details of the abortion procedure that was used. 

A partial birth abortion would be possible if the babies were small, but 
there would be a strong chance of complications. It would take several 
days of inserting dilators into her cervix, while every day the babies 
grow larger. She would have to climb into the stirrups two or three 
times a day for the speculum, and feel the strange sensation of wet 
seaweed being pulled out of her and replaced with fresh sticks. 
Fortunately, she would only have to dilate to 5cm, the size of her own 
little fist, and then the doctor could burst the membranes. He would 
pull her first daughter out feet first. She would be silenced, but not 
really killed, with the scissors in her brain, and then she would be 
born. Her passage would open her mother's cervix, and the second baby 
would certainly be pulled from her mother's bald vagina alive and 
crying. The crying would stop as both little girls are dropped in a 
silver bucket of cold water. The doctor would watch as the water turned 
pink from their severed umbilical cords. Both of them would twitch, 
kicking like they did in the warm water of their sweet mother's womb. 
Eventually, their movements would stop, and the doctor would take them 
personally to his office for a detailed pathological examination. 

Now, I have been given a story to tell. I hope you know what to expect. 

Blessed Mother, prologue 

Have mercy on the misguided Catholic Father, who condemned the doctors 
for performing an abortion on a 9-year-old pregnant girl. Perhaps he 
looks back with longing to a time when women died in childbirth every 
day. As a priest, he would be called to attend a difficult labor to 
offer last rites. How many times would he tell the others to leave the 
room, so that he could help the unfortunate mother into God's arms. 
There would be no CNN to report on the situation, and there would not 
even be a hospital with modern sterilization and instruments. There 
would only be a young girl lying on a mat on a dirt floor, in preterm 
labor at 7 months.. She would be pale, from the hard labor, and because 
she had not been outside since her belly started showing three or four 
months before. He would tell her the truth, that this was God's will. A 
girl that young would be able to accept her fate much better than her 
older sister, who he would visit in a year or two for her own last 
rites. 

Perhaps something like this might have happened next. 

Blessed Mother 

Alone with God's victim, he spoke to her in hushed tones, helping her to 
hold still as his hands blessed her swollen breasts, small on her young 
chest but so full. He even helped her squeeze the tender nipples, and 
wonder at the sweet milk that would never be tasted by her offspring. 
There was no sonogram to tell him why she was dying, or whether her life 
could be saved, because there was no need. Her screams told him that his 
prayers would soon be answered again. He blessed her belly, pushing 
hard, feeling her uterus contract in vain. He moved his hands around, 
greedily searching for the outline of the unborn child, and discovered 
that God had blessed this little girl with two babies, babies God would 
not allow to be born. Before He formed them in the womb He knew them, 
and He knew that he would kill them for His servant's pleasure. 

The little girl screamed again, the ragged sound of a body pushed to its 
limit. Now, he blessed her pussy, sliding his left hand through the 
hairless folds, pressing on her clitoris as he unfastened his robe with 
his right hand. He slid three fingers easily into her vagina, then made 
room for the rest, and pushed through her effaced cervix. He could feel 
the baby, trapped sideways, its back bent as her body tried to force it 
out. The little girl's life could be saved by dismembering this child, 
but that was not God's way in this world. He pulled his fingers out of 
her body, and entered with his right hand. 

The small blade he held in his fingers was sharp, and he pushed it into 
her urethra and along the top of her vagina. He held her heaving belly 
with his left hand as she gasped, and then without his bidding she began 
praying, loud enough for the women outside to hear clearly. "Sancta 
Maria mater Dei," she intoned, not even knowing the meaning of the Latin 
she had been taught to repeat. "Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in 
hora mortis nostrae. Sancta Maria mater Dei..." As she prayed to the 
virgin who bore Christ, the priest pushed his hand into her abdomen 
through the gash in her vagina. He could see his hand moving under her 
skin as he cut deeper and deeper. He felt the hot urine splash out of 
her bladder into her abdominal cavity, then he cut through the sausage 
casings of her intestines, releasing their contents inside her as well. 
He moved around the side of her uterus. He paused just before her 
stomach, and dug the blade into her womb as it contracted one last time. 
It tore through the muscle and into the second amniotic sac, flooding 
her ruptured intestines. 

The priest looked at the dying girl's face. Her eyes were wide open in 
awe of the destruction inside her body. None of the damage was visible, 
externally. All there was before him was a dying girl, who never even 
had her first period. Her stepdad's constant sexual assaults impregnated 
her the first time her ovaries ripened. Now, it was time. "Sancta Maria 
mater Dei," the priest intoned, carefully moving around the girl's 
stomach without nicking it with the knife. It was full of communion 
wine, and it was important that only the wine pass her lips in death. He 
felt her diaphragm, moving rhythmically with the girl's final breath. 
"Ora pro nobis peccatoribus," he continued as he cut through the gristly 
tissue, but avoiding her lungs. A strange gurgling sound came from the 
little pregnant girl's mouth as he pushed her lungs out of his way. He 
was at her heart now. Its rhythm was uneven from the abdominal blood 
loss, but it was still strong. 

"Nunc," he said, working the blade through the pericardial sac, and into 
the thick muscle of her ventricles. The little girl bucked 
uncontrollably now, feeling the pain radiating from her chest down her 
arm. Her abdominal muscles tensed hard, causing her to vomited a froth 
of red communion wine. The fruity smell of the wine, the Blood of 
Christ, filled the room. 

"Nunc," he repeated, louder, as the blade severed her aorta, "et in hora 
mortis nostrae." Dropping the small blade into her chest cavity, he 
grasped the heart and eased his arm out of her vagina. The rose red 
froth around her mouth moved as he passed her lungs, and his arm came 
out of her cunt streaked with red blood and brown filth. The top baby 
kicked as he passed by, then was still. 

He paused for a moment with her heart clenched in his fist, the muscle 
still spasming, its rhythm lost. He pulled a little more, back through 
the ruptured vagina, and her vulva pushed out around the fist in a 
horrible, beautiful parody of childbirth. "Sancta Maria mater Dei," the 
priest said again, and pulled with a slow, firm motion. The Blessed 
Mother gave birth to her own heart, followed by a torrent of piss, 
blood, and shit-streaked amniotic fluid. 

The story was passed on among the women of the town, about the miracle 
that occurred on the little girl's deathbed. The preist told them all 
about it. She had been impregnated by Satan, and she fought the devil 
for those long months, silently, until the son of the Beast was to be 
born. But the blessed Virgin intervened, and the spiritual battle was 
won. The proof was plain for all to see. On the little girl's lips was 
the wine of the Communion, the holy Sangre de Cristo. They talked in 
hushed tones about the demon still trapped in her belly, and the mat 
covered in corruption and filth from her fight to keep it out of the 
world. Then there was the greatest sign of all. In a gold-lined box on 
the altar of the church, the heart of Christ himself, delivered by 
divine intervention from the womb of a little girl chosen by God to 
defeat Satan's influence in their vilage. 

d udet