Carnivale (religious nuttery)

[Shroom Man 777]

Carnivale




It was a happy day. It was the Holy Carnivale. Fernando Martinez walked joyously across the street, casually observing the spectacle that came to Toledo, as well as the rest of the Estella Real, only once every four years.

All over Toledo, as well as on a whole lot of other worlds, both Ispanyard ones and non-Ispanic, people were celebrating. Jubilation, for not only was it a Carnivale five millennia after the After Earth, but it was also the first Carnivale ever since the end of the damned Hyperspace War.

Fernando sidestepped a flock of celebrating children, who were wearing neon-skeletor masks and shooting each other with squirt guns. He chuckled, for he could remember himself as a child chasing his little sister with a piece of raw dodo’s leg during Carnivale. But his thoughts were soon dispersed, as were the kids, by an exploding belt of fireworks thrown at them by a jolly old fat man in red clothing.

The fat man asked him something that he couldn’t hear due to the exploding fireworks, probably if he was okay. Fernando merely nodded and said ‘Si’.

The fat man leaned back and grasped his belly with both hands. “Ho, ho, ho!”

Fernando smiled and walked away from the exploding fireworks and into the crowd of celebrants. The crowd had formed a circle around a bunch of little children and elderly folks armed with sticks. The children and geriatrics were blindfolded and were attempting to smash a levitating object, a statue of a funnily-sculpted Daemon, undoubtedly hollow and filled to the brim with all sorts of treats. Either that or more fireworks.

Fernando shook his head as one of the geriatrics smashed open the Daemon with his stick, only to have at least a hundred mini-rockets shoot out of the paper mache monstrosity’s behind. Old people and children alike ran screaming blindfoldedly as the rockets began detonating amongst them. At this, the crowd of onlookers that circled the blindfolded children and their equally-blindfolded grandparents roared with laughter.

As the last of the fireworks exploded, the crowd suddenly grew quiet. The celebrant was finally here.

Fernando, along with everyone else, turned to see a noisy parade coming from down the road. The procession was that of the Niñyo, the Ispanyard version of the Maker’s infant child. The Niñyo himself was on top of a highly ornamental wagonfloat of gold. And the golden wagon was, in turn, being pulled and pushed by at least one hundred gnomish mutants. It was quite a sight. On top of the wagon, but behind the giant effigy of the Niñyo, was a holy man – a Padre from the Ispanyard clergy of the Ordo Immaculada. The psyker was sermonizing, emanating a psykonuclear aura whilst his ministrations were amplified by macrophones. He was quite loud, and he preached in a mixture of Ispanic and an archaic tongue known only to those of the Immaculada.

In front of the wagon and its gnomish pullers were at least a hundred children, all covered in charcoal and all wearing sackcloth. They had poles, each one at least ten times taller than any of them, and they banged these poles on the ground – making a loud and very deep thudding noise. These children were flanked by drummers and trumpeters, whose loudness was made obvious when they began playing.

As the drummers and trumpeters began drumming and trumpeting, the crowd grew wild, and the party once more resumed. Across many worlds, billions would be celebrating just like them, celebrating in their barrios, pueblos, megacities and space-stations.

Few minutes later, the parade passed by, but only after being mobbed by elderly women desperately trying to obtain blessings from the Maker by touching the wagon. And what came after was a truly sight to behold.

Following the parade was a procession. A very queer procession that inspired the crowds of spectators to party even more vigorously. This was so because the procession was composed of androgynes. Pink and green haired androgynes, half-naked and being whipped by midgets who were chanting choir music and quoting the scripture. Among the androgynes were anorexic women flagellating themselves. These anorexic autoflagellatrixes were particularly grotesque, for their bleeding forms were as gaunt as skeletons and scantily clad in sacramental cloth – which only further highlighted their emaciation. Buzzing above these walking and praying cadavers were clouds of flies and forming a perimeter around this queer procession were people on stilts, costumed with paper mache to make them look like flamboyantly colored giants. These flamboyant giants carried banners.

Behind the procession was yet another wagonfloat. This time, the wagon was not topped by an effigy of the Niñyo. No, it was far more exotic. Instead of a giant Niñyo, it had crosses. And impaled upon these crosses, crucified, were people. They were bleeding, but instead of screaming in pain, they were rejoicing to the Maker in a gory prostration.

This tradition originated in the Philippian system, but was such a popular way to celebrate joyous occasions that it became a standard throughout the Estella Real.

At the sight of these crucifixionists, the crowd hooted and the children cheered in admiration while crying women kneeled down and began thanking the Maker.

Having been entertained enough, Fernando disappeared into the crowd. He already went to church at dawn, so he decided to have lunch.

He walked over to a carenderya, a kind of store, and sat down on a chair in front of the establishment. “Hoy!” he yelled, to which he was replied to by a young girl at the counter.

“The usual, Señor?” the brown-skinned girl asked.

“Of course, Chiquita,” Fernando winked.

A few seconds later, Chiquita came out with a plate and a bowl. She placed them on a table in front of Fernando, and he thanked her in a most suggestive fashion. She giggled and went back to the counter while Fernando began eating contentedly. After chewing on some dog meat, he broke open an egg and began sucking vigorously on the yolk and embryo.

“So, how was your Carnivale?” Chiquita asked.

Fernando sucked some more before wiping his mouth. “Oh, it was a bit boring. It’s always the same, you know? Kind of gets old...”

Chiquita sighed. “Si, I know. Oi, you better finish your dog meat!”