Our world fell into darkness the day they came.  A terrible darkness covered the ground as their fleet eclipsed the very sun itself.  I was but a small child then, a mere three year old who cared more about her dolls than the alien invaders.  My mother wept and I was puzzled because there seemed no reason why.  No one would talk to me, no one would explain.  My father was a priest of the temple and he told me every night of the prophecy of the saints.  One day in our darkest hour of need they would return to liberate us and free us from all evil and misery.

As I grew older I saw for myself the terrible misery that had taken over the world.  The clean and happy streets in which I had once played as a child became dirty and miserable alleys that soon became the repository of dead bodies of neighbours and friends.

Still my father stood up to them.  “The Saints are coming.”  He preached to any who passed by, most ignored him while the rest spat upon him and called him names.  I pitied them their lack of faith because secretly I knew that the Saints were real and they would save us.

The ideology of childhood gave way to the cynicism of my teenage years.  As I matured I saw no end to the bleak misery that we endured.  I saw no future for myself or any children that I might bring into this world.  My faith began to falter as more and more of my neighbours and friends simply disappeared.

Then they came for me and my father.  They made me watch as they executed him.  He was defiant to the last.  “The Saints are coming.”  He said sharply, then they shot him.  He fell to his knees, defiant to the last.  “The Saints ARE coming!”  He smiled at me, I saw pure love in his eyes for me and I knew then that I had to be strong for him.  “The Saints are coming.”  I took up his defiance with renewed zeal.  “The Saints are coming.”

For some reason I was spared death.  Whether they wanted to break me or punish me I care not.  I was left alone to bury my father’s corpse; else the rats or worse picked his bones clean.

I was taken before the leader of the invaders.  He was a cruel man and he mocked me with his lecherous gaze.  “I suppose you’re going to tell me the same dreary thing as your father?  I am Lord Baron Raziur, your master and your god.”

“What did he tell you?”  I asked.

“Some superstitious religious nonsense about saints.”

I smiled.  “The Saints are coming.”

The cruel smile turned into a sneer.  “You have spirit little child.  Let us see how long your faith holds up.”

He made me watch as he put ten women my own age to death.  I swore silently to myself that theirs deaths would not be meaningless.  “Where are your saints?  Why did they not save those innocents?  I’ll tell you why, your saints are not real.  Only I am real and you will worship me.”

How long now?

There’s no reply to my prayers.

The next day he gathered twenty young men together, there were far too young to be soldiers, most were too young to shave.  He held my head still and laughed as his soldiers brutally murdered the young men one by one.  Tears of sorrow flowed freely down my cheeks and I grew dispirited and angry.  Why had the Saints deserted us?  Where were they in our hour of greatest need?  However I couldn’t afford to give the Baron the satisfaction of crushing my spirit and I knew in my heart that were I to do so he would lose amusement in my torment and have me put to death.  As much for cowardice as obstinance I forced myself to speak the simple litany of defiance.  “The Saints are coming.”

How long now?

There’s no reply to my prayers.

The day afterwards the Baron grew tired of his torments and he tried a new tactic, he began to torture and maim his prisoners in front of me.  He laughed at their suffering and took every opportunity to chide my faith.  However I would not give him the satisfaction of him breaking me.  My own faith was in tatters now, I no longer believed, but I wouldn’t let him know that.  Whether this made me more guilty or not I no longer cared, the Baron was a horrible and sadistic monster and I would not let him claim victory over my soul.

How long now?

There’s no reply to my prayers.

Then he raped my cousins in front of me and then slit their throats.  This was too much, my mind was at the very edge of madness and I wanted to die so that no more would suffer for my vanity.  I was about to say the words, I was about to renounce the saints, when suddenly there was a strange gurgling sound that seemed to fill the carnage hall.  A wind whipped up around me and I saw a look of panic and terror on the monster Baron’s face for the first time.

“What is this?”  The Baron demanded, pulling me off my feet into the air.

I began laughing hysterically.  “The Saints are coming.  The Saints ARE Coming!”

A blue box had formed out of the air and it opened to reveal two figures, a tall man in a large blue boat and an ebony skinned woman in a casual outfit.  “I’m the Doctor and this is Martha.  We’re here to put an end to this…whatever it is.”

The Saints had come.  I laughed even louder; my prayers had finally been answered.