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~Even the Dead can appreciate art: God's Shame |
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The young priest knelt, in the middle of the altar floor, looking around at his chapel. The seats that once held the faces of fellow believers had been moved, the room was empty of everything but the red carpet leading to the altar, the statues of the saints, and the cross between the stained glass windows.
The marble floor was stained in black scorch marks that read; "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned." From the center of the letters stood a small pool of blood, leading from it toward the alter, were drips, a bloody knife lay next to the path, halfway to the alter stairs. A pool of blood just at the top of the stairs poured down like a crimson waterfall.
Father looked down, the young girl, whom he had taught with such favoritism, laid in his arms, her skin now as pale as the button down shirt she wore. Her long black hair laid in a mess underneath her, spread out like a cloud, her once pink lips were now crimson with her own blood, her hazel eyes were full of tears, some had escaped and rolled down her cheek. The young girl's skin was now as cold and pale as the marble. Blood still poured from the slit on her neck, staining the Father's hands.
The young, slender man raised the girl's lifeless body and held her against his chest, leaning his head on hers, bottom lip bitten as tears streamed down from behind his round spectacles. His heart ached as tears poured from his blue eyes. The man screamed. The sound that poured from his lips was one of pain and anger and agony. He set the girl down, laying her on her back, closing her eyes.
The Father stood. He removed his robes, his collar, everything that marked him as a man of God, and tore his cross from his neck, throwing it across the room. Standing in a white shirt and his slacks he looked down at the young girl. With swift steps and teary eyes he moved past her, down the stairs, to the knife, lifting it in his hands. He walked back and knelt beside the girl, a hand on her cheek. His silver tears dripped onto her face.
The Father leaned down and kissed her lips, his eyes closed tightly. Leaning back, he tilt his head back, and slammed the knife into his neck. The pain hit him sharply and he gasped for air, only sucking blood down his windpipe. He managed to lay next to the girl and weakly pull her into him, one arm around her waist, opposite hand resting on the back of her head, holding it to his chest.
In the morning, the church and school would be in an uproar. The police would swarm the holy place, and the good Father's name would be pulled through the mud. He would be called a murderer, a rapist, and a coward. The girl would be victimized, and their families would weep......
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Current Target Item: Infernal Spirit Any Gen ~My store~
