The priest in black scapular and emerald capirote went on, “It seemed so obvious. Years of lip service begged the turning of a page. Sacred scripture made yawn inducing routine by decades of inclination towards the misperception of metaphor. The very idea itself, once so inspiring, turned into an impotent call to emotionless displays of empty gestures. As such, she felt it necessary to reacquaint the faithless, who mistook themselves for faithful, with the truth.
“Interrupting the preacher’s prosaic sermon with the toss of a Molotov, she burned the church.
“Amidst the screams in the inferno she shouted, ‘This is all for you my dark savior,’ then embraced the flames. But she did not die. Such is the gift bestowed on the truly faithful.”
Gordon stifled a yawn. Surreptitiously he glanced at his watch. If the sermon wrapped soon, and he hustled the family out, they might make it to the bagel shop in time for a fresh warm dozen.
His wife, Cassandra, gently prodded him with her elbow. A grunt impersonating an apology, Gordon ceased checking the time. He nodded at her, acknowledging his error, and she took hold of his hand. A soft squeeze signaled forgiveness.
She whispered, “He’s a bore, but I worry about the kids.”
Gordon nodded again, “Gotta set an example. I know.”
They glanced over. Rose and Louis sat staring up at the stained glasses windows. The depictions of Saint Lucinda burning the church, resurrecting the infernal Lord, it mesmerized them. The exquisite recreation of the faithless howling in torment as flames consumed them — Gordon often felt the windows spoke enough; he doubted he could set a better example than Lucinda. However, parents sometimes have obligations beyond their abilities. His father taught him that when they gutted Gordon’s brother.
The preacher concluded, “Let us rise, and as one affirm our faith.”
Cassandra stood, already speaking the creed, her words a breath ahead of the congregation, “We give thanks for knowing the infernal almighty, not its kindness, but proof of its existence. Its bloodlust killing apathy, we are awakened by the screams of the dead warning us not to doubt...”
Meanwhile Gordon went on mechanically, “...that when the sleepers slumber too long, Lucinda shall strike a match, burn our eyes open, and fuel another revelation...
The kids recited, “...for she so loves us all she burned herself, a living torch illuminating the truth.”
The preacher smiled, and as one the congregation said, “Amen.”
#
Driving the boulevard of crucified, Gordon couldn’t help pointing at one writhing figure, “See him?”
He slowed the car as Rose and Louis looked over.
Rose said, “Yeah?”
Gordon said, “I nailed him up.”
“You did?” Louis said. He sounded excited.
Gordon shrugged, “Well, it had to be done.”
Cassandra turned in the passenger seat, “Everyone has to do their part.”
Rose scrunched up her face in confusion.
Cassandra asked, “What is it honey?”
Rose said, “Nothing. It just seems, I dunno, excessive?”
“He deserved it,” Cassandra said. She turned back around. She glared at the crucified corpses lining the boulevard, frowning at the sight of those still alive. She said, “They all deserve it.”
Louis said, “I can’t wait to nail one.”
Glancing in the rear view Gordon smiled, “You’ll get your chance buddy.”
“When?”
Gordon winked, "Patience li’l buddy.”
#
Pulling into the driveway Gordon saw a letter tacked to the front door of the house. He couldn’t help smiling. The red wax seal spoke of its contents.
“Hey Louis,” Gordon said, “See that?”
“Cool!”
Before the car even stopped Louis jumped out. He run up the steps. Snatching the letter off the door he broke the seal.
Cassandra said, “I’m happy, but I don’t know if he’s old enough.”
Gordon patted her hand, “I was his age the first time.”
Forcing a smile Cassandra quoted Saint Lucinda, “‘When called we must act.’”
“He doesn’t look happy,” Rose said.
Indeed, Louis looked disappointed. The rest of the family got out of the car. Before Gordon could ask Louis handed him the letter.
Shoulders slumped Louis said, “It’s for Rose.”
Rose stopped short.
Gordon glanced over the letter. The expected bit of Scripture followed by a brief note summoning Rose to the next round of crucifixions. However, an extra paragraph informed that Saint Lucinda would be presiding over this event.
“Lucinda herself is coming to witness the silencing of doubters.”
Cassandra reached for the letter, “That’s wonderful.”
Rose said, “I don’t want to do it.”
Eyes on the letter Cassandra said, “Of course you do, honey. It’s an honor.”
“I don’t care.”
“If she’s not going to do it I will,” Louis said.
Gordon said, “She’s going to do it.”
“You can’t make me,” Rose said.
Cassandra looked at her sternly, “You don’t have a choice.”
#
The week passed with all the peacefulness of a hurricane. At first Rose’s parents attempted to appeal to their daughter’s faith. Cassandra quoted Scripture, told stories about Saint Lucinda — “She led her followers across this country, spreading the new faith on a wave of blood.” However, Rose still refused until finally, frustrated and fearful beyond reason, her parents resorted to threats. They grounded her, took away the fourteen year old’s phone, and stopped feeding her. Every effort only seemed to strengthen the young woman’s resolve.
Until one night Louis went in Rose’s room, “Can I ask you something?”
Hesitantly Rose said, “Sure.”
“Why don’t you want to silence doubters?”
Rose said, “I dunno.”
She worried about sharing her concerns with her nine year old brother. She didn’t think he would understand. Louis applauded when the screams came as the nails went in. She hid her tears. No one in the family noticed because they didn’t expect her to cry — blind faith.
Louis nodded, “Okay, but it makes the world a better place.”
She shared a half truth, “I guess I’m scared,” leaving out her thought, “That it doesn’t.”
Louis said, “It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared what’ll happen to you.”
Rose furrowed her brow, “What do you mean?”
Looking at his feet Louis said, “I overheard mom and dad talking. If you don’t do it inquisitors will come for you.”
Rose immediately hurried out of her room. She went downstairs to confront her parents. When asked if what Louis told her might be true her parents hesitated.
Cassandra took a deep breath, “Yes. If you don’t do what’s expected, you’ll be taken away by inquisitors.”
“Children aren’t usually told until after. That way it’s an honest choice, not something done out of fear,” Gordon said.
Rose looked terrified for a moment. Then something flashed across her eyes. A steeliness entered her demeanor.
She said, “If that’s the way it is, fine.”
#
On a raised dais seated upon a maroon throne, Saint Lucinda sat. Her skin looked like aged parchment. A purple river stemmed from her flowing robes. Her milk white eyes with their red pinpoint pupils surveyed the crowd. She waved a skeletal hand, a general gesture that never failed to make some believe she waved specifically at them.
An acolyte in gold vestments set a microphone near her. At a 197, she no longer rose to address the assembled faithful.
She spoke, “Today we silence those who have chosen not to believe what has been revealed. Where once there was no proof, our dark savior is with us. Let those who deny what is be nailed and raised as a warning to all who doubt what is true.”
The crowd cheered. Black uniformed inquisitors led a procession of shackled people to a row of crosses. Those charged with nailing stood by their designated cross.
Rose and Cassandra waited silently. Daughter with the hammer, mother with the nails, no one would’ve perceived anything amiss. After all, Rose showed no signs of being ill at ease.
When the inquisitor arrived, shoving a doubter into position, Rose held out her hand. Cassandra gave her a nail. The inquisitor held the struggling doubter in place. Rose knelt down. She put the nail in place. Ignoring the doubter’s pleas she drove the nail into the wrist. Her mother handed her another, and she did the other hand then the feet.
The inquisitor dismissed them as acolytes set about erecting the crucifix on the boulevard. Walking away Rose and Cassandra passed the dais. Saint Lucinda nodded at them in appreciation. Cassandra beamed. Rose forced a smile.
Later that night Rose went out. She lied about wanting to go to the library. Instead she rode her bike to the boulevard of crucified. Pedestrians ambled along underneath the dying. Rose found the person she nailed.
She waited for a couple to pass — young lovers holding hands — then said to the crucified, “I’m sorry.”
The person smiled down at her, saying between gasps, “You... don’t... believe.”
Rose shook her head.
A sound cut through the stillness of the night. Those on the street looked up. The vast nebulous form of the dark savior drifted across the sky, a boiling cloud of teeth and eyes. Briefly it obscured the moon. The faithful raised their hands, and shouted praise to the deity they could see. Rose, however, pedaled home certain that gods are not always for the best.
“Interrupting the preacher’s prosaic sermon with the toss of a Molotov, she burned the church.
“Amidst the screams in the inferno she shouted, ‘This is all for you my dark savior,’ then embraced the flames. But she did not die. Such is the gift bestowed on the truly faithful.”
Gordon stifled a yawn. Surreptitiously he glanced at his watch. If the sermon wrapped soon, and he hustled the family out, they might make it to the bagel shop in time for a fresh warm dozen.
His wife, Cassandra, gently prodded him with her elbow. A grunt impersonating an apology, Gordon ceased checking the time. He nodded at her, acknowledging his error, and she took hold of his hand. A soft squeeze signaled forgiveness.
She whispered, “He’s a bore, but I worry about the kids.”
Gordon nodded again, “Gotta set an example. I know.”
They glanced over. Rose and Louis sat staring up at the stained glasses windows. The depictions of Saint Lucinda burning the church, resurrecting the infernal Lord, it mesmerized them. The exquisite recreation of the faithless howling in torment as flames consumed them — Gordon often felt the windows spoke enough; he doubted he could set a better example than Lucinda. However, parents sometimes have obligations beyond their abilities. His father taught him that when they gutted Gordon’s brother.
The preacher concluded, “Let us rise, and as one affirm our faith.”
Cassandra stood, already speaking the creed, her words a breath ahead of the congregation, “We give thanks for knowing the infernal almighty, not its kindness, but proof of its existence. Its bloodlust killing apathy, we are awakened by the screams of the dead warning us not to doubt...”
Meanwhile Gordon went on mechanically, “...that when the sleepers slumber too long, Lucinda shall strike a match, burn our eyes open, and fuel another revelation...
The kids recited, “...for she so loves us all she burned herself, a living torch illuminating the truth.”
The preacher smiled, and as one the congregation said, “Amen.”
#
Driving the boulevard of crucified, Gordon couldn’t help pointing at one writhing figure, “See him?”
He slowed the car as Rose and Louis looked over.
Rose said, “Yeah?”
Gordon said, “I nailed him up.”
“You did?” Louis said. He sounded excited.
Gordon shrugged, “Well, it had to be done.”
Cassandra turned in the passenger seat, “Everyone has to do their part.”
Rose scrunched up her face in confusion.
Cassandra asked, “What is it honey?”
Rose said, “Nothing. It just seems, I dunno, excessive?”
“He deserved it,” Cassandra said. She turned back around. She glared at the crucified corpses lining the boulevard, frowning at the sight of those still alive. She said, “They all deserve it.”
Louis said, “I can’t wait to nail one.”
Glancing in the rear view Gordon smiled, “You’ll get your chance buddy.”
“When?”
Gordon winked, "Patience li’l buddy.”
#
Pulling into the driveway Gordon saw a letter tacked to the front door of the house. He couldn’t help smiling. The red wax seal spoke of its contents.
“Hey Louis,” Gordon said, “See that?”
“Cool!”
Before the car even stopped Louis jumped out. He run up the steps. Snatching the letter off the door he broke the seal.
Cassandra said, “I’m happy, but I don’t know if he’s old enough.”
Gordon patted her hand, “I was his age the first time.”
Forcing a smile Cassandra quoted Saint Lucinda, “‘When called we must act.’”
“He doesn’t look happy,” Rose said.
Indeed, Louis looked disappointed. The rest of the family got out of the car. Before Gordon could ask Louis handed him the letter.
Shoulders slumped Louis said, “It’s for Rose.”
Rose stopped short.
Gordon glanced over the letter. The expected bit of Scripture followed by a brief note summoning Rose to the next round of crucifixions. However, an extra paragraph informed that Saint Lucinda would be presiding over this event.
“Lucinda herself is coming to witness the silencing of doubters.”
Cassandra reached for the letter, “That’s wonderful.”
Rose said, “I don’t want to do it.”
Eyes on the letter Cassandra said, “Of course you do, honey. It’s an honor.”
“I don’t care.”
“If she’s not going to do it I will,” Louis said.
Gordon said, “She’s going to do it.”
“You can’t make me,” Rose said.
Cassandra looked at her sternly, “You don’t have a choice.”
#
The week passed with all the peacefulness of a hurricane. At first Rose’s parents attempted to appeal to their daughter’s faith. Cassandra quoted Scripture, told stories about Saint Lucinda — “She led her followers across this country, spreading the new faith on a wave of blood.” However, Rose still refused until finally, frustrated and fearful beyond reason, her parents resorted to threats. They grounded her, took away the fourteen year old’s phone, and stopped feeding her. Every effort only seemed to strengthen the young woman’s resolve.
Until one night Louis went in Rose’s room, “Can I ask you something?”
Hesitantly Rose said, “Sure.”
“Why don’t you want to silence doubters?”
Rose said, “I dunno.”
She worried about sharing her concerns with her nine year old brother. She didn’t think he would understand. Louis applauded when the screams came as the nails went in. She hid her tears. No one in the family noticed because they didn’t expect her to cry — blind faith.
Louis nodded, “Okay, but it makes the world a better place.”
She shared a half truth, “I guess I’m scared,” leaving out her thought, “That it doesn’t.”
Louis said, “It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared what’ll happen to you.”
Rose furrowed her brow, “What do you mean?”
Looking at his feet Louis said, “I overheard mom and dad talking. If you don’t do it inquisitors will come for you.”
Rose immediately hurried out of her room. She went downstairs to confront her parents. When asked if what Louis told her might be true her parents hesitated.
Cassandra took a deep breath, “Yes. If you don’t do what’s expected, you’ll be taken away by inquisitors.”
“Children aren’t usually told until after. That way it’s an honest choice, not something done out of fear,” Gordon said.
Rose looked terrified for a moment. Then something flashed across her eyes. A steeliness entered her demeanor.
She said, “If that’s the way it is, fine.”
#
On a raised dais seated upon a maroon throne, Saint Lucinda sat. Her skin looked like aged parchment. A purple river stemmed from her flowing robes. Her milk white eyes with their red pinpoint pupils surveyed the crowd. She waved a skeletal hand, a general gesture that never failed to make some believe she waved specifically at them.
An acolyte in gold vestments set a microphone near her. At a 197, she no longer rose to address the assembled faithful.
She spoke, “Today we silence those who have chosen not to believe what has been revealed. Where once there was no proof, our dark savior is with us. Let those who deny what is be nailed and raised as a warning to all who doubt what is true.”
The crowd cheered. Black uniformed inquisitors led a procession of shackled people to a row of crosses. Those charged with nailing stood by their designated cross.
Rose and Cassandra waited silently. Daughter with the hammer, mother with the nails, no one would’ve perceived anything amiss. After all, Rose showed no signs of being ill at ease.
When the inquisitor arrived, shoving a doubter into position, Rose held out her hand. Cassandra gave her a nail. The inquisitor held the struggling doubter in place. Rose knelt down. She put the nail in place. Ignoring the doubter’s pleas she drove the nail into the wrist. Her mother handed her another, and she did the other hand then the feet.
The inquisitor dismissed them as acolytes set about erecting the crucifix on the boulevard. Walking away Rose and Cassandra passed the dais. Saint Lucinda nodded at them in appreciation. Cassandra beamed. Rose forced a smile.
Later that night Rose went out. She lied about wanting to go to the library. Instead she rode her bike to the boulevard of crucified. Pedestrians ambled along underneath the dying. Rose found the person she nailed.
She waited for a couple to pass — young lovers holding hands — then said to the crucified, “I’m sorry.”
The person smiled down at her, saying between gasps, “You... don’t... believe.”
Rose shook her head.
A sound cut through the stillness of the night. Those on the street looked up. The vast nebulous form of the dark savior drifted across the sky, a boiling cloud of teeth and eyes. Briefly it obscured the moon. The faithful raised their hands, and shouted praise to the deity they could see. Rose, however, pedaled home certain that gods are not always for the best.
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