Faith
Brandon Lazovic
Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. The church bell
rocked back and forth in the church tower, uttering an almost melancholy sound
as it marked the time. He looked down, glancing at his watch. 5 o’clock. He looked
around and noticed that the streets were vacant, which was abnormal. Usually
they were bustling with crowds of people, but not today. It was almost
perturbing as he could hear his footsteps echo off the buildings before being
whisked away by the slight groan of the wind. He continued on casually, with his
hands in the black overcoat which he wore. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the
sky filled with dark clouds ready to discharge the water that was held. Some
trickled out, creating small splotches in the street. The air was humid, warm,
with a scent that only rain water can deliver.
He finally made it
to the doors of the church. His hand hesitated at the door handle before
clasping it and pushing the door inward. Just like the street he could hear his
steps rebound off the walls and pillars, but it wasn’t as discomforting. In
fact, it was almost peaceful. His fingertips caressed the tops of the pews as
he walked past them, his mind in a distant place as this brought back memories
of the past. A past untainted. Ambitious. Hopeful, optimistic, and, lest of all,
ignorant. That was until the cataclysm changed the world. Whispering snapped
his attention back to the front of the church, but nothing appeared before his
sight. It gradually grew louder and in larger number, raising the hairs on the
nape of his neck. A shudder escaped from his spine, but his outward demeanor
portrayed a calm, collected man. The candles slowly blew out, one by one, until
the chandelier was his only source of protection. He stood underneath it as the
shadows charged forward, being repealed by its opposite.
The voices
combined in a cacophony of noise, surging ever forward until… they stopped just
as quickly as they had risen. The quiet whispering took its place, the darkness
seemingly muffling the sound. While there was still time he reached into the
pocket of his overcoat, withdrawing a bottle of holy water, a bag of pinch salt
and a golden cross. The cross glistened from the light overhead and the bottle
reflected the ember hue of flame. He began to recite psalms, all the while
drawing a circle with the salt and splashing it with the holy water. The cross
moved up, down, left, and right several times before finally being moved down
to his side. All he had to do now was wait.
He sat down,
crossed-legged in the center of the circle, eyes closed and cross folded
between both hands. The voices cried in anguish and fury; the chandelier rocked
in place, swinging wildly. After several moments it stopped moving, returning
to its normal position. He continued on praying in his trance. Finally the
voices returned to whispers again and with their combined effort blew out the
candle light, enveloping the room with darkness. They screamed into the abyss.
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