Are you ready?
Keeping her head down, Kylie pretended to read the rice paper thin pages of the book open on her lap. By concentrating on the words, her lips moving as she sounded out each syllable, the six-year-old could filter out most of what the man was saying.
Dressed in a white chasuble, a gold tasselled shawl hanging around his neck, the cleric held a microphone in one hand and a book like her’s in the other. He paced from one side of the chancel to the other, emphasizing his sermon’s message by raising the leather bound bible over his head or gesturing with it toward the congregation.
Ending his pacing at the pulpit, he laid the book open, so he could face the worshippers. His speech becoming louder, shriller, and more frantic, working up to a crescendo of condemnation.
She felt the rumbling through her seat, and risked a sidelong peek at her mother. She had her bible clutched to her chest in white knuckle hands. Her mother’s lips were moving too, but she wasn’t reading, she was repeating the same phrase over and over. Tears, tracing down her cheeks, dripped onto the red velveteen padding of their pew, and splashed on Kylie’s arm.
“We are all wretched sinners, unworthy of salvation… We are all wretched sinners, unworthy of salvation…”
Reaching toward her mother, Kylie jumped when the cleric slammed his fist down on the altar. Looking up, she saw he was pointing directly at her.
“Are we sheep being led to slaughter,” he railed, leaning over the edge of the lectern, shaking his finger at Kylie. “Remember, if you go to hell, it’s your fault!”
Rule of thirds
Trifecta, a weekly one-word prompt, challenges writers to use that word in its third definition form, using no less than 33 words or no more than 333. The week’s prompt is: Wretched [adj.\ˈre-chəd\] 3: being or appearing mean, miserable, or contemptible
The above sign is one of thousands of wooden and concrete signs crafted by Henry Harrison Mayes which he planted along heavily traveled roadways beginning in 1917, and continuing for nearly 60 years. These signs and crosses were seen from Chicago to Atlanta, to LIttle Rock to West Palm Beach – eventually being displayed in 44 states. Several of Mayes signs are now on display at the Museum of Appalachia in Norris, TN.
John
/ March 2, 2012Holy moley!
lexy3587
/ March 1, 2012wow, what a frightening childhood experience! very well depicted
Trifecta (@trifectawriting)
/ March 1, 2012Thanks for joining up, Tara. This is another great write. This seems to be a familiar scene from many of our childhoods. There’s not a lot of compassion in that message, is there? Your scene is really well crafted and very easy to picture. See you at the weekend, we hope.
Nicole/Ninja Mom
/ February 29, 2012Powerful, powerful, powerful. Well written, engaging, succinct, provocative. Even frightening. So, so good.
Ray Yanek
/ February 29, 2012Wow. You write so well. Your description of the characters are spot on and extremely, extremely, visual. Nothing is forced here either. The prose is smooth and I literally forget I was reading and not watching a movie.
El Guapo
/ February 29, 2012Makes religion out to be a bit of a scourge.
Powerful piece!
Colleen - @amadisonmom
/ February 29, 2012Wow. Amazing writing and a truly strong piece. I jumped with Kylie. Just… wow.
Jennifer
/ February 29, 2012This was super powerful. I’m not sure if it was because I’ve actually sat in churches like that or just the strength of your words. I’m going with both.
Tara R.
/ February 29, 2012Thank you! I did draw on my own childhood experiences in various church services when writing this.
Weissdorn
/ February 29, 2012Scary. Very! Who would want to go to this place but twice?
kelly garriott waite
/ February 29, 2012Well written. Frightening and depressing and tragic all at once.
jesterqueen
/ February 28, 2012That’s so cool — I’m sure I’ve seen those signs. I had no idea they were more than random. The contrast between the little girl who recognizes the absurdity and the mother who doesn’t is great.
Lance
/ February 28, 2012you brought the fire and the brimstone…reminds me of some sermons from my childhood