Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25795965-20141202032840

So this is my first one of these. First draft, even. Let me know how horrible it is.

EXIT

'''My name is Emily. I’m 24, and I’ve lived on Staten Island for all 24 of those years. If you don’t know, Staten Island has an Oxycodone problem. Thousands of people are addicted to blues, and I used to be one of them. I first tried it in sophomore year of high school. I doubt there was a single class I attended sober. I was going to the bathroom between every period, asking random people for bills I could use to snort it. Bills that I didn’t have because I spent them on blues. I spent every spare dollar I had on them. Sometimes, I had to lie, cheat, and steal to get that money. I’ve hurt people I care about. It’s not something I’m proud of. My parents were so fed up with me and my habit that they kicked me out of the house when I was 21. I stayed with Becky, the one real friend I had left after I alienated all the other ones. She let me stay on the condition that I go to a one month detox program. Of course I took her up on that offer. What other choice did I have? I’m glad she made me do it though. I never took another blue after that. '''

'''When I was struggling to keep clean, Becky introduced me to Jesus. I was never a religious person, but at the time, I was really receptive to the notion that someone up there cared about me. I was drawn to the fact that Jesus associated with the lowest walks of life: prostitutes and tax collectors and all that. I thought, maybe He could even help someone like me. I prayed to Jesus for strength whenever I felt a craving. And you know what? That really helped. Strike that: HE really helped. '''

'''I went to church with Becky a few times, but decided it wasn’t really for me. She was Pentecostal, and I was never one for the hooting and hollering. I’ll just keep praying and loving the Lord silently, I thought. But I had doubts. I knew that God had a plan for me, but I didn’t know if I could trust myself to hold up my end of the bargain, to carry out His plan. Just praying on my own wasn’t enough. I needed earthly guidance, so I set out to find a church that was more to my liking. I decided to go to a sleepy little chapel on Victory Boulevard: Willowbrook Park Baptist Church. '''

'''I arrived five minutes early for the 11:00 service, dressed in my Sunday best. The crowd consisted mostly of older people: married couples in their 50s and 60s. Maybe this isn’t the one for me, I thought, but the shade of the blue carpet and blue plush pews reminded me of Oxy, and reminded me of why I need to be here. I found a seat in the back and let the music distract me from my craving. This church didn’t have an organ, but a grand piano, and the old Asian lady playing it was a virtuoso. The music moved through me, and carried me away to a better place. The only thing that reminded me that I was here on earth was an illuminated exit sign over the back door. It was much too bright, and very distracting. I eventually stopped hearing the music. The only thing on my mind was that damn exit sign. As I stared at it, I wondered why it was so eye-catching. I was snapped out of my trance when a voice came through the speakers. “Good morning!” '''

'''“Good morning!” The crowd chanted in unison. I remained silent. I hadn’t noticed that the pastor had come to the altar. He was an aged Asian man with gray hair parted to the side, wearing an immaculate gray suit. He turned his gaze towards me. '''

'''“I see we have a new face in the congregation!” he said, his smiling face full of radiant energy. “What’s your name, young lady?” '''

'''“E-Emily?” I eeked out. I wasn’t ready to be put on the spot like that. '''

'''“Sorry if I made you nervous, Emily! I’m Pastor Nguyen,” he motioned to the pianist. “And this is my wife, Vivian. It’s usually just the regulars here, so you stick out like a sore thumb! It’s always nice to have new members, though. We’ll be happy to welcome you to our family!” '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">I thanked him, and with that, he continued with his regular service. He delivered a beautiful sermon on love and acceptance. His words resonated with me on a deeply personal level. They filled me with hope, and moved me almost to the point of tears. As affecting as his sermon was, however, I still occasionally found that my eyes were drawn to that blindingly bright exit sign. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">“...Amen,” the crowd chanted. I had been staring at the sign so long and so intently that I missed the prayer. I wondered if they noticed that my head wasn’t bowed. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">“Everyone in the congregation please stand as we sing Hymn #551, Nothing But the Blood of Jesus,” said Pastor Nguyen. I quickly flipped through the hymn book and buried my head in it so I wouldn’t be distracted. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-style:italic;white-space:pre-wrap;">What can wash away my sin? '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-style:italic;white-space:pre-wrap;">Nothing but the blood of Jesus. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-style:italic;white-space:pre-wrap;">What can make me whole again? <span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-style:italic;white-space:pre-wrap;"> <span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-style:italic;white-space:pre-wrap;"> <span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-style:italic;white-space:pre-wrap;">Nothing but the blood of Jesus. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-style:italic;white-space:pre-wrap;">Oh! Precious is the flow '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-style:italic;white-space:pre-wrap;">That makes me white as snow; 

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-style:italic;white-space:pre-wrap;">No other fount I know, 

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-style:italic;white-space:pre-wrap;">Nothing but the blood of Jesus. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">When the service ended, Pastor Nguyen stood by the front door, shaking everyone’s hand as they left. When he got to me, he looked concerned. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">“Is something troubling you, Emily?” he asked. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">“No, not really.” A little white lie never hurt anyone. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">“You seemed a little… distracted.” So he did notice. I was hoping he wouldn’t. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">“Oh, I just have a lot on my mind, is all.” 

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">“I’ll tell you what,” he said with a faint smile. “Why don’t you come back for the evening service at six o’clock? The evening services are a little more personal.” '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">“Maybe I will,” I blurted out. I normally wouldn’t consider such a thing, but something was compelling me to come back. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">“I’d love to see you there!” He patted me on the shoulder as I exited the building. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">The bus dropped me in front of the church at 6:15. Even though the service should have started, the parking lot was empty. The place felt different at night. There was a strange sense of foreboding about it. I staggered my way to the front door and tried to enter. It was locked. Suddenly, a black Mercedes Benz came screaming into the parking lot. Pastor Nguyen stepped out. I wondered how he could afford a car like that. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">“Good! You’re here!” the pastor shouted. He walked at a brisk pace towards the door, fumbling with a set of keys. “We can start the service!” '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">“Where’s everyone else?” I asked. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">“They’ll be here shortly,” he said as he unlocked the door. “Ladies first!” '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">I considered turning and running, but I didn’t want to leave the pastor hanging. I maintained eye contact with him as I stepped inside. He came in after me, but didn’t turn any lights on. He led me into the sanctuary, which was bathed only in the red light of the exit sign. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">“Just wait here for a moment.” The pastor said with a grin. “I’ll be right back!” He closed the door on me, leaving me alone with the sign. The sign cast everything in a sinister light. Especially disturbing was the figure of Christ on the crucifix behind the altar, which seemed to be gazing down on me in harsh judgment. I tried frantically to open the door, but the pastor had locked it. Panic started to seep in. I clawed at the walls like an animal in my desperate search for a lightswitch, but there was none to be found. The thought never crossed my mind to open the exit door. I didn’t dare go near that dreadful light. I tried kicking the front door down, but with each feeble kick, the light grew brighter. And as the light grew brighter, the face of the Christ figure twisted into expressions of disdain, contempt, and fury. And as Jesus grew more angry with me, the weaker my muscles became, until I collapsed on the floor, a sobbing, heaving mess. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">“Jesus, forgive me!” I shouted, but He didn’t hear me. The red light was blinding. Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, the light dimmed to its original level. When my eyes adjusted, I saw the pastor behind the altar. There was a bottle of expensive wine on the altar, as well as a box of Nabisco saltines. He smirked, sipping wine from an oversized glass. “What the hell is going on here?!” I cried. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">“Haven’t you ever seen a Eucharist before?” The pastor stuffed a fistfull of saltines into his face. He grabbed the box and made his way towards me. “Most Baptists don’t believe in transubstantiation, but I do. I fill my belly with Christ’s flesh so I can be closer to him.” He kneeled down beside me, his hand deep in the box. “Here, try some!” He pinched my nose shut. When I gasped for air, he shoved a heaping fistfull of broken saltines down my throat. As soon as the crackers hit my tongue, they turned into bloody flesh. I gagged and coughed up lumps of flesh. “You spit out the Lord’s body? What kind of a Christian are you?” He grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me across the carpet towards the exit door. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">“Please, let me go…” I sobbed, but my pleas fell on deaf ears. He threw me on the floor in front of the exit door. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">“Look at that sign.” The pastor commanded. “I said <span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);font-style:italic;white-space:pre-wrap;">look at it! <span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">” He grabbed my hair and jerked my head up. I was face to face with the sign. “Don’t you know that red light is the blood of God the Father?” He let go of my hair. He retrieved the glass of wine from the altar and splashed it on the sign. “The blood of Christ the Son!” he exclaimed. He then dug around in his jacket pocket for a while, a salacious grin on his face. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">“Stop! Somebody help!” I don’t know why I screamed. In my heart I knew no one could hear me. The pastor pulled out a rusty boxcutter. I tried to back away, but my muscles were too weak. He grabbed my hand and slashed my wrist. As I writhed and screamed in pain, the pastor collected my blood in the wine glass. When he had a good amount, he swirled it in the glass and sniffed it. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">“And the blood of the Holy Spirit,” he sighed. “For he is always with you.” He splashed the blood on the sign. The door slowly opened, revealing a black void. “You know, Emily,” he said coyly. “The wonderful thing about exits is that they are often also entrances.” He grabbed my bleeding wrist and threw me into the void, slamming the door shut. '''

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;"><span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;"> 

<p dir="ltr" style="line-height:1.15;margin-top:0pt;margin-bottom:0pt;text-indent:36pt;">'''<span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">My name is Becky. I’m 25 years old, and I’ve lived in Staten Island for 15 years. I’ve been a Christian all my life, but recently, my faith has been tested. My roommate and best friend, Emily, went missing last year. We’ve been through thick and thin together. I stayed with her when she had a drug problem, and I talked to her all the time when she was in detox. When she got out, she was so happy and full of life. She turned it all around, and was on track for a good, fulfilling life. I was so proud of her. And then she disappeared. I just about went crazy looking for her. The police tried to search for her, too, but as days turned to weeks and weeks into months, I just had to accept the fact that she was gone. Why would God let something like this happen? She really was a good person at heart. I mean, sure, she’s done bad things, but we’re all sinners, aren’t we? '''

''' <span style="font-size:15px;font-family:Arial;color:rgb(255,255,255);white-space:pre-wrap;">I had to look for answers. And my Pentecostal church was good for an entertaining sermon, but not so good for deeply personal, emotional matters. I had to turn somewhere else. And I think I found the place: Willowbrook Baptist Church. Pastor Nguyen is such a sweet, caring guy. He even invited me to the evening service! '''<ac_metadata title="Exit"> </ac_metadata>