Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-24841732-20140425152259

John awoke with a start, his alarm catching him off guard. I thought I set it an hour later. He did a double take on the alarm’s display, realising it was an hour later. He pushed the thick blanket off of him, and sat up quickly.

He looked at the small framed photo of his wife, and a tear slowly trickled down his unshaven face. She had died last year in a horrific accident, while he remained unscathed. He wasn’t even hospitalized. He still hadn’t gotten over how God betrayed him like that. Since then, he dedicated his life to his church, begging for his Lord’s forgiveness.

He pulled on his sunday pants, slipped his sunday shit over his head, and tied his sunday shoes. He had to go to church today. He ran through his mental checklist once more. Shave, shower, get dressed, feed the dog, eat breakfast, and start walking over to his neighborhood church. His weekly ritual.

He took his time with his walk, and enjoyed to fresh air. A gorgeous day, too. A bright, green, and sunny day, with nary a cloud in the sky. He took notice of a small object on the cracked concrete sidewalk.

Upon closer inspection, the object turned out to be a small leather wallet. Inside were a few bucks, some gift cards, and some ID. John pocketed it, telling himself he would return it to it’s owner later today. He could use the money, but the owner could probably use it more, and he wasn’t about to screw someone over for some quick cash.

He removed his smartphone from his pocket and checked the time. 10:49, shit, I have to hurry. He picked up his pace to a light jog. He was still a few blocks away, and he didn’t have much time. Dodging between children playing on the sidewalk, and the various joggers out at this time, he reached the modest catholic church.

He took a moment to dust off his clothing, then checked the time again. 10:56. He made it the nick of time. He pulled open the door, and Father Simmonds welcomed him inside.

“Come, come my child. We are about to start.” The priest whispered, so all of the five people inside couldn’t hear. The old place never had many people at any given time. It was tiny, repurposed from Simmonds’ own house all those years ago. What was it? Twenty-five years? Even John was just a child then, only eight years old.

The interior, however, appeared massive. All the walls on the first floor had been knocked out to make room for the benches. The floor creaked with every step, and the doors were no different. John had offered to oil them at least a hundred times, but had been turned down every time. The cheap plastic ‘stained glass’ let in little light, even at this time of day. The place was permanently dim. Between the decrepit appearance, the creaking floors, and the dim lighting, the place seemed more suited in a horror flick.

The people, however, are what brought life into the place. All of them were close friends, and each shared each other’s love for God. They trusted each other more than they trusted their own families.

The Mass lasted a good two and a half hours, made a bit longer by the jovial conversation throughout. Despite the emptiness, the place was never quiet.

After a while, the place cleared out. John was about to leave himself, when Father Simmonds pulled him to the side. Simmonds appeared visibly terrified, and John wondered how long he had been like this. Had he been this pale this morning?

“John, I really need to talk to you. I-I think God has spoken to me.”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“He came to me last night. At first I thought it was a dream. He told me of a new world where there would be only peace. He-he said I would be the shepherd of this new world.” Simmonds shuddered.

“What do you mean? This is great! Your piety is finally being rewarded.”

“No no no. You don’t understand. He wants me- no us to kill any who have sinned. ‘Those whom have broken my eternal law shalt be put to death.’”

“Are you sure it was the Lord? And not a drea-”

“Yes I am sure. Look, he gave me this.” Simmonds handed him a small ornate dagger. The beautiful, terrible weapon was warm- no burned to the touch.The blade appeared to be pure, uncorrupted white, and the handle and scabbard were jeweled gold, and depicted scenes of great battles between angels and demons.

“So there is no doubt? It was God himself?” John whispered, apparently to himself. “Then we must tell the others, and carry out God’s holy justice.” John said with much more conviction.

“Yes, of course. I wanted to tell you first, my child. I trust you. Do you think the others will believe me?”

“Of course, Father. We trust in you. You would never lie to us. Especially about something so important. Think about it, we are going to change the world.”

“I will tell the others at the next Mass, then. Thank you, my son. Thank you for believing me.” Simmonds pulled John close and embraced him. The tears dripped down his face and onto John’s shoulder. He had never seen Simmonds so upset, he was usually a strong and resolved man.

In the seven days since the Mass, John had gotten many hours of sleep. The only thing on his mind was what Simmonds had said. Had God really spoken to him? He wanted to believe him, but at the same time he wished he was lying. Nightmares had plagued him, most about the implications of Simmonds words. If he went through with this, how many would they kill? The true scum, yes. The murderers, the rapists, the drug dealers, etcetera. But what about those whose crime were minor? Would have to kill any who had stolen? Even the ones who simply used God’s name in vain? Who committed the simple crime of believing in another god?

John forced himself out of his unmade bed. He slipped into his sunday clothes and started heading out. He didn’t bother shaving or showering, he was late as it is. When he arrived at the church, he sulked in the far corner. When poor, beautiful Anna tried to see what was wrong, he shooed her away. Even the young devote metalhead, the walking contradiction, Isaac tried to comfort him, all he received were harsh words and some strong language. Mass seemed to drag on forever, John both anticipating and dreaded the revelation to come.

Finally, the service ended, and Father Simmonds began to speak.

“Children, I have something I need to tell you before you leave.” Simmonds cleared his throat. “I believe God has spoken to me. He visited me one week ago as of today. He gave me orders, orders that I am going to pass onto you. This may be hard for you, but God has told us to kill those who have sinned. As proof, he gave me this blade.” Simmonds unsheathed the small dagger, and it seemed to glow in the dimness of the church. The church goers looked upon it in awe. “Do you accept God’s mission? Will you commit the ultimate crime to complete our lord’s vision?”

Almost in unison, they all responded with “I accept the Lord’s mission.”, excluding John, who responded with a whisper.

“What did you say, John? My hearing isn’t what it used to be.” Asked old Mrs. Morale.

“I said ‘No’.” He said with a bit more resolve. “I don’t accept this. I won’t kill.” John stormed out of the small house-turned-church.”

This is still a WIP, and is only about half way done. I am a bit stuck ATM, and would like some help. 