Tag Archives: -Religion

Tuesday Tales – Challenge 73

I’d never before been inside a church.

Perhaps the answers I seek lay within this ancient cathedral’s walls.  My chest tightens as I approach, the gothic doors open, inviting me in, but I cannot.  The threshold becomes like a birling log.  I step forward but do not move.  The carvings on the walls melt; the light shining through the stained glass change from brilliant hues of oranges and yellows to blood red, pooling across the floor.  Suddenly a man appears across the narthex.  “You are not welcome here.”  His voice, strained, barely reaches me.  “Go, he will find you here.”

#3ForThursday – Week 3

…Lest Ye Be Judged

I folded my wings under my trench.  Walking through the wreckage I wondered how long this church would sit a derelict ruin, a reminder of the scum claiming to do the Lords bidding. I do the Lords bidding.

“Who do you think did this detective?”  The fire marshal ran the scanner looking for hot spots.

“I don’t think we’ll ever know.  Likely one of these nut jobs.”  I lied.  These people had a lot of friends, we weren’t among them.

I had to return.  I couldn’t wait to see the look on the Phelps’ face when he faces his maker.

“Is this the Topeka bunch?”  Seventy people stood in line, chatting and laughing, completely at ease.

“Yes your highness.”  A man replied.

“I’m not your highness.”  Peter unravelled a scroll.  “Phelps?”  He called.

A man quickly made his way to Peter’s desk.  “Present.”

“I’m sure it’s merely for his amusement that we are even going through this formality.”  He shot me a glare.

“After the church came crashing down on us, we were not anticipating judgement,” Phelps said. “After all we have done for the cause, I was expecting a free pass.”

Peter cocked his eyebrow.  “A free pass, here?”

“Who started the fire?”  I asked.

Peter’s fingers ran down the list.

A petrified man involuntarily came forth.  “I didn’t…”

“This isn’t really the place to lie, John.”  I said.

“I had to stop them, I’m…” tears overcame him.

“Gay.”  Peter finished for him.  “That’s okay.  Up here, we’re very understanding.”

The gates opened, and an angel appeared to escort him through.  The former congregation stared wide eyed.

“Just so you know,” Peter addressed the former congregation, “God doesn’t hate fags, God, hates bigots!”

In bursts of fire and screams, sixty-nine people falsely claiming to be Christians faced their judgement.

#5MinuteFiction – Week 71

The Neighbour

She knew her neighbour was Greek, she had been told that was why she had all the statues.  It was one thing to have a bird bath or perhaps a small sculpture in your garden, but it was another thing to have a small army throughout your yard.  She would have complained to the community association but they all seemed to be afraid of her. Maybe it was the stone statues she had guarding her door.  Although not carbon copies of each other, each had a menacing body guard or cop look.

Most of the people in this neighbourhood had at least a touch of class, not a pink flamingo or garden gnome to be seen, considering it was southFloridathat was pretty impressive.

She looked out of her window and spotted a new statue, one that kind of looked like the postman.  She had had enough, it was time to have a little face-to-face with this gaudy woman.

Cybil marched past the new figurine, she barely noticed the parcel he was holding was marked:


She rang the doorbell several times and waited.  “Go away, I am not to be seen!”  A voice said from inside.

Cybil was not going to be turned away.  “Come and face me, I need to talk to you about the state of your yard!”

A series of clicks and the door opened.

“So the last person that lived here, what happened to them?”  He asked the realitor.

“The neighbours said they were tired of all of the lawn ornaments.”  She said.

“Well I find them quite charming.”  The wife of the prospective buyer replied.  “Especially this one.”  A middle aged stone figure stared at her.  “I just wish she’d be turned away a little.”

#HumpdayChallenge Week 3

Entombed in the vile stench of rotting flesh and acrid bile, Wesley played dominoes with the devil for the only currency left, his soul. He knew a lifetime of greed, lust and the rest of Dante’s sins would someday earn him this one-way ticket to Hell.
Across the table his opponent gnawed on a doughnut, an interminable stream of blood-red jelly oozed down his triple-chin and onto a sweat-stained undershirt. Wesley’s memory kept score: Lucifer, a trillion, Wesley, nothing; but he had a plan, no cheating, no legerdemain, those were the Devil’s tools, this time he would use honesty.