He felt sort of disappointed at the whole scheme of his church. Religion, in general, was regarded very highly among his other ideals, and it was one of the few things he actually could stick with during his deranged life span. Yet, how this group of people; his neighborhood; the people he greeted with false enthusiasm every morning on his way to work, and then again every evening while out to dinner with a woman that everyone was fully aware was not his wife, remained a disgusted mystery. They busied themselves in conservative manners with their own dirty problems, trying to convince their jealousies that the wrath of God would simply give him his turn.
On Sundays, they followed a man by the name of Bill. Bill’s hair was bronzed cotton that was lightly and carefully spread out with the knife of his comb amongst the tanned, shiny spans of skin, which he would not yet admit had been exposed to father time and cursed by age. He was a fiery talker, as most preachers tend to be. His speeches would begin at the safety of God’s arms and quickly, sporadically, lash out against the homosexuals, promiscuous teens, and doomed sinners present in the congregation. He wore a suit every Sunday. Probably everywhere he went as well. It was always the same suit, a fine display of his handsomely sacrificed salary to the word of God. He owned three ties which were rotated on a basis depending entirely on the severity of the sins committed. Red was his most passionate, whenever crimson hung around his neck his people knew to steer clear.
Bill’s personal life deeply affected each moral that he condemned every week, yet few would realize this in their lifetimes. As a young boy, he watched a preacher over-exhaust the once (very distantly attractive) subject of God’s love. He controlled his church to the point where his people would blindly follow him into a slaughterhouse that was full of their brothers and sisters, and later would praise the lord for his amazingly insightful spiritual guidance. This was irreplaceably disturbing. Yet before Bill could match this aging sage’s success, he needed a faithful companion who would never leave his side, and obediently carry out his dirty work amongst the social cliques.
They’d met somewhere between the excitement that emitted off of a fresh, first job that was accompanied by the crisp papers and sharp briefcases and the routine that would have been easily exchanged for a year in prison just to escape hell. She wasn’t exactly the MOST attractive woman he had dated (if you could call it dating). But being a man who was more in love with himself than all of the beautiful things in the world, he saw this as another admirer to join him in his lifelong pursuit of the ultimate self-admiration. Thus, with a subdued wife at one side, and a slightly more firey labrador retriever on his other, Bill braced himself for undeniable power.
« return.