Young Writers Society

It seemed as if an eternity passed before Kentucky finished the song, and came to stand beside Mama. Papa nodded slightly at us. There was no need to say "you may be seated" when three quarters of the church were already seated.

We sat down, and the pews creaked. It was a resounding sound in the massive silence. I hugged my arms around my waist, and wished to be anywhere but in this building.

I wondered if Papa had the same thought. He was looking at his notes on the pulpit, as silent as the congregation. The quiet was beginning to smother me. All I could hear were my own breaths, and Jackson's beside me. Yet even that felt too loud, too discernible among these people.

I hated it.

But then there was the sound of the door opening, and a draft of cool air wafted in. It curled it's cold fingers around my neck, and I shuddered, and turned, and I saw her.

She was like some sort of goddess: long-legged, and slender; thick, black hair and ivory skin; a dark green dress cut close to her body. There was this cool demeanor to her. A collected, almost powerful air. She was beautiful. I looked at her, and felt inferior. Insignificant. And very, very plain.

Her eyes drifted around the room as she sat down, and came to rest beside me. She was looking at Jackson. I knew she was. Something inside my stomach hardened.

She had been so silent when she walked in, Papa hardly seemed to acknowledge her. Actually, I realized, with the exception of me, and some of my family, no one else appeared to notice. They remained staring straight ahead at Papa, as noiseless as panthers when hunting their prey.

Papa set down his notes, stepped out from behind the pulpit, and smiled at all of us. "Well, how's everyone doing this morning?"

The new tactic was still met with silence. But this time it didn't last long.

The old lady with the small oval glasses spoke up, "Very well, thank you."

She had a loud, brassy voice, and Kiley jumped in her seat.

"Fine!" said Ivan.

The young Mexican woman behind me muttered something in Spanish. The teenage boy in the back merely grinned.

"I'm glad to hear that," said Papa. He smiled, the relief evident on his face. They actually could communicate. Maybe there was a hope. "Sunday mornings have always been a favorite of mine."

Only Kentucky bobbed his head in agreement. I folded my arms. Sunday mornings were fine, but not when you were stuck in a drafty building with a few strangers.

"If you have your Bibles -" Papa was back behind the pulpit "- let's turn to Second Peter chapter one." He glanced ever so slightly at us. "And stand for the reading of the Word."

I stood, clasping my hands behind my back. Somewhere back in the house sat my Bible. I wondered if Papa would be upset that I had forgot to bring it.

In my peripheral vision, I saw Griffin slowly rise to his feet. He was the only other person who stood, and Papa's mouth tightened a bit. No one appeared to have brought their Bibles. Instead they sat with their hands in their lap, watching Papa.

There was no possible way fifteen other people simply happened to forget their Bibles. I refused to believe it.

"Beginning at verse one," said Papa, and I looked over Jackson's shoulder at the open Bible he held in his hands.

"'Simon Peter, a servant and an apostle of Jesus Christ, to them that have obtained like precious faith...'"

Griffin had his head bowed. I watched him from the corner of my eye. He looked so humble and sincere, like any good saint should. Except he was a biker. Who probably drank and smoked a lot. I wondered why he had stood. I wondered why he had come to church this morning.

"'Grace and peace be multiplied unto you, through the knowledge of God...'"

Then there was Brenae, staring straight ahead. Something about the stiff set of her shoulders irritated me. Was that a defensive pose, or a proud pose? Or was she simply feeling how chilly it was in here?

"'According as His divine power hath given unto us all things that pertain unto life and godliness...'"

Jackson shifted on his feet, and looked around, then glanced at me and raised his eyebrows. One of the old ladies, the one with the fluffy white bob, was falling asleep, her little head bobbing on her chest. The burly man's face was red. He looked at me and his jaw jerked, and I quickly faced the front again, heart pounding a terrified rhythm in my chest.

Angry. He was angry.

I looked up at Jackson. He was frowning.

"'...that by these ye might be partakers of the divine nature, having escaped the corruption that is the world through lust.'"

Papa had finished. He bowed his head, without any further words, and began to pray. "Thank you Lord for Your Word, and for ministering to us this morning."

I don't think the Word ministered to anyone this morning, Papa. Not yet at least. My palms felt damp. Maybe it wouldn't be at all.

"I pray Your will be done in service, that our hearts and our minds will be open to receiving you, and that You will speak through me as only You will. In the name of Jesus Christ we pray, Amen."

"Amen," echoed Kentucky, and Mama.

"You may be seated," said Papa, with a slight nod of acknowledgment towards Griffin.

I sat down, stiffly. There was a tension in the air. I only realized it when I looked back, and saw the man, red-faced and tense. Maybe this was why everyone sat so still. It was the calm before the storm. Only my family didn't seem to realize this.

"There is so much depth to what Peter is saying in these scriptures," Papa said, looking out on his audience. "But I don't want to take up too much of your time today."

Thank God. I twisted the hem of my button-up shirt around in my hands, and wished the time to fly. Hurry Papa, hurry.

"If you'll notice in verse one," said Papa. "Simon Peter didn't write this epistle to any ordinary folk, but to those that had obtained like precious faith. He said grace and peace be multiplied unto you through the knowledge of God, and we see in verse three that all things that pertain unto life and godliness are also given unto us through this knowledge of Him."

"Yes, Sir," said Kentucky, gravely.

Hurry, I thought.

"But it doesn't end there." Papa raised his eyebrows, as if he had caught us by surprised. The only reaction I heard was someone clearing their throat. "Verse five states exceeding great and precious promises are also given to us through this knowledge. I don't know about you, but this sounds like something I'd like to have. They're not just great -"

"What the heck is going on?"

My heart nearly jumped out of my chest.

The man in the back was standing, huge arms tense on either side. His face wasn't just red now, but the color had spread over his thick neck, down to his giant fists. He looked like a volcano, on the verge of erupting.

Jackson bristled.

There was no surprise on Papa's face when he looked toward the back. He only narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and asked, "Who are you?"

"I could ask the same," spat the man.

Kiley was peeking over the pew, wide-eyed, and Mama turned her around to face the front. Her posture was as stiff as if she had been carved out of stone. All other beings in the church, even the fluffy-haired old lady who had been napping, looked startled.

"Well." Papa was careful with his words. "A few weeks ago I was elected to pastor here-"

"Pastor?! I did not elect you to be my pastor," snarled the man.

"This isn't a position I chose -"

"Then take your stupid doctrine and get out of here!"

"Silas," the husband in the Mexican family spoke up. "This wasn't our decision to make." His words sounded as if they were intended to be reassuring, but his voice was bitter. I wanted to cover my ears, close my eyes, run outside. Be anywhere but in this place.

"No," said Jackson, sharply, "as it very well shouldn't be! Who knows what kind of loony you people would elect?!"

Mama's head swiveled about, and Kentucky's head bowed.

Silas stared. The whole congregation stared. And then, without much thought to what I was doing, I felt my body push itself upright and walk away. 

***

A/N: Heyo, thanks for reading! 

There's really only one MAJOR issue I have with this (not gonna mention horrible description of goddess-girl or lack of description of Silas...) and that is the conflict. I don't like it in here. Or rather, the lack of drama in the conflict. It's supposed to be a little scary but I feel like I didn't bring the intensity across very well, so any tips/advice towards making this scene more intense would be much appreciated! Could I use better dialogue or actions, or have the congregation be more involved? Or was it not so terrible as I'm making it out to be, but still could use a few tweaks? (HAHAHA) 

Thanks in advance! : )