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Pearl Cliffs
John, Chapter 1
In my hometown, a small place in Senta Orino, residents and solicitors would ask me all the time if I believed or ever gave a care about a god. I would shoot the *** with them for a minute or two, seeing if I could change the topic. Normally it works with the old ***, they could barely keep up with someone younger than them. If I couldn’t dissuade them, I would tell them “Yes Ma’am” or sir, many of the people who asked were females “I believe in our lord and savior.” I’d always just say that out of pity, those *** were always so old and innocent. They would pester me with even more questions if I had said I hadn’t believed in a god.
Regardless of what lies or excuses I could muster to escape the conversation and return to any other pressing matters I had to attend to; they would always ask me to come to church with them even if it wasn’t Sunday.
I remember one time my neighbor, Ms. Pauline asked me if I would accompany her at church, her son and Husband had died around 6-ish years ago. Real brutal accident it was, I heard rumors that the son was killed immediately but the husband survived; Only about a week later did he pass. The son I feel the worst for, he was just too young. He was tall, about six foot two, he had about mid-length brown hair. It was nice and suave, he liked to dress nice too; Not too dissimilar to me. If you squinted at Ms. Pauline’s son, you’d mistake him for me. Sometimes Ms. Pauline would do just that, that old hag would mistake me for her own god damn son.
Anyway, Ms. Pauline was in her mid-50s, and I felt sorry for her; she had no one to talk to. She must've been so damn lonely. When she asked me to attend church with her you could hear her voice tremble slightly. I couldn’t help myself and made such a spontaneous choice, I was such a kiss-*** for elders.
I remember thinking to myself about why Ms. Pauline was now a believer in God, she wasn’t exactly the kind of person who would get down on her knees and sob if an un-earthly apparition came down and terrorized her, but she wasn’t the kind to believe in ghosts or the supernatural either. It almost seemed like the accident brought something out in her.
We talked briefly on the way towards the church, she of all people preferred walking to driving. She asked me about my life and where it was going and all that jazz, but I just kept thinking about why she of all people believed in God. It was such a weird and foreign idea to me.
Eventually we made it over to the church, it wasn’t too pretty but it wasn’t an eyesore either. It was just a building that stood there with crosses painted all over the wooden exterior. It looked about twenty years old and sat firmly on top of the hill overlooking our small town. It was a nice clearing too, nothing too romantic; It had this clearing from the surrounding army of stature oaks. The whole area had this aura of nostalgia draping over it.
Ms. Pauline and I approached the front entrance of the church, both of us stepping off the gravel trail and onto the slightly raised cement sidewalk. It was there where I first saw the Pastor, he was standing by the door just waiting to greet everyone who even dared step foot up to the church. The Pastor coincidentally happened to turn his head and witness Ms. Pauline treading up to the double wooden doors of the church.
“Ms. Pauline!” You could hear his beaming enthusiasm from miles away. People like that always rub me the wrong way, to be so confident and joyful just for the *** of it.
“It’s truly such a joy to see you again!"
I guess Ms. Pauline didn't feel much like shouting amongst the growing nearer twelve-foot distance between her and the pastor. Only until the Pastor got close enough did Ms. Pauline finally speak.
“Sorry I’ve been gone, I guess I got too caught up in my gardening." She had retorted her remark as the Pastor had accused her of a varnished rule of God. Regardless, I had never seen her garden once but none the less the Pastor bought the excuse, and I could tell he was about to ask who her guest was.
Before he could get the chance to ask me anything I extended my hand towards his. I have this awful habit of always being brash whenever I meet someone new. I couldn’t tell you where I got it from, perhaps my father. Although I don’t have any memories of when he would’ve “pulled a John,” as a distant friend once called it.
The Pastor gave me this funny kind of look, I couldn't tell if it was because of my impromptu handshake or if it was something else entirely. He tilted his head in curiosity, I could tell he was just playing something of an act.
“I believe you’re new here, have you signed the registration form and paid the entrance fee?” I acted puzzled and hid the fact that I knew he was making a poor joke.
He let out a slight laugh, sounded like a god damn horse wheezing. “I’m just messing with you! You should’ve seen the look on your face!” God, I hated him so much even though I’d just met him. See, even if it’s just a joke, you don't go about teasing someone about that kind of stuff.
After I forced out a laugh to his enjoyment, he put his hand on my back and told me that he’d show me around the church.
I never really got his first name, only his last name “Snyder.” With a surname like that, no one would ever perceive you as trustworthy.
Up until that point, I had been so infatuated with his name tag that I hadn't even noticed the man I'd been looking at. With shallow blue eyes, a strained face, and a medium stubble to conclude his visage. He stood tall, at least taller than me, always having to look down at you.
With the Pastor's hand still on my back, we walked into the main chamber of the church where he waved his hand in front of my face a gave me an almost sarcastic "Ta-Da" where he extended the vocalization for as long as he could or at least until I gave the Pastor praise, a look of awe, or money.
I gave the Pastor an innocent stare to signal to him that I wouldn't corroborate to what the Pastor wanted me to say. In return he let out a sigh, looked down, and walked me up towards his alter.
"It's a powerful thing you know." He said like a prideful father teaching his son a valuable lesson on life.
"What is sir?"
"Please, call me Snyder. My first name is too bland. And uh" his mind drew a blank as he paused, "I was referring to the alter!" He pointed his fatty finger at a chiseled oak stand like I was some blind bat.
After nodding like a madman, he must of taken it as an invitation to *** around up next to his alter like I was a little kid. You'd think that a Pastor, of all people, would have a Profesional attitude towards their environment and mass. After putting on a pretend smile, the Pastor began to act real brazen.
"You know, you're awfully young compared to the regular crowd that comes to service."
At the time I was 27, I was still somewhat spry and hadn't begun drinking yet. I could understand where he was coming from when he asked about his next request.
"Our church is looking to aquire more-"
Just then, the wooden doors that held us on the inside from the cult like crowd had opened up. It felt like being in the heart of a gold rush. People flowed through the doors like salmon traveling upstream.
When finally they had all reached whichever seats they thought would give them the best view of the Pastor's alter, he looked down at his watch then back at me, declaring he had "better get going."
With the service only being a minute or so away from starting, I turned my back to his and began zipping my eyes against the many occupied seats looking for a familiar face. My eyes came across Ms. Pauline, her bright blue dress made her stand out from the rest of the crowd. I made my way toward her, excusing myself as I weaved through the several rows of occultists.
When I made my way to her after what felt like an hour of shuffling about, someone else had already gotten my seat. An older man of 60 who looked terminally ill and not made for this world.
"Excuse me sir, would you mind if I sat down there?" I made sure to put on the most sympathetic tone I could to sway the dying star to move.
"Oh, gladly sport! Here let me just grab my book." After he licked his lips and leaned forward to grab his book he stood up with a pop and begin to walk off. Of course it couldn't be that simple though.
"My beautiful grandson!" Exclaimed Ms. Pauline, for whatever reason this prompted the older gentleman to turn around and give me an extra greeting.
"You're Ms. Pauline's grandson now are you sport?"
"No no I'm just-"
"Well look here, you take care of her now. She's had a tremendous amount of loss in her life. Care for her with everything will you?" Before I knew it, the whole damn church excepted me as being "Ms. Pauline’s grandson." All because the stupid *** couldn't keep her mouth shut.
After I finally had the chance to sit down and get Ms. Pauline to quiet down the Pastor began the service with a prayer then opened to "the lord's lesson." Here's where religion really gets everyone, the lessons are so vague and relatable that people believe God himself made this moment for them. I felt the same way every time Snyder gave me a "divine lesson."
I don't remember much during the sermon or much of what the Pastor had talked about. I actually only remember two odd details during the whole ordeal, one was that the Pastor was entranced on this concept of the youth being "God's voice," and the other was how the Pastor was fixated on me during service. Every time he said "youth" his head turned towards where I sat. It always put me on edge, the way the Pastor would stare and nod at me. He had this nod of approval that made you feel you had just won an award.
The whole service was rather boring, with nothing to do I returned to my thoughts before I had been dragged in this whole ordeal. See, My parents when they were still around wanted to get me indoctrinated into a camp. They said a normal person wouldn't have stuttered as much as I and that I shouldn't be so recluse. To convince them otherwise, I met this pleasant women, Mary. I met her when I was in Pensley prep, I chose to rather forget about those days. Mary was the only pleasant thing there, I forget what class we shared or even if we shared a class at all. All I remember of her was the name she had.
Before I had ended my reminiscing on old's past, the Pastor had wrapped up service. As the flock of unfortunate souls realized the gold was gone they slowly wondered what to do next with their imminent life's. As the bewildered crowd shook hands with the Pastor, he moved towards me quite elegantly. Once he finally reached me, after shaking what looked like 20 or so hands, he asked if I would be willing to talk privately in his office.
After leading me on like a child willing to show his famed accomplishment, he managed to entrance me in the decorative entrance that was his office. Snyder ushered me inside with a look of pride and stepped beside then around me as he took a seat opposing me.
"How do you like my post?" He pierced the silence with such modesty that any fathomable words became quickly inconceivable.
"It's quite elegant." In truth, it was nothing compared to the crown molded entrance way leading to the dull interior of whatever conception one might have held in thought.
The Pastor gave me a confused look and commented on my stoicism, "I guess you could say that." He followed by giving a dissatisfied frown. Almost as if a brilliant idea had hit him, he glanced up at me and said only two words. "Youth outreach."
"I beg your pardon?"
"See, God gave me a vision." I nearly about died there. "He shared with me my achievements and short comings, all the good that I would bring to the world." After rambling on for what seemed like hours the Pastor finally got to his point.
"That's what God needs me to do. He wants to spread his word in a new and revolutionary way. Now youth outreach is new per se but I was thinking of a different kind of outreach."
"What do you mean sir?"
"What if instead of traveling locally, we sent you across the globe. Preaching through our community isn't enough, as God put it. We need to aim bigger!"
Here's where I really started to hate the guy, he lost touch of what a religion should be. While I personally couldn't give two *** about how one leads their following, you shouldn't abuse your powers. He wanted to use me to line his pockets, go out into the world and convince people that God is our savior.
"I see, why tell me?" I was just a tad curious on whether I had assumed correctly, a slender and well spoken man molds well into a priest.
"Look at yourself! You're the youngest person here and I saw the way your eyes flared open in service this morning." I still can't figure out whether he was eluded to believing my interest or if the Pastor was simply deceiving me into partaking in this new youth outreach program of his.
"It makes sense logically, but why should I? I'd have to leave behind what I have worked so hard for."
"Here's why, you get paid to travel the world! I would've jumped on this opportunity if I were you're age, you don't get this opportunity often."
"It's not that I don't want to go, it's the cost of utilities, travel, food, clothing, and so much more. I really don't have the time or money to do so."
I knew the Pastor was going to offer me money regardless, that's why I chose my words accordingly. See, you never ask someone directly what you want, you need to sew the idea inside their head first.
"I'll pay you to travel, I'll pay for your clothes, I'll pay for your food. Anything you want I'll get you. This is God's plan, and God's plan always sees through."
"Alright alright, how about training?" I was getting quite tired in that particular moment and couldn't wait to get out of this crooked *** office, the menacing smile and greed had been seeping off of him the whole conversation. I was in no state of mind to make a decision either, I had been practically dragged from my home and into a church's service. However much I despised being there, the offer of opportunities started to root itself into my skull.
"If you're concerened about any certifications don't worry, God gave me his instructions and said them very clear. I know what must be done, all you have to do is shake my hand and you'll be off to Truist in a week or so." He then extended his hand towards me and gave me this look of dependence, he was asking if I trusted him in such a way without using any words. Without using any words I conveyed that I did not trust him. He yearned for some young niave spirit to replace his own. Someone willing to endure his dark and perverse fantasies, he had exposed himself upon myself hoping that I wouldn't take notice or care for what he truly was, filth.
I assume he realized this as his eyes had turned to a more stern look as he retracted his hand and showed a mixed look of both disgust and worry. His hand started twitching as a rush of emotions had befallen upon him, the Pastor's mouth trembling to utter such few words, "I know you." Rage started to slowly fill the empty spaces within the Pastor's visage and his mask had transformed into a grand performance of stern anger. Last thing I could recall was him screaming at me to vacant his church, that I should never come back again. For someone so religiously devoted it's hard to believe that he was capable of breaking any moral grounds he was either raised or brung into.
I took my leave from his underwhelming office and into the blank but lavish chamber where it had once been full of devoted patrons. My shoes made a nice clicking sound against the brown hardwood floor, a soft steady beat as my shoes glided softly across the floor. I dug both my hands into my pocket and almost immediately realized that my appearance was off, I took my hands out and ran them down the back of my lapel and proceeded to drag my hands through my hair as to push it back. At the end of my routine I straightened my back and my hand took the appearance of a brown leather briefcase. I looked around me for some sort of mirror or clear reflection as I marched triumphantly down the softly echoing chamber, as soon as I did find one I tilted my head slightly back towards my reflection in a large cathedral glass for as long as I could. I've always liked staring at my reflection, it's always nice to have reassurance that you'll always be the same person. As the line of panes ended down the chamber's corridor I took a left into the main room where an elderly woman picking up trampled posters had tilted her head up towards me and asked if everything was well with the Pastor. I didn't feel much like talking, I didn't feel much for anything. I just wanted to be home, just some place familiar.
Lucky and Pauline, Chapter 2
As I've said before I live in a relatively small town, not small enough where everyone knows each but small enough where the occasional group of tourists come by. I couldn’t tell you why they would come here of all place, this town is full of rot. Regardless the local Hotspot of the town was a secluded bar, the only place where you could meet someone new or at least get a decent drink.
I understand how one would find that hypocritical, being so antisocial but loving to meet new people. Here's what you have to understand, the definition of "meeting a person" is different between you or I. As long as I've observed someone I've met them. Your definition might be to the contrary of mine where you need to shake hands, meet parents, or even have dinner with someone. At that point it just becomes a date or you become a pawn for that person. Just another connection to call a favor upon.
Take for example when I was going through college, this kid named Lucky. I could never remember his real name as we never talked much. I called him Lucky as he'd always been given his opportunities, whether it be from some rich hotshot or a friend of his father's. Either way in our college dorm the only way down was through a stairwell at the end of one long central hall. Lucky had his dorm closest to the stairwell, his father practically owned the dormitory so Lucky had his privileges. See, the downside to privilege is the dependence on others. Dependence on others is the calling card of a frail man, for he deserves no more than what he can obtain for himself. With Lucky, he expected others to assist him like butlers to serve at his every beck and call. Truly pathetic, it was an emberassement to live in the same hallway of him.
Late December night when a friend had called for me from the room below mine, I dressed with a olive drab, wool lined coat. I spent the better half of a month saving enough to buy it. The only reason I spent so much on it was it reminded me of my father. I carefully stepped foot out of my dorm and made my way down the hall careful to not wake anyone I didn't wan't to talk with.
Pearl Cliffs
John, Chapter 1
In my hometown, a small place in Senta Orino, residents and solicitors would ask me all the time if I believed or ever gave a care about a god. I would shoot the *** with them for a minute or two, seeing if I could change the topic. Normally it works with the old ***, they could barely keep up with someone younger than them. If I couldn’t dissuade them, I would tell them “Yes Ma’am” or sir, many of the people who asked were females “I believe in our lord and savior.” I’d always just say that out of pity, those *** were always so old and innocent. They would pester me with even more questions if I had said I hadn’t believed in a god.
Regardless of what lies or excuses I could muster to escape the conversation and return to any other pressing matters I had to attend to; they would always ask me to come to church with them even if it wasn’t Sunday.
I remember one time my neighbor, Ms. Pauline asked me if I would accompany her at church, her son and Husband had died around 6-ish years ago. Real brutal accident it was, I heard rumors that the son was killed immediately but the husband survived; Only about a week later did he pass. The son I feel the worst for, he was just too young. He was tall, about six foot two, he had about mid-length brown hair. It was nice and suave, he liked to dress nice too; Not too dissimilar to me. If you squinted at Ms. Pauline’s son, you’d mistake him for me. Sometimes Ms. Pauline would do just that, that old hag would mistake me for her own god damn son.
Anyway, Ms. Pauline was in her mid-50s, and I felt sorry for her; she had no one to talk to. She must've been so damn lonely. When she asked me to attend church with her you could hear her voice tremble slightly. I couldn’t help myself and made such a spontaneous choice, I was such a kiss-*** for elders.
I remember thinking to myself about why Ms. Pauline was now a believer in God, she wasn’t exactly the kind of person who would get down on her knees and sob if an un-earthly apparition came down and terrorized her, but she wasn’t the kind to believe in ghosts or the supernatural either. It almost seemed like the accident brought something out in her.
We talked briefly on the way towards the church, she of all people preferred walking to driving. She asked me about my life and where it was going and all that jazz, but I just kept thinking about why she of all people believed in God. It was such a weird and foreign idea to me.
Eventually we made it over to the church, it wasn’t too pretty but it wasn’t an eyesore either. It was just a building that stood there with crosses painted all over the wooden exterior. It looked about twenty years old and sat firmly on top of the hill overlooking our small town. It was a nice clearing too, nothing too romantic; It had this clearing from the surrounding army of stature oaks. The whole area had this aura of nostalgia draping over it.
Ms. Pauline and I approached the front entrance of the church, both of us stepping off the gravel trail and onto the slightly raised cement sidewalk. It was there where I first saw the Pastor, he was standing by the door just waiting to greet everyone who even dared step foot up to the church. The Pastor coincidentally happened to turn his head and witness Ms. Pauline treading up to the double wooden doors of the church.
“Ms. Pauline!” You could hear his beaming enthusiasm from miles away. People like that always rub me the wrong way, to be so confident and joyful just for the *** of it.
“It’s truly such a joy to see you again!"
I guess Ms. Pauline didn't feel much like shouting amongst the growing nearer twelve-foot distance between her and the pastor. Only until the Pastor got close enough did Ms. Pauline finally speak.
“Sorry I’ve been gone, I guess I got too caught up in my gardening." She had retorted her remark as the Pastor had accused her of a varnished rule of God. Regardless, I had never seen her garden once but none the less the Pastor bought the excuse, and I could tell he was about to ask who her guest was.
Before he could get the chance to ask me anything I extended my hand towards his. I have this awful habit of always being brash whenever I meet someone new. I couldn’t tell you where I got it from, perhaps my father. Although I don’t have any memories of when he would’ve “pulled a John,” as a distant friend once called it.
The Pastor gave me this funny kind of look, I couldn't tell if it was because of my impromptu handshake or if it was something else entirely. He tilted his head in curiosity, I could tell he was just playing something of an act.
“I believe you’re new here, have you signed the registration form and paid the entrance fee?” I acted puzzled and hid the fact that I knew he was making a poor joke.
He let out a slight laugh, sounded like a god damn horse wheezing. “I’m just messing with you! You should’ve seen the look on your face!” God, I hated him so much even though I’d just met him. See, even if it’s just a joke, you don't go about teasing someone about that kind of stuff.
After I forced out a laugh to his enjoyment, he put his hand on my back and told me that he’d show me around the church.
I never really got his first name, only his last name “Snyder.” With a surname like that, no one would ever perceive you as trustworthy.
Up until that point, I had been so infatuated with his name tag that I hadn't even noticed the man I'd been looking at. With shallow blue eyes, a strained face, and a medium stubble to conclude his visage. He stood tall, at least taller than me, always having to look down at you.
With the Pastor's hand still on my back, we walked into the main chamber of the church where he waved his hand in front of my face a gave me an almost sarcastic "Ta-Da" where he extended the vocalization for as long as he could or at least until I gave the Pastor praise, a look of awe, or money.
I gave the Pastor an innocent stare to signal to him that I wouldn't corroborate to what the Pastor wanted me to say. In return he let out a sigh, looked down, and walked me up towards his alter.
"It's a powerful thing you know." He said like a prideful father teaching his son a valuable lesson on life.
"What is sir?"
"Please, call me Snyder. My first name is too bland. And uh" his mind drew a blank as he paused, "I was referring to the alter!" He pointed his fatty finger at a chiseled oak stand like I was some blind bat.
After nodding like a madman, he must of taken it as an invitation to *** around up next to his alter like I was a little kid. You'd think that a Pastor, of all people, would have a Profesional attitude towards their environment and mass. After putting on a pretend smile, the Pastor began to act real brazen.
"You know, you're awfully young compared to the regular crowd that comes to service."
At the time I was 27, I was still somewhat spry and hadn't begun drinking yet. I could understand where he was coming from when he asked about his next request.
"Our church is looking to aquire more-"
Just then, the wooden doors that held us on the inside from the cult like crowd had opened up. It felt like being in the heart of a gold rush. People flowed through the doors like salmon traveling upstream.
When finally they had all reached whichever seats they thought would give them the best view of the Pastor's alter, he looked down at his watch then back at me, declaring he had "better get going."
With the service only being a minute or so away from starting, I turned my back to his and began zipping my eyes against the many occupied seats looking for a familiar face. My eyes came across Ms. Pauline, her bright blue dress made her stand out from the rest of the crowd. I made my way toward her, excusing myself as I weaved through the several rows of occultists.
When I made my way to her after what felt like an hour of shuffling about, someone else had already gotten my seat. An older man of 60 who looked terminally ill and not made for this world.
"Excuse me sir, would you mind if I sat down there?" I made sure to put on the most sympathetic tone I could to sway the dying star to move.
"Oh, gladly sport! Here let me just grab my book." After he licked his lips and leaned forward to grab his book he stood up with a pop and begin to walk off. Of course it couldn't be that simple though.
"My beautiful grandson!" Exclaimed Ms. Pauline, for whatever reason this prompted the older gentleman to turn around and give me an extra greeting.
"You're Ms. Pauline's grandson now are you sport?"
"No no I'm just-"
"Well look here, you take care of her now. She's had a tremendous amount of loss in her life. Care for her with everything will you?" Before I knew it, the whole damn church excepted me as being "Ms. Pauline’s grandson." All because the stupid *** couldn't keep her mouth shut.
After I finally had the chance to sit down and get Ms. Pauline to quiet down the Pastor began the service with a prayer then opened to "the lord's lesson." Here's where religion really gets everyone, the lessons are so vague and relatable that people believe God himself made this moment for them. I felt the same way every time Snyder gave me a "divine lesson."
I don't remember much during the sermon or much of what the Pastor had talked about. I actually only remember two odd details during the whole ordeal, one was that the Pastor was entranced on this concept of the youth being "God's voice," and the other was how the Pastor was fixated on me during service. Every time he said "youth" his head turned towards where I sat. It always put me on edge, the way the Pastor would stare and nod at me. He had this nod of approval that made you feel you had just won an award.
The whole service was rather boring, with nothing to do I returned to my thoughts before I had been dragged in this whole ordeal. See, My parents when they were still around wanted to get me indoctrinated into a camp. They said a normal person wouldn't have stuttered as much as I and that I shouldn't be so recluse. To convince them otherwise, I met this pleasant women, Mary. I met her when I was in Pensley prep, I chose to rather forget about those days. Mary was the only pleasant thing there, I forget what class we shared or even if we shared a class at all. All I remember of her was the name she had.
Before I had ended my reminiscing on old's past, the Pastor had wrapped up service. As the flock of unfortunate souls realized the gold was gone they slowly wondered what to do next with their imminent life's. As the bewildered crowd shook hands with the Pastor, he moved towards me quite elegantly. Once he finally reached me, after shaking what looked like 20 or so hands, he asked if I would be willing to talk privately in his office.
After leading me on like a child willing to show his famed accomplishment, he managed to entrance me in the decorative entrance that was his office. Snyder ushered me inside with a look of pride and stepped beside then around me as he took a seat opposing me.
"How do you like my post?" He pierced the silence with such modesty that any fathomable words became quickly inconceivable.
"It's quite elegant." In truth, it was nothing compared to the crown molded entrance way leading to the dull interior of whatever conception one might have held in thought.
The Pastor gave me a confused look and commented on my stoicism, "I guess you could say that." He followed by giving a dissatisfied frown. Almost as if a brilliant idea had hit him, he glanced up at me and said only two words. "Youth outreach."
"I beg your pardon?"
"See, God gave me a vision." I nearly about died there. "He shared with me my achievements and short comings, all the good that I would bring to the world." After rambling on for what seemed like hours the Pastor finally got to his point.
"That's what God needs me to do. He wants to spread his word in a new and revolutionary way. Now youth outreach is new per se but I was thinking of a different kind of outreach."
"What do you mean sir?"
"What if instead of traveling locally, we sent you across the globe. Preaching through our community isn't enough, as God put it. We need to aim bigger!"
Here's where I really started to hate the guy, he lost touch of what a religion should be. While I personally couldn't give two *** about how one leads their following, you shouldn't abuse your powers. He wanted to use me to line his pockets, go out into the world and convince people that God is our savior.
"I see, why tell me?" I was just a tad curious on whether I had assumed correctly, a slender and well spoken man molds well into a priest.
"Look at yourself! You're the youngest person here and I saw the way your eyes flared open in service this morning." I still can't figure out whether he was eluded to believing my interest or if the Pastor was simply deceiving me into partaking in this new youth outreach program of his.
"It makes sense logically, but why should I? I'd have to leave behind what I have worked so hard for."
"Here's why, you get paid to travel the world! I would've jumped on this opportunity if I were you're age, you don't get this opportunity often."
"It's not that I don't want to go, it's the cost of utilities, travel, food, clothing, and so much more. I really don't have the time or money to do so."
I knew the Pastor was going to offer me money regardless, that's why I chose my words accordingly. See, you never ask someone directly what you want, you need to sew the idea inside their head first.
"I'll pay you to travel, I'll pay for your clothes, I'll pay for your food. Anything you want I'll get you. This is God's plan, and God's plan always sees through."
"Alright alright, how about training?" I was getting quite tired in that particular moment and couldn't wait to get out of this crooked *** office, the menacing smile and greed had been seeping off of him the whole conversation. I was in no state of mind to make a decision either, I had been practically dragged from my home and into a church's service. However much I despised being there, the offer of opportunities started to root itself into my skull.
"If you're concerened about any certifications don't worry, God gave me his instructions and said them very clear. I know what must be done, all you have to do is shake my hand and you'll be off to Truist in a week or so." He then extended his hand towards me and gave me this look of dependence, he was asking if I trusted him in such a way without using any words. Without using any words I conveyed that I did not trust him. He yearned for some young niave spirit to replace his own. Someone willing to endure his dark and perverse fantasies, he had exposed himself upon myself hoping that I wouldn't take notice or care for what he truly was, filth.
I assume he realized this as his eyes had turned to a more stern look as he retracted his hand and showed a mixed look of both disgust and worry. His hand started twitching as a rush of emotions had befallen upon him, the Pastor's mouth trembling to utter such few words, "I know you." Rage started to slowly fill the empty spaces within the Pastor's visage and his mask had transformed into a grand performance of stern anger. Last thing I could recall was him screaming at me to vacant his church, that I should never come back again. For someone so religiously devoted it's hard to believe that he was capable of breaking any moral grounds he was either raised or brung into.
I took my leave from his underwhelming office and into the blank but lavish chamber where it had once been full of devoted patrons. My shoes made a nice clicking sound against the brown hardwood floor, a soft steady beat as my shoes glided softly across the floor. I dug both my hands into my pocket and almost immediately realized that my appearance was off, I took my hands out and ran them down the back of my lapel and proceeded to drag my hands through my hair as to push it back. At the end of my routine I straightened my back and my hand took the appearance of a brown leather briefcase. I looked around me for some sort of mirror or clear reflection as I marched triumphantly down the softly echoing chamber, as soon as I did find one I tilted my head slightly back towards my reflection in a large cathedral glass for as long as I could. I've always liked staring at my reflection, it's always nice to have reassurance that you'll always be the same person. As the line of panes ended down the chamber's corridor I took a left into the main room where an elderly woman picking up trampled posters had tilted her head up towards me and asked if everything was well with the Pastor. I didn't feel much like talking, I didn't feel much for anything. I just wanted to be home, just some place familiar.
Lucky and Pauline, Chapter 2
As I've said before I live in a relatively small town, not small enough where everyone knows each but small enough where the occasional group of tourists come by. I couldn’t tell you why they would come here of all place, this town is full of rot. Regardless the local Hotspot of the town was a secluded bar, the only place where you could meet someone new or at least get a decent drink.
I understand how one would find that hypocritical, being so antisocial but loving to meet new people. Here's what you have to understand, the definition of "meeting a person" is different between you or I. As long as I've observed someone I've met them. Your definition might be to the contrary of mine where you need to shake hands, meet parents, or even have dinner with someone. At that point it just becomes a date or you become a pawn for that person. Just another connection to call a favor upon.
Take for example when I was going through college, this kid named Lucky. I could never remember his real name as we never talked much. I called him Lucky as he'd always been given his opportunities, whether it be from some rich hotshot or a friend of his father's. Either way in our college dorm the only way down was through a stairwell at the end of one long central hall. Lucky had his dorm closest to the stairwell, his father practically owned the dormitory so Lucky had his privileges. See, the downside to privilege is the dependence on others. Dependence on others is the calling card of a frail man, for he deserves no more than what he can obtain for himself. With Lucky, he expected others to assist him like butlers to serve at his every beck and call. Truly pathetic, it was an emberassement to live in the same hallway of him.
Late December night when a friend had called for me from the room below mine, I dressed with a olive drab, wool lined coat. I spent the better half of a month saving enough to buy it. The only reason I spent so much on it was it reminded me of my father. I carefully stepped foot out of my dorm and made my way down the hall careful to not wake anyone I didn't wan't to talk with.
