Post by endymien on Jul 5, 2009 22:19:47 GMT -5
Another hot dry day in Brenton. Off the railroad tracks, dust floated in a constant light tan haze. The church was in a cloud this Sunday, light filtered through the brown and then through the deep reds and blues of the stained glass. Usually, with the candles lit, it made a rather spiritual environment. Were it not for the man hanging from the beam, it could be lovely.
The black cassocks would be easy to recognise. Father Philister hung by an amaturely tied rope. On the ground, the altar had been his boost up and now lay split from the kick away.
The body was stiff, and gathering from the flies, this was not recent. Perhaps on Tuesday? Certainly the old priest hadn't intended for the body to be found as the flock came in on Sunday for worship...
..why that would be a sin?
The black cassocks would be easy to recognise. Father Philister hung by an amaturely tied rope. On the ground, the altar had been his boost up and now lay split from the kick away.
The body was stiff, and gathering from the flies, this was not recent. Perhaps on Tuesday? Certainly the old priest hadn't intended for the body to be found as the flock came in on Sunday for worship...
..why that would be a sin?
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