Father O'Reilly knew the Saturday
morning preachers weren't talking to him. Why would they be? He was a man of
God. They were the faithless shepherds of a well fleeced flock. Their message
was not for him.
It was for someone though.
He could see they were speaking to that
one, passing along messages of death and damnation. They spoke in tongues,
expelled riddles that only the most damaged of minds could mistake for the Word.
One of those minds was surely hanging on every syllable.
That scared the priest more than
anything.
When he looked back on it later, Father
O'Reilly didn't know if it was the fourth wall breaking ministers or the tumor
growing in the center of his head, but something prepared him for velvet Jesus.
His reaction to bare feet was one of the
things that drove him to a vocation that denied him a family. Ever since he was
a child just the thought of a bare foot was enough to get him giggling. The
sight of one turned that into gales of laughter. So, when the velvet Jesus
turned from offering food to the masses and told him to attend all three days
of the foot fashion show, well, who was Father O'Reilly to argue? Jesus was his
boss, and he could do a lot more than strip away the retirement plan.
Come to think of it, He had kind of
already done that.
When the priest saw the insane book
thief wandering through the fetishist demilitarized zone he understood who the
talking heads were speaking for. Of course it would be that maniac. But how was
he out?
O'Reilly kept his focus on the other man
as much as he could. One stray glance at a toe though, and he was snorting. The
enemy turned, offering the smile of a cannibal standing up to supper. The
priest who spoke first.
"Peter, I am surprised to see you
here."
"I have it on good authority that
Jesus said much the same to another man with my name." The laugh
underlying the words made the father's skin crawl.
"I have it on good authority that
Jesus said a lot of dumb shit he never did." The priest nearly vomited out
the words.
Peter tilted his head, to the left of
course, the corners of his mouth turning down. "So where do we go from
here, father? You have no authority."
"But I can save the world some
trouble."
O'Reilly reached into his coat and drew,
aiming at the madman. Peter flinched, then cackled wildly. O'Reilly gave him
his best, what's so funny look. Peter pointed to the finger aimed at him.
O'Reilly looked down and realized he had
no gun. Why should that be surprising? He was a man of peace and love. He also
didn't own one. Which made him think.
He also didn't own a velvet Jesus
painting. So why was he here? This fight could happen another day. As O'Reilly
turned to return home, Peter called out to his retreating back.
"Oh, don't go away. We're just
getting started."
#shortstory #novel #author #writer #writing
No comments:
Post a Comment