Springtime

Newly green grass is unceremoniously squashed into the mud below. The sweet smell giving away to the musty decay underneath.  It’s deceiving really, life covering the rotting dead.  

 As woman falls into view, suddenly, violently, onto the ground, mud and blood staining the remains of her daisy yellow shirt. Her shocked expression remains even though it is clear that she’s gone. She doesn’t look right. The dead never look right. She should be clean, in her Sunday best, hands folded humbly, begging for forgiveness of her sins. At least that’s what Ma says.  

Everything becomes busy and crowded. Ma walks ahead towards the main cathedral building with the crowd and I follow careful not to get pushed down or be touched as people run inside. As the last of the people enter, Ma is speaking to the security man pointing to another building where Pa is headed. They promptly begin to secure the door. Winding deeper into the building people are crying and shaking huddled in groups away from the windows.  

Time slows, rapid popps can be heard in the distance. The loud sounds outside begin to dim drowned out by a loud horn that shakes reality though no one seems to notice. An errie quiet settles in the crowd interrupted by the occasional whimper and prayer. 

Heavenly glory shines down through the stained-glass windows. His agents dressed in full display for all to behold. Ma said the gift of seeing was from God, others said it was an illusion created by mental illness and over imagination. Pastor said it was for the chosen. Born into the church with special gifts destined to become prophets and to bring judgement. Today was judgement. Nothing worse than a false God.  

Puriel descends from above in front of the altar, silent as the grave, winged and golden as the sun, dressed for battle. Looking around he examines the scene of the trembling and repentant still unable to see.  Calmly he nods and brings out his fiery sword.  

Suddenly blooms of red begin to appear upon the parishioners clothing. Puriel and Ma have become one. Her gun is a flaming sword, punishing, destroying the unholy neophytes. Their souls captured by Puriels’ emissaries and taken to purgatory, to atone, to burn in his heavenly light for their sins. They fly away as quickly as they came, leaving the parishioners bodies, bloodied and broken.  Ma is the last to go looking towards the heavens, enraptured by what is to come. 

Puriel then walks over and notices me sitting quietly in the pew. “I’ve been waiting for you.” Puriel said placing the sword down on the table. “Come, we haven’t much time. Your mother and father have already gone ahead to prepare a place at the table for us.” I take his hand and sit next to him. Comforted and sad watching as he arranges us to face each other holding something in his steady hand. “Remember this is not the end it’s just the beginning.” And presses the button.