Memories In Mass

Crackling wax and creaking pews echoed over the vignette of bowed heads. The water outside fell against the windows, and ran down them until they collected against the ridges and collided and washed itself away, thrashing to the pavement and through the shrubs.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned," whispered the light purr of a young boy, probably on the verge of adulthood. The father set upon him a gaze that said nothing, implied naught. But a sadness was distinctively present. They shuffled in the cushions of their seats. The boy refrained from raising his chin. A closer inspection would conclude it wasn't any boy. It was a smaller, bashful Shawn Crust.

"Go, child," the robed, rickety man pressed a hand against the dividing terrace, "and pray."

Shawn slid a pupil towards the father, one hand clasped tightly over the other. The robed clergyman continued almost automatically; an actor, reading off the script that was the boy's sundered face, as the boy felt uneasiness build within him, a distant snap lashing beyond the congregation walls.

"Pray fastidiously for your salvation. Read the scripture. And know that the burden that lies upon you is only choosing what to make of it; and that He will take care of the rest."

Shawn turned to peer through the soft linen curtain to see the chapel was consumed in fire. The candles had toppled; the ceiling caved. A mosaic of a sheperd and lamb shattered under an invisible shrill. The organ howled, the pipes croaked. Nobody moved from their seats, fires enveloping them whole.

"Study the devotionals. Obey your parents; give faith, receive wisdom."

He watched as a couple laughed quietly, pointing at the footnotes of a charred hymnal book while they stared into each other's eyes, newcomers of romantic fixations, draped in a burning swathe.

"Remain stalwart. Exercise goodwill. Recall the nine fruits."

A flame licked at a mother cradling what appeared to be a babe to her bosom, as dim, diluted sunlight fell through the crevices of the apse above and paneling within. Yet no water, neither inch or river, dripped past.

"Love," recited the father.

A pipe melted into ooze.

"Joy."

The choir aired preludes.

"Peace."

Boom!

"Patience."

Crack!

"Kindness."

Shawn's chest began to swell. He watched as the shadows and flames annexed the chapel.

"Goodness."

No, Shawn....

"Faithfulness."

Bad! Bad Shawn!

"Gentleness."

Be a good little boy, won't you, baby?

Oh Shawn...

Oh Shawn, we love you, dear.

Oh Shawn, we just want you to grow up to be a good, healthy man...

Shawn...

Shawn Crust...

Shawn Crust, we love you... they love you... what more do you want, darling?

No, Shawn...

Shawn, who do you love?

STOP!

"Are you ready, now, inheritor?
Are you ready to take this world for your own?
Are you ready to complete what is an endless cycle, for the mere whim of an uncertain purpose?
Are you ready to take from me what I have taken from you?

"Come....

...come....

Come, Shawn Crust.

Show me your fear."