The town’s children were eager to help. They would gather sticks and small logs from the forest to add upon the pile. It gave them purpose, a role to play in what was to happen. The town’s folk had long been gathered. Many held small crucifixes close to their hearts, whilst memorized prayers left their lips. Others stood patiently, echoing silent whispers of what was to come.
Continue reading “Burning Away Sin by J.J. van Schaaijk”
The lady in the pink dress wants to save me. Her soft eyes wet, she reaches for me, hungry to share her joy. She steps closer, hand on my shoulder now, and pulls me to her. But I don’t like people touching me without asking. Jesus is knocking at the door of my heart. Let Him in. Everyone at the Holy Redeemer Revival wants me to say yes. I step back. What if He doesn’t like what He sees inside?
Continue reading “What I’ll Lose by Phebe Jewell”
The office was dark except for the bluish glow of two monitors which illuminated Hari Deva Singh’s wrinkled face and long scraggly white beard, like a twenty-first century wizard coding his newest spell. He sat back and scrolled to the top of this night’s Facebook post, furrowing his brow as he read through what he had written.
Continue reading “They Say He Was a Biter By Hari Khalsa”
Piling onto the sidewalk after the celebration of Mass, the chatter was all the same. Mildred made the most noise, her face turning redder with each phrase uttered. “Who does Anna think she is! Refused my hand when the priest said give those around you a sign of peace, shake hands like you mean it. Just kept her head down like she didn’t even see me.”
Continue reading “The Outsider by Tom Sheehan”
Three months later and back into my routine, I returned to church. I noticed all the families at early service. Little girls with exquisite ribbons, little boys all about their first ties. My father couldn’t teach me how to tie a tie. He was dyslexic. I was left-handed. Charming, the pair of us. Unsuccess greeted us at every skinned knee of childhood. Laces. Did it matter whether on new or old shoes, no. Scouting badges for all kinds of knots and things? Well, we attempted all that! Every sport imaginable involving foot or paw, naw. The neck tie was the worst. Eventually, I’d give up or stammer off. Or he would. Often crying throughout. He’d stopped cursing at some point. Sometimes, I would start cussin’ at another point. Only for Mom to intervene. She said she had to pray: “No boy, no tie, no boy.” I promise I remember that prayer.
Continue reading “No boy, no Tie by R. P. Singletary”
To some, hindsight proves a faithful if fashionably late companion. Though it often offers questionable advice, reflexion is more tolerant than people, each of whom seems keen to speak of subtle feelings Chas rarely recognises. His, ‘I’m just angry’ stock response fails to satisfy those in search of his finer feelings.
‘Sad–’
‘No space for sadness when you’re angry.’
Continue reading “As Ever, the Nun by Antony Osgood”
Lana Jardine always told me she’d be taken in the rapture, when God would gather up true Christians just before the apocalypse. She accepted Jesus as her Lord and Saviour, so she’d never burn in hell. “I confessed my sins,” she said. “And he saved me.”
Continue reading “The Music of Lana Jardine by Harrison Kim”
Have you ever ordered a DVD of an old film that, once upon a time, you thought was wonderful (back when you were at an impressionable age, say, between the ages of 15 and 25)? And when you settled down to watch it, accompanied by a wee whisky and some cheese and onion crisps, did you then discover that it was utter crap?
Continue reading “Citizen Wyckam-Smith by Michael Bloor”
Until the first ‘magical’ incident our harbour was like most others around the country. One side with its fishing industry and the other for the summer tourists. The South Pier reeking of fish guts and the north side either boarded up or packed with visitors stuffing seafood and sugar into their mouths depending on whether it was summer or not. That was until a few years back.
Continue reading “Our Harbour by Paul Kimm”
My simple wooden church was all-but empty when I stepped up to the pulpit to give mass to the congregation. I had half expected it.
When Beltane fell on a Sunday, it seemed to draw out the heretical tendencies of my flock. Every year, they would abscond to some secret glade in the woods, to celebrate the coming of the summer, to pray to a heathen god for verdant growth and an abundant harvest. This year was no different.
Continue reading “Jack in the Green by Lee Stoddart”
