A Southern Gospel...

he carefully pried at the screen with his pocketknife... laying low against the building, almost dissolving in the shadows. the probing lights of cars passing saw nothing, no sign of life. slowly, without sound, he removed the screen.... pushing the window up just enough, he pulled himself up and through the window like a snake. it was some kind of office at the back of the church. he waited a minute for his eyes to adjust. his body hurt, even his soul hurt! every breath cut like a knife. making his way to the door, he slipped out into the hall. the silence was deafening. on down the hall to the sanctuary... opening the double doors, he made his way into the tomb! waves of stillness.... and the smells... redemption, morality, and sin... delicious, tortured sin... he slipped onto a bare wooden pew, and the memories flooded back.... angels, demons, right and wrong defined on chalkboards by hands that couldnt have been human! scriptures beaten against the mind... pictures of a life he'd never quite found! he took a deep breath, and winced... thought of the hymns. peace everafter, always some distant shore. yet they're often been a strange sense of healing there. he touched the offering plates, and shook his head. the nickels and dimes of salvation, the cost of the soul. standing up, he made his way to the altar... and fell in a heap to the floor... agonizing, he looked up to see moonlight pouring through the stained glass window... lighting the face of Jesus, hanging on the cross... the cold floor seemed to clutch at his heart... his mind opened, and the waves rolled in.