"GOD'S DEAD AND SOON WE WILL BE TOO." Is the sentence that had earned Gabriel Elmstone two weeks suspension.
And that had been lenience, or as sister Agatha would have it, "god's grace." He, along with the rest of his class were attending Sunday school early morning before settling into school when prayer begun.
He found the smell of the crisp cool breeze wafting in from the opening and closing door to be sweet. The golden autumn sunlight filtering through the brilliant stained glass biblical depictions almost otherworldly. The fire-licked scent of incense to be consuming and the softy cooed prayers—the innocent dreams and wishes of the scorned but optimistic to be a gift.
A gift he felt that god had pried apart finger by finger from his greedy little hands.
Hope.
Nonetheless churches and temples brought him peace. He could count on getting lost in their elaborate archways and paintings, the grande poetic stories of forgiveness and mercy. As well as the bells like beckons of alertness keeping his very own demons away. But mostly he found a serene melancholy in the people.
Church was one of those few places where some people allowed themselves to be anything but ok. To be human; struggling restlessly under the strain of the sheer brute of existence. For a moment—tucked away in refugee of four pristine walls, like weary travelers seeking shelter, souls shattered and crumbled. And in the ashes of acceptance and ancient rationalizing there was small piece of relief.
One young boy with coiled curly hair pressed his hands together so tightly his dark knuckles were white, he turned his head up towards the sky and begged god, "please let my grandfather be alright."
Another boy this one as pale a ghost, kneeled not too far from him, rocking back and forth feverishly, barely but audibly mumbling. Gabriel read his lips as he chanted, desperately pleading with the heavens, 'my uncle hurts me, you've seen it. Punish him please, even if it's his death, free me.'
Yet another boy kneeled in prayer. He did not mumble or speak. He sat as still as death, with his eyes closed, his mouth and secrets sealed. But a few tears slipped down his round cheeks spilling stories of the darkness overflowing internally.
Gabriel drunk it all in ravenously. It was his only sense of normalcy. The brokenness of his peers kept him a twisted sort of company.
Levi Richards was different.
He too, prayed.
Though not like the rest of the boys, not in pieces. No, he was a wholesome thing.
Levi Richards with his soft eyes and fragile angel like face. The sunlight from the stained glass fell over his small frame consuming him with the illusion of some brilliant full body halo. Illuminated for all to see was the love radiating in waves off of his being. He was so unburdened by darkness he was nearly translucent. Levi had been cared for, deeply.
It was apparent in his crisp cashmere & sateen suniform, finely embroidered with silk and pearl buttons along with his squeakily shined handmade leather shoes. They'd only walked the secure cobblestone paved paths and the luxury of velvet red carpets. Levi had been shielded from the all the rougher roads of life. He had the best of the best and had never known material wanting.
It was also there, blindingly apparent in his bright jade eyes. Practically glowing with the ignorance of innocence like glittering stars cutting through night. Love had been so gentle and kind towards him. He'd never known the cruel betrayal of fate or burned with fiery hell of self hatred.
And Gabriel despised him for it.
He couldn't help but glower at at the young Richards. As the question in his skull replayed repetitively. Why not me?
