The Lone Priest

Author's Note: This is a short story that I did a while back to get myself into the "writing mood". It is a random sentences, words, and images that I took and used all together. (I think it was called a fabula...don't quote me though.) The prompt was as follows:

1) A stray dog bites a person walking down the street.

2) "Have you heard the good news?"

3) The convict talks to the priest.

4) Boba

A priest sat on his patio, enjoying the early morning sunrise. He sipped his coffee before a flash of purple below caught his eye. A little girl left one of the buildings across the street. Her high ponytail bounced with every step she took. He then noticed the scruffiness of her shoes. Her shirt was a bright purple with some kind of picture on it. This too, he noticed, was also faded and even a bit torn.

Slightly curious, he watched her movements as she moved briskly down the street. She stopped near an alleyway, and the priest could see the object of her attention; a dog bundled up in a pile of soiled blankets. Its fur was matted and it was noticeably emaciated. She slowly approached the creature, reaching into her pocket and tossing what looked like beef jerky in its direction. With surprising quickness, it leapt up, its bony jaws snapping up the food. After the food was gone, the animal seemed to go back into its primal fight or flight with its hackles raised, its stiff fur on end. 

Suddenly, the dog was leaping again, its teeth sinking this time into the girl's hand. She screamed, trying to shake the dog off. After a good kick to its leg, she was able to escape, blood dripping from her new wound. Then, a woman in a nightgown appeared, calling out. The little girl ran into her arms, tears streaming down her face. They both entered back into the building together. 

The priest watched all of this with a blank expression. He let out a grunt as he finished off his coffee and got up to go. Today was the day of his prison visits. 

It was an ordinary prison. Gray walls, high fences, barbed wire. Though security was more than your average guard. All were equipped with high tech weapons and armor. All doors were made of steel, the locking mechanisms fingerprint sensors that only the head guards could operate. 

Luckily, the priest was a familiar face within the complex. He could usually move about fairly easily. One of the head guards was escorting him to the prisoner he was to see first that day. He caught snatches of conversation from other guards as they walked the halls. 

"Have you heard the good news?" One asked. The other laughed. 

"Yeah, our job is about to become a lot easier. At least for a bit." He replied. The priest looked on thoughtfully. 

"They moved up the execution dates." The head guard explained, seeing his look. "I think this guy might even be one of them." The priest nodded silently. They reached a door and the guard put his finger on the sensor until a green light flashed. The doors opened to reveal a box of a cell. No windows. Just a cot, toilet, small desk and chair. This desk was where the convict was currently sitting. 

"You have 20 minutes." The guard said and retreated, the doors closing being him. The priest came closer to the convict, who still hadn't said a word since the priest's arrival. He took a seat on the cot and pulled out his Bible. As he flipped to the scripture he wanted to use, he conjured up the short bio he had gotten on the man in front of him. A young man, in his early twenties. In for thievery and breaking curfew. He'd seen many like him. 

"So, are you here to get my final confession?" The convict finally spoke to the priest.

"If that's what you'd like." The priest answered shortly. Despite his words, there was nothing kind in his expression. The convict noticed this.

"You seem kinda mean for a priest." The priest closed his Bible. He faced the prisoner, looking him in the eye. 

"Not mean. Practical. No use getting close to dead men." The convict smiled. 

"Of course. Guess you'll leave the niceties to God or whoever may be."

"Maybe." Was all the priest said. They sat in silence for the next few minutes. 

"Well, I guess our time is coming to a close soon. Mind telling a dead man why you became a priest in the first place?" The priest smiled for the first time since his arrival. 

"Everyone trusts the priest in the apocalypse." He said. And with that he got up and tapped on the door a few times. A few seconds later the doors opened again and the priest exited, knowing he would never see the prisoner again, like so many of the sacrificial lambs before him. 

Back home, the priest went back to his favorite spot: the patio. After a long day, he sat down with a drink and cigar, again looking over the city below him, this time as the sunlight dimmed. Across the street, a blood curdling cry could be heard. He glanced down to see the woman from that morning being held back by a couple of guards. A few others had the little girl in handcuffs, muzzled, and were leading her to the back of a black van.

Despite the severity of the event, he found himself focusing on that purple shirt again. He could make out the picture then. A drink from before. Boba. The word flashed in his mind's eye as the van drove off and the woman sank to her knees on the concrete. Her cries would be in vain. A bite was a bite. The priest took another drag of his cigar and closed his eyes. 

Maybe today he would finally send a prayer.