It is a sunny day.
The stained glass windows glow
In pieces on the ground.
One man,
One shepherd
Will lead his sheep
On this sunny,
Sunday morning.
He wraps his body
In white and gold
His armor glitters.
He walks onto
An empty stage.
He faces a spotlight of sunshine
A full audience
Alone
On this sunny,
Sunday morning.
His people,
His flock,
His children.
The man begins,
"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted
and saves those who are crushed in spirit."
A sea of eyes watch him
Waiting for answers.
Why would He take our children?
The man ends,
“All your children shall be taught by the Lord, and
Great
Shall be the peace of your children.”
The Priest–
The Hanged Man,
The Fool,
The Devil,
The World.
Forsaken,
Weeps.
Do not fear,
He says.
A sunny,
Sunday
Morning.
The congregation holds,
Waiting for their next instruction.
They know it will be to stand.
About the Creator
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More stories from Kallista Kusumanegara and writers in Poets and other communities.
- V+ Fiction Award Winner
DestinationV+ Fiction Award Winner
They say it will be Paradise. Time stops, but it also runs. It's beautiful. It's horrible. It’s the worst place you could ever imagine. People are shredded between the teeth of giants and the poor are enslaved by the color green. They are just bones–stuck–screaming from the deepest chasms of the earth. No one can hear them. But the green is beautiful from the clouds. Dirty. White. Hot. Cold. Paradise. Soft women. Rolling hills. Barren deserts and endless ocean blue. Red skies. Rats in gutters and warm bread baskets on tables. Every kind of animal, land and sea. Children's laughter. All of the fish you can eat, blessed by the hand of a man in white. Vomit on walls and hearts on sleeves. Paradise.
By Kallista Kusumanegara2 years ago in Fiction
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