AUTHOR: Aeriel Holman
ACTIVITY: Bored in Death Class
Approx. Words: 160
DATE: March ?-?, 2012 (created)
NOTES: This little flash-fiction or scene thing was actually not a creative writing assignment. Sometimes, during breaks or before class starts, I randomly start writing. Whatever flows out, just kind flows out. I honestly don't think about it. This was during my humanities class about Death. I had an image lingering in my head, so I just kind of penned it down. I hope you are amused by the idea like I am!
My Friend, The Dead
The dead all live in churches. They are part of the earth, under stones, and by our altars. One, whom I know well, sits with his stone door propped up against a stair leading to the pulpit. His bony elbow rests on an equally bony knee. The other knee is down, below, swinging in the open gape of the earth. Chewing calmly on The Body—Christ's body, a wafer—he waits for brothers and sisters fair throughout the night. None visits him, my friend. I see him as I walk, doing my work on the grounds, checking the gardens and stain-glass windows that loom eerily like shadows without sunlight to pass through them. He waits, my friend, and talks with a tongue no longer there. He showed me the dark descent of life and dirt below. I was scared to see, but he urged me look, for it is foolish to fear my future home. Our future home…