Today’s NaBloPoMo Prompt: Free Write
Anxiety is John sitting in church and suddenly realizing his t-shirt is on backwards. He’s choking, obviously, because the collar on the back part of a shirt would naturally over time become higher and the front would become lower, This is why the back of his beck is freezing to death and the front is strangling him.
John is sitting next to Candace who tricked him into coming, again, like she does. John doesn’t believe in church because God has been a jerk to John for most of is life. This morning, for example. The phone rings. He picks it up. It is Candace. She says meet me. John says okay. He gets dressed in the dark so he won’t disturb his wife. Finds clothes by touch. Starts with this t-shirt and it all goes down hill from there.
What kind of God creates a man like John, introduces him to a woman like Gloria, and then to a woman like Candace? John can’t breath.
There’s nothing he can do. He’ll just have to get up and go the bathroom and change. He stirs. Candace whispers what are you doing.
I have to go to the bathroom he whispers back in a throaty whispers that barely squeaks out seeing as how his shirt is on backwards.
Not during the homily damn it.
This isn’t the homily.
Whatever you call it.
Don’t say damn it in church
It’s my church not yours.
John unstirs. Its not like the pew is full. It’s not like it’s even a pew. Just a bunch of chairs. Most are empty. And everyone is dressed so casual. Lots of blue jeans. Lot’s of sneakers. John himself is in cargo shorts. Lots of t-shirts. None of them backwards like John’s though.
Casual, John thinks. That’s the key. He can’t take it anymore. He rips off his shirt.
At the altar the pastor stops for a moment, then continues. No one seems to notice. John can breath again.
Next to him, Candace says, you have a tattoo of a cross on your arm.
John ignore her. The pastor is saying something about mustard seeds.
That doesn’t make you better than me, she says, and gets up, and leaves.
Today’s NaBloPoMo Photo Prompt: Filter Me This