about the work: i turned this in for the freewrite flash fiction contest. it spiraled from 500 words into a full-length project, which you can check out over on the imprecatory page!
Pride cometh before the fall: a loose translation of Proverbs 16:18. It’s a deadly sin, is the point, up there with lust and gluttony and greed.
Father Eric imagines the scene, though, if Jesus came down to First Episcopalian on a Thursday night — helped unwrap the casserole dishes and serve them to the crowds of His children looking for a warm meal. Or maybe a Sunday, where He could watch Ramiyah scribble with a Crayola marker gripped in one pudgy fist, a determined frown on her small face.
If He saw what Father Eric sees every week – well, he can’t help but think that the Son would be proud of this place, too.
The light through the stained glass has long since faded, but Father Eric remains at his desk, mulling over the wording of a particularly pesky sermon as he waits for his guest.
A clunk sounds outside, followed by a faint, familiar crunch as Charlie Ramirez hoists himself easily through the open fourth-floor window.
“You called,” Charlie says. Or – ‘The Shadow’, that’s what he’s named when he goes out at night. As if his former teacher won’t recognize that same ragged blue hoodie.
As though the rat problem didn’t dissipate when Charlie started coming around again. As though it’s normal for them to only meet after the sun sets.
“Mm.” Father Eric looks at him, the sunken-in hollows of his eyes. “Are you getting enough to eat, son?”
Charlie stiffens, still half out the window. In the low light, Father Eric can see his fangs gleam.
“I wouldn’t mind, you know,” Father Eric assures him. “It would be no trouble at all.”
“S’fine,” Charlie says woodenly.
Charlie doesn’t want to have to rely on others to keep him alive. In this manner, he is no different from Father Eric’s other parishioners.
Father Eric unlocks his desk drawer. Gently, he lays a photograph in Charlie’s hands. This is another thing he doesn’t know: what happens to the men whose names he gives to the Shadow.
Father Eric is a simple clergyman, a servant of the people. He doesn’t need to know. The cruel men, the ones with leering stares and greasy palms, the ones who dare to touch his children, His children –
Psalm 139:19, an imprecatory psalm. A desperate call for the destruction of evil in the world. O, that you would slay the wicked, God!
“He lives with his wife and daughter,” Father Eric says. “Her name is Ramiyah. She confided in me, recently.”
There’s no need to elaborate further. They both know what it means, when Father Eric calls.
“I’ll handle it,” Charlie says. And then, half out the window, “Thank you, Father.”
And that’s that. Father Eric pulls his jacket on against the chill outside, shuts the window, and begins the short walk home.
Yes, if Jesus came to First Episcopalian, Father Eric is certain he would be proud.