first draft of a short piece i'm writing.
A sharp scent of liquor lingers dangerously in the stale warm air of the sanctuary. Its presence is marked by littered red cups whose contents once held not sacred wine, but cheap tepid beer. Sprawled on the aged and arthritic pews are found the empty vessels of curious teenaged students.
The results of last night's grand experiment: Success.
With a drawn out yawn, the young boy slowly struggles to sit up from his resting place on the slightly elevated stage in front of the alter. His body, thrusting pulses of chemical agony throughout his head, aches almost unbearably from the events that occurred the night before. Clenching his eyes closed tight, he exhales deeply in a desperate attempt to ease the relentless throbbing that haunts his consciousness. He surveys his surroundings for the first time since his awakening, carefully tilting his head from one side to the other.
The sight that meets his sleepy gaze sparks a short gasp of horror, followed closely by a heavy sigh that seems to darken the entire dome of the church. He is not a religious person- not since that time he was a little kid crying out hopelessly for the life of his dying pet, only to have his best friend taken away by a so-called "loving and generous" God- but the condition of the open sanctuary sickens him.
Bottles. Bodies. Babes. Booze. Boxers. Boobs. Beirut. Baptismal font knocked on its side from that one dance to that one song.
The boy stands up half drunkenly and stumbles out towards the same large wooden doors that he entered through the night before. With a hesitant and strained burst of energy, he grasps the cold damp door handle and pulls back with the weight of his body. A strange new satisfaction is found by the boy at the deep moaning that comes from the ancient wood being opened to the world. A cool breeze sifts softly into the stuffy entrance way and the boy squints cooly out into the day. Feeling the harsh air push through his dry throat, he parts his lips and says:
"Where's my car?"
The results of last night's grand experiment: Success.
With a drawn out yawn, the young boy slowly struggles to sit up from his resting place on the slightly elevated stage in front of the alter. His body, thrusting pulses of chemical agony throughout his head, aches almost unbearably from the events that occurred the night before. Clenching his eyes closed tight, he exhales deeply in a desperate attempt to ease the relentless throbbing that haunts his consciousness. He surveys his surroundings for the first time since his awakening, carefully tilting his head from one side to the other.
The sight that meets his sleepy gaze sparks a short gasp of horror, followed closely by a heavy sigh that seems to darken the entire dome of the church. He is not a religious person- not since that time he was a little kid crying out hopelessly for the life of his dying pet, only to have his best friend taken away by a so-called "loving and generous" God- but the condition of the open sanctuary sickens him.
Bottles. Bodies. Babes. Booze. Boxers. Boobs. Beirut. Baptismal font knocked on its side from that one dance to that one song.
The boy stands up half drunkenly and stumbles out towards the same large wooden doors that he entered through the night before. With a hesitant and strained burst of energy, he grasps the cold damp door handle and pulls back with the weight of his body. A strange new satisfaction is found by the boy at the deep moaning that comes from the ancient wood being opened to the world. A cool breeze sifts softly into the stuffy entrance way and the boy squints cooly out into the day. Feeling the harsh air push through his dry throat, he parts his lips and says:
"Where's my car?"