[original prose]
For a brigits_flame challenge.
It wasn't a way Bishop Kendel was used to being addressed. People young and old had come to him pleading, confused, thankful, adoring--even, on occasion, fearful. But this little girl.... She couldn't be more than fifteen, but she looked up at him with a very adult hatred in her eyes. It took him a long time to find the words to respond. "Child, you are mistaken. You should not speak in such a way to a man of god."
"Why not?" she demanded. Her voice was acid. "It's the truth. You and your church, all of you, you're parasites! You don't give a damn about me or anyone who doesn't have money to 'give up to the Lord.'" She was on her knees, but she could have been standing seven feet tall. Kendel could swear her shadow grew longer in the candlelight.
"We give money to feed the poor and pay for medicine every week," he said.
"To those who donate." She bared her teeth like a feral dog. "To those who you think have something to offer. Not to those who really need it. Who have nothing. How much money even reaches the poor? How much stays in your coffers?"
"God cannot waste resources on those who serve no useful purpose in society," Kendel said.
"Who are you to decide any of that?" she demanded. There were tears shining on her face, but her expression did not cool. "How would you know what God wants? How do you know who might be useful if they had the resources to do anything but waste away from hunger and disease?"
He couldn't answer. It wasn't that he didn't know. Knowledge was simple for the priests. God guided them. They understood innately who deserved money and who didn't. And when they were in doubt, the Archbishop and other priests more experienced in seeking out God's will guided them in the right direction. But that wasn't something a nonbeliever would accept. Kendel had learned that long ago. "You are not a believer," he told her. "I could help you pray to God. He can give you the answers, but you have to seek Him out."
The sound that escaped her throat sounded like a growl. She jerked her eyes away from his and shook her head. After a moment, she climbed to her feet. "Maybe you should seek out your God. Has he spoken to you lately? When he does, does his voice sound just like the Archbishop's?" She laughed. It was an angry sound. "I believe. Just not in you."
She turned and walked away.
It wasn't a way Bishop Kendel was used to being addressed. People young and old had come to him pleading, confused, thankful, adoring--even, on occasion, fearful. But this little girl.... She couldn't be more than fifteen, but she looked up at him with a very adult hatred in her eyes. It took him a long time to find the words to respond. "Child, you are mistaken. You should not speak in such a way to a man of god."
"Why not?" she demanded. Her voice was acid. "It's the truth. You and your church, all of you, you're parasites! You don't give a damn about me or anyone who doesn't have money to 'give up to the Lord.'" She was on her knees, but she could have been standing seven feet tall. Kendel could swear her shadow grew longer in the candlelight.
"We give money to feed the poor and pay for medicine every week," he said.
"To those who donate." She bared her teeth like a feral dog. "To those who you think have something to offer. Not to those who really need it. Who have nothing. How much money even reaches the poor? How much stays in your coffers?"
"God cannot waste resources on those who serve no useful purpose in society," Kendel said.
"Who are you to decide any of that?" she demanded. There were tears shining on her face, but her expression did not cool. "How would you know what God wants? How do you know who might be useful if they had the resources to do anything but waste away from hunger and disease?"
He couldn't answer. It wasn't that he didn't know. Knowledge was simple for the priests. God guided them. They understood innately who deserved money and who didn't. And when they were in doubt, the Archbishop and other priests more experienced in seeking out God's will guided them in the right direction. But that wasn't something a nonbeliever would accept. Kendel had learned that long ago. "You are not a believer," he told her. "I could help you pray to God. He can give you the answers, but you have to seek Him out."
The sound that escaped her throat sounded like a growl. She jerked her eyes away from his and shook her head. After a moment, she climbed to her feet. "Maybe you should seek out your God. Has he spoken to you lately? When he does, does his voice sound just like the Archbishop's?" She laughed. It was an angry sound. "I believe. Just not in you."
She turned and walked away.