The Preacher

The preacher stands on his makeshift stage, throwing his arms around in broken English to the crowd slowly forming around him. Wild red hair frames an untroubled face, a long beard ends in a gallows knot. His sermon, caught within the cooing of the doves that surround him, floats in the air above his assembly. ‘One second of your life is one second of eternity! I can teach you how to live forever!’ These lucky few, his chosen disciples, blessed with the knowledge of eternal life. His congregation murmur and clutch at each other at the news. ‘My children,’ he exclaims, gesticulating wildly. There is no build up. His truth bursts from his lips, covered in spittle, as if desperate to escape. His words however do not ring with the crowd and fall to the straw covered ground in doubt. The crowd disperse as abruptly as it had gathered and the preacher is left standing there, brushing the wild hair from his face, pitying those that gathered for reality. They had the chance to reflect the sun, but had shunned an undesirable truth.

By A. Warner


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s