A Little Prayer

SHOOT! I FORGOT TO ADD A CONTENT WARNING. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. IF YOU ARE RELGIOUS OR HAVE A SENSITIVE DISPOSITION, YOU MIGHT FIND THIS DISTURBING. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

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He wasn't organised on a good day. Today, no, this week, everything had gone wrong.

He should've been settled in the vicarage days ago. Strolling out of his darling cottage this morning, neat as a pin and twice as holy. Smiling at his flock. Nodding. Waving, perhaps, like royalty.

Not flying up the motorway in this old banger, as if fleeing the scene of a cri- no. Dog-collar flapping, hair on end, horn-rimmed glasses, as his mother would've said, skewiff.

Bad enough he should be late and all over the place any day, but a Sunday? His first Sunday in a new parish! And he had a baptism to do today. He'd been determined to leave the old Gregory behind, turn over a new leaf... And he was already fu-fudging it up.

When he rolled into the village, with its high hedges and thatch roofs, it felt like Springtime. A sigh, a balm.

Glancing in the mirror, he straightened his collar and flattened his hair. Grabbed his stole off the dashboard, still smoothing it as he stepped out of the car. He hurried away, as if hoping nobody would realise the decrepit vehicle belonged to him.

He flashed his very best smile at his unknown flock. They smiled back, cautiously, undoubtedly taking in his still-rumpled cassock and the sneakers he hadn't had time to change.

The service started well, titters roiling around the room in response to his joke at the beginning. Finally, it was time for the baptism. Still, everything seemed to be going well. The infant didn't even cry.

Gregory prepared to anoint the baby's head.

The father leaned close, wearing a doubtful look.

"Doesn't it need to be... blessed or something?"

"Already done," Gregory lied. He kept his voice smooth. A flash of polite nerves flicked its fins over his face.

It's water supplying a fucking church, how much holier could it be?

When the water touched the baby's head, then the crying started. Gregory hated this part. He poured again, and the cries intensified to screams. A third time, and the skin bubbled and melted, sloughing away. Bone and brain was already beginning to bubble underneath.

Oh God, no. Not again!

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Author's Note:

Word count: 366

(NB. This excludes the title, subtitle, and authors notes.)

Submitted on Saturday 31st August at 12:33

A Year of Stories: I'm writing (and submitting, here) a story every day this year. This one continues my 244 day streak since 1st January.

Please consider lending your support to the other creators on this madcap "a story every day" adventure. They're putting out excellent content every day!

Rachel Deeming

Gerard DiLeo

Today we're officially two thirds of the way to our goal! Get your pompoms out!

The story behind the story: I wrote this for Dharsheena. I hope she likes it.

What do you think:

Is he evil? Or is he just incompetent, and forgot to bless the water?

I might do a follow up to this one. Your thoughts welcome!

Shout out to Madonna for inspiration on the title:

And a shout out to Mr Pool, whowe movie put the worm in my ear:

Thank you

Especially if you are one of the wonderful people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and appreciate you very much indeed!

If you enjoyed this one, the very best compliment you can give me is to share it, or read another!

A recent Runner Up placement for one of my Wanky Poems:

My current Dollar Challenge (which is about to close!)

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Thank you again!