Sanctuary

The man threw himself through the cathedral's entrance, past the grand double doors, and hurried to haul them shut after him. They creaked in complaint, then slammed shut, the noise echoing across empty pews. The man doubled over, panting from the exertion.

When he finally looked up, his breath was taken away once again. The dome of the church above him was painted with saints and angels, sinners and demons. The scenes were beautiful, and dredged from his memory stories long-forgotten. He couldn't help but stare at it in wonder.

But he knew what lurked beyond. The drone was up there somewhere, a tiny black dot in a clear blue sky. Ten military-grade cameras had tracked his path, and its owners doubtlessly knew where he was now. The dome was pretty, but he knew it offered no protection.

"There isn't a service today," called the priest from the other side of the cathedral. "But you are welcome to stay here, if you wish."

"I won't be long," the man said, with a grim smile. He held his side and stiffly limped over to sit in a pew.

"Is everything alright?" the priest asked.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "They'll be here for me soon."

"... who?" the priest asked, worry written into the lines of his face.

"I... don't have the words to explain," the man said. "But they've already won."

"If somebody is after you, I will guarantee you sanctuary," the priest began, but the man shook his head. It was pointless.

There was a knock on the door, and as the priest turned to see who was there - and perhaps refuse them entry - a gunshot rang out. A stained glass window shattered into pieces. A bullet went right through the man's skull, leaving splattered blood over the pews.

[300 words, excluding title.]

>>“VALLY”

“Behold the Angels!”

The sermon began the same way every week. I had been attending services regularly with my sister for almost a year now. Both our parents had been killed, and it wasn’t long before we found sanctuary in the reclaimed Cathedral, one of the few intact buildings in the area. I noticed a young child meekly take a seat in the rear pew.

Flyers for the “Church of One and All” littered barren streets, promising juice, coffee, and baked goods after services, an effort to restore a sense of community and faith in neighbors, all but lost in this age of hopelessness and constant paranoia.

Our parents feared we’d join the commune, a rapidly growing and expanding directly behind the ancient cathedral, walled off and protected.

The city used to house millions, within a year it was thousands, but the church was working to save as many as possible.

“…forever may they reign.” The reverend finished, raising his arms. There was a hum of tiny turbines, as dozens of small, aerial drones, lifted a few meters into the air. They emitted intense and multicolored light displays, pulsing in rhythmic patterns, bringing with them a sense of well-being that built to a crescendo of complete euphoria. It was if I was taking a warm and soothing bath after years of living on cold, dirty, ground.

The drones descended, the lights faded. The entire congregation was now visibly relaxed and content. We filed out the back to resume our labors, our newest congregant blissfully in tow. I changed into my work clothes and resumed stacking bodies. As I lifted and placed each corpse, I was grateful to the previous generations, whose ingenuity and later sacrifices, delivered us from evil. They brought forth the angels, truly a gift from god.

^299 ^words >> [1st edit: grammar] >> [2nd edit: Length, Clarity, and Content]

Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* No AI-generated reponses 🤖 >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [RF] and [SP] for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.

A Jealous God

> Transcript of Expedition Log 2023-01-30, found on Dr. Thompson's hard drive.

Is this recording? Uh... Hello, this is Dr. Sawyer. Drone is at 97% battery, 92 meters away from the structure. Temperature readings are 31° C. Humidity is... Ok, I've been told to move along.

No animals around the site, just as initial exploratory team reported. The etchings cannot be discerned from so far away. Approaching the structure.

My God! Sorry, video quality is degrading but what I saw... it's magnificent. I wish I could be there. The level of detail is impossible. Uh? Feed is back up. I'm seeing... figures on the walls. Carvings. They have two arms, two legs, and yet, I don't feel we can call them human. They seem to be bringing something into the temple. The drawings move towards the door.

Light inside is minimal, turning on flashlight. The carvings continue. It's like a story on the walls, they move deeper inside. They are making offerings to... something. It's not, it's not on the etchings. It's hidden from me. No, it's just, empty wall. Why is it not there?

I just want to see... I'll move Heaven and Earth to -

(audio ends)

I've transcribed Dr. Sawyer's audio for your review. Please, advise. I've seen the footage, and he is right. Whatever the structure was built to worship... it's not on the wall anymore. Whatever Hell this is from, w3 h4ve a du7y to put an 3ND to it.

Something is making it mad. May God have merc-

> Saved to draft 4 hours ago

The reason for the fire that destroyed our Brazilian research site is still unknown.

Why does it hate us? What have we done?

The drone was hovering above the christmas mass. Holy communion was almost over. It was packed, men women and children. Father o’malley was placing the final wafer of communion bread on the tongue of an elderly woman when suddenly there was a giant flash of orange and a deafening bang. No, it wasn’t a bomb. The drone had been shot with an rpg by an alter boy. Everyone screamed and panic broke out.

Father o malley threw off his priest robes and pulled out a sidearm pistol, firing 5 perfectly aimed shots at the smoldering drone. ‘EVERYBODY OUT’. the masses ran for their lives. The stained glass windows shattered as a swat team crashed in, aiming their guns at o’malley and the alter boy and spraying rounds. They took cover behind the alter and returned fire, throwing a couple of grenades. O’malley turned to the alter boy with a defeated look on his face. ‘Run boy, destroy the documents’. He stood up and sprayed rounds with his pistol as the young boy ran away.

The firepower of the swat team was too much, and o’malley fell to the ground, writhing and squirming as they pumped him with lead. An eerie silence fell over the place. A swat commander walked up to the body, and let out a sigh. ‘Your times done o’malley. Your secret plan to storm the vatican and declare yourself pope is over. I underestimated you, i thought our suirvellane drone was foolproof. Well played old man, but the jig is up’. He spat on o’malleys body and walked away.

Heaving breath and weak muscles, the faithful make it to the temple just before the sunrise, their cathedral of trees.

Babes cry and are held tight by mothers, children are guarded by fathers wielding makeshift weapons.

Here the soaring boughs provide a cover from the buzzing hum from the sky burned black. Vines, branches, and leaves more intricate than any fresco and holding so much more meaning now.

Just as the grey morning breaks, it is felt more than heard. The dread marching of the Drones of the Black Sun. Hundreds of thousands of heavy boots stomping the earth to dust.

A voice, older and full of a certainty that wasn't shared by those in this ancient Cathedral, rings out, "Hold fast children! The green shall hold them, the Mother will protect her children!"

"We have sight!", a watcher cries out! Humanoid figures enclosed in glossy black armor, the symbol of the Black Sun emblazoned upon each and every chest plate.

Fear and terror wash over the gathered as they have seen what the Drones leave behind in their passing. Lines of defense form within the last Cathedral, knowing they are doomed. Whispered prayers escape lips.

The endless tide slows to a stop just outside the great arch, mere feet from stepping over the threshold. Then it happens. One. A single drone steps over that invisible line and falls to its knees. Shaking hands drop the weapon and reach up to remove the helmet.

As if waking from a long sleep, the scarred and mutilated face of the woman speaks in a raspy voice, "Please. Am I free?"

A miracle as in the Catherdral of Trees the first Drone is set free.

If you know anything about being a Southern Baptist then you know about the more recent (and extremely extravagant) methods that the churches have been using to "spice up" their sermons and get more people to give more money. Our sleepy southern town in bum loved nowhere was originally catholic, then a brimstone teacher came in the 40's and told us we were all going to hell unless we followed that version of Jesus, so the town repented and became Southern Baptist. The problem was that we still had a cathedral.

No matter, church must go on, and Pastor Buttyboo was determined to become a sensation in the new outrageous world of the internet. The rest of the town was still getting over the 60's but Pastor had bigger ideas.

I remember it like it was yesterday. It was almost Christmas, and the candles were lit for decoration. Sister Sarah was singing a song for us that the lord had placed on her heart (god bless it) and the children were fussing at the affront to their ears.

Suddenly, the doors opened and 'bout 30 or so drones buzzed into the church. Each of them had a crudely made papermache angel attached with a string, lazily trailing behind.

Pastor jumped up from his seat on the stage and body slammed Sister Sarah out from behind the pulpit.

"the spirit of the lord has come upon us this day from the visitation of these angels here! He is calling us to revival, and to-" his words were cut off.

One of the youth group teens flying the drones had gone too low, and the whirring propellers had caught in sister Beatrice's beehive.

"LORDA'MERCY" she shrieked, causing the congregation to gasp. She stood up and started pulling at her hair trying to get the drone untangled, and her husband jumped up to help. Pandemonium proceeded.

In an effort to help his poor wife, brother Jed (who had a very strong relationship with food) stepped on brother Jim's foot.

brother Jim howled "shit fire!" and flung his hand out, knocking over one of the decorative candles.

"JIM!" his wife sharply scolded as she smacked the back of his neck.

"wait! wait the new carpet!" pastor Buttyboo screamed, throwing himself on the now blazing ornamental carpet that the candle had set on fire.

everyone started screaming and rushed the door, sister Sarah bringing up the rear sobbing her heart out.

And that's the story of how I became agnostic.

Confession

Cool air collided with summer heat as the Cathedral doors opened. The clanging and buzzing of construction dulled as the doors reunited. The clash of hot and cold danced on the parishioner’s neck through the vestibule, down the nave, and towards the confessional.

"Bless me, Father, for I will sin." The warm voice poured out slowly, like smooth, dark honey.

“Tell me, child, what sin will you commit?” The priest’s gravelly tenor held intrigue.

“I… will break a promise.”

“What promise?”

“I gained the trust of others. They confided in me horrible things that happened to them, made me promise not to tell anyone, and not to do anything. But I cannot keep that promise.” The voice maintained its warmth.

“Sometimes, promises must be broken and trust must be betrayed for the greater good.” The priest said reassuringly.

“Have you betrayed trust, Father?”

“I… have acted in God’s name.”

The buzzing sound became more noticeable.

“Was it in God’s name that you betrayed 267 children over 40 years?"

“What did you—”

“Was it in God’s name that you silenced their families?”

“Yes, I have silenced hundreds of families. And I can silence you.” The priest said smoothly.

“No, you can’t. You won’t silence anyone ever again.” The voice responded.

The buzzing grew louder.

“How dare you! The confessional is sacred!” Spit flew from the priest’s mouth.

“You’re right, Father. The confessional is sacred. But that’s not where we are.”

The buzzing became deafeningly loud. The stained mahogany of the confessional box began to distort and shake before fading. The walls, candles, alter, and everything in the Cathedral vanished as a thousand drones appeared, revealing an empty white warehouse with two chairs. The drones departed. The buzzing was replaced by the sound of heels clacking as the parishioner walked away.

I have a hunch

I had been calling the cathedral home for going on 20 years now. From my secluded tower above, I was privy to a unique perspective.

When I first wandered into that French town, my body was broken, cold and hunger ushering me to death’s embrace.

It was the kindness of the elderly bell ringer that saved me. He had spotted me from atop the bell tower, a drenched mess in the rain, trudging along half dead, covered in frost. The waning sun had disappeared by the time he reached me, any longer and I’d surly be dead.

As I regained my constitution, I noticed the bell ringer’s health slowly diminishing. That’s when he charged me with being the new tower master, and taught me the signals and routine of the bell ringing. We lived above the cathedral, sharing stories and becoming close friends. Everything we wanted we sent for, paid for by the church, and delivered to our quarters.

Before he died, I decided I needed to share my secret. The nature of my injuries and sudden appearance had been the result of turbulence during a time travel experiment. My AI companion drone had been slowly self repairing since my arrival, and I was able to show it to my humble savior in all its glory.

He died on the spot.

I vowed to keep it secret from then on.

I feel guilty sometimes, but I’m paying my penance, swearing a life of solitude and servitude, maintaining the bell tower atop this grand Cathedral until the day I am replaced.

With my drone and my advanced knowledge, I’m able to help the townspeople anonymously and from afar, secretly enriching their lives with a well placed antidote or enlightening message.

Plus the drone’s flying capabilities help me skip all those steps.

^300 ^words

This is Why Being A Horrible Coworker Really Only Bites Your Own Butt

Chartreuse 397U.

“Huh. Well, well.” Snark bounces off the Renaissance fresco on the ceiling. “Say, Kati, that’s not quite chartreuse, now, is it?”

A solid beep. The drone stops.

Annoying. “No, I suppose not,” comes the reply. “What are you doing?”

More snark comes her way. “You think that’s acceptable? Garbage in, garbage—”

“Garbage up your ass, Simeon. Please be quiet.” Another solid beep, and the whirring resumes. Far below the drone, Kati continues: “It's a non-problem, fixable at post, we talked about it. Can we just leave it?"

Simeon can’t decide between a laugh, a grump, or a huff. Something between the three. “How about no?”

He presses a button on the keyboard again. A third beep.

“How about we let it stop?”

Kati's patience wears thinner.

“How about,” he begins…

“…you let,” taking a step closer…

“…the experts do it—”

“For God’s sake, Simeon, you want to solo this whole project?” Kati snaps. “Fine, Simeon, okay. Obviously you know more.” She spits a glare at his face. “Sorry the Polish guy only had a Pantone sampler. Sorry I couldn’t go with your kit.” She strides towards her laptop.

“Wuh—”

“You want your London pal with you, right? Go right ahead.” A briefcase clicks shut, and heels echo on floor. “His jank-ass Old Street startup can obviously do better. Seriously. I'm sure it'll be period-accurate.” She slips past him.

He reaches out for her silhouette. “Hey, come on!”

But Simeon has never been an intelligent man.

“Project’s all yours, Simeon,” she sings, turning ‘round the corner. “Just tell me when you lose your restoration license, go over budget, and get some seven figures in fines, because that Reddit post is going to be sooo fun to write.”

Her singsong voice fades away.

Simeon blinks.

“Kati? Hello?"

Silence.

"Kati!"

The Surprise

Walking up the steps, my cane clacks against the marble.

“Sir you can’t be up there!” One of those orderly’s yell at me from down. I shake my head and approach the throne, basking in its grandeur. Cast from gold and adorned with every kind of gem.

“I remember when the pope sat right here, Timmy.” I pat the back of the throne. Then I hear that blasted whirring again. “Are you even listening or are you to busy playing with your ‘rone.”

“It isn’t a rone grampa it’s a drone.” He corrected, rolling his eyes as the drone flies closer to me. I wave it away.

“Whatever…you kids and your electricity…I swear, when I was a kid, the only electricity we had was from eels and we liked it that way.” Timmy looks up at me and raises an eyebrow as I sit down in the throne.

“When we got here you said that you would give me a surprise.” I scoff at Timmy’s response and my eyes catch the chromatic lights dancing down from the stained glass. I point up at them. Two gargantuan marble pillars stand on either side of the entrance, framing a stained-glass mural.

“Sir, you can’t sit there.” The guard rounds the corner and gasps quickly bowing to me. “I didn’t realize it was you, my liege.”

“That mural is our history, the bloodshed to the creation of this wonder; my cathedral D’amore.”

“You built this?” He asked. I smile softly as I gently take the phone from his hands.

“What I want to give you, is everything I never had, as well as everything I ever built.” I hug him tight, and a tear slides down my cheek. One unlucky complication robbed me my future.

“I love you, Timmy.”

It won’t take his.