Imortuos

Title: For Fire, We'll Pray

" … high above, we'll stay." Father Jacob mumbled, as he held up the golden chalice above his head, so all the people in the chapel could see it. The air he forced through his nostrils was cold, foul and reeked of sin.

He lowered his arms and took a few steps back into the shadows. Two of his disciples stood next to him, dressed in most peculiar vestments. Scorched and moldy they seemed, but also well looked after and cared for. One of these disciples, a women with short, black hair and pleasant facial features, went forward and lit a white candle on the brittle, stone altar, which seemed way older than the rest of the shabby chapel. The chapel itself was little more than a glorified shack. It was dirty, with small windows and an integrity that wasn't there. Afterwards, the woman quickly returned to her place in the shadows and kept her chin low.

Jacob looked into the gross, piggish mass of people before him. They had sqeezed themselves into this little shack of his God, just to listen to his revelations. And together with the disciples, they celebrated and sung for the one above all. The one who will save them all.

He smiled, exhausted. It wouldn't be an easy task to guide them to the question, but his god never told him that it would be an easy task. In fact, He never told Jacob anything. But since the day he saw one of his god's angels come down on his land, he wanted to preach, and preach he did. Father Jacob even watched the angels from afar, until those godless men in black suits came to his town. They told him, that his land and his life was endangered; deep in his ground, some old bombs were sleeping, waiting to greet the world anew with, malicious intent. Nonsense, he thought back then, but the authorities stood by the godless ones, not by him and his church.

Worries started to flood his brain like a great wave. He would never meet the angels. He had no chances of meeting the god he was a prophet for. He would fail. The dirty and greasy pews creaked as the people stood up, waiting for their great Prophet's next action.

Jacob suddenly felt the burden of his faith on his shoulders with every step he took. He walked towards the cold altar and took the candle that rested on it. He grimaced, knowing what had to be done. He had to see his benevolent god. He had to lead his little pigs to him. He could not allow himself to fail. The prophet turned to a dusty, wooden beam on his right side and set it ablaze. The cleansing fire spread quickly, voracious and wonderful, terrible and awesome. It reflected in the eyes of the many believers, the glimmer like hope, the ash like promises told. They all started to chant together. It was a maddening chant of screams and pain, deafening loud with voices that haunted even the strongest mind. Only the zealous disciples burned with righteous torment and kept silent. At once, the beams that supported the chapels roof collapsed with a roar akin to thunder, and the pigs saw their god.