Shadow of Iniquity

“We are gathered here today to repent of our wicked ways. To free ourselves from our sins!” The booming voice from the pulpit reverberated around the small church. “We must pray! Pray for our salvation. We must cleanse our hearts and beg forgiveness. Only through prayer can we walk amongst the godly and the angels!”
Murmurs of assent circled around the pews, but one man cleared his throat.
“We’ve been doing that, preacher, and it hasn’t worked so far. We’ve been praying hard day and night and nothing has helped. I’m not sure God’s listening.”
The parishioners’ gasps slithered through the church.
The man ignored his neighbours and continued, “Maybe we aren’t worth saving, Preacher.”
“Repent, sinner, repent!”
The man sighed, and bowed his head, grumbling, “Prayer won’t save us, Preacher. I don’t think we’ll ever be free…”

The sun rose the next morning, casting its warm light over the burned-out, hollow shell of the church. Three years since the catastrophic fire, since the storm, when lightning flashed from the sky and ignited the blaze. And that fallen tree blocking the exit, well, it sealed the fate of those that died that day, that small gathering of the church elders.
A bizarre tragedy the papers called the fire, and the oddness of it started the rumours. Talk of the Almighty’s vengeance against the hypocrites and sinners of the congregation. No denying that the dead, even the preacher, were all sinners, indulgent in greed, lust, envy, pride. Adulterers, thieves, and liars, wrapped in the facade of faith. No denying very few were sorry to see them buried six feet under.
And of course, there were the stories of the ghostly voices coming from the ruins…

The spectral parishioners shuffled to their seats once again and the booming voice of the preacher shouted, “Repent!”
They all bow their heads in useless prayer, unaware they were already in hell…

~ A. F. Stewart