Photo Credit: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
By T. Delaplain
A hush descended, the lights dimmed and the stage rose from the fiery bowels of the auditorium. Reverend Wilts, awash with golden light unfurled his robes, arms spread wide in false subjugation. The sound of salvation began with a few calculated notes guaranteed to open the pocketbooks of the faithful, reserving the frenzy for later. Always best to make them believe in the promise of heaven before he brought down the brimstone. A divine threshold exists for every donor, the faithful, the sinners, the broken and the truly lost. Not a coin would be left behind.
“Let us pray.”
Join us a Friday Fictioneers, we’ll give you 100 words to tell your tale. Do you see salvation or just street lights?
Fictioneers, Is anyone else having trouble being able to “like” stories on Word Press? WTH? I can comment but I can’t like anything even if I’m signed in. Is there some setting I don’t know about? I thought it was just on the U.K. networks but it happened at Rochelle’s site too. Grrrrr Any Ideas?