Leaving Them Behind
This was an intro post for a Zombie!RPG. I'm not sure what happened, but the game fell through. Much sadness.
Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy Name.
The Lord's mercy was great. Sarah died of fright before their fingers curled into her skin to tug it open. Jerome stood in the doorway, jaw slack, eyes wide, shaped by horror. The children screamed behind him; one of them pulled him back and shut the door.
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.
Three days ago a man had knocked on the door, panic-stricken, wounded. He'd seen the cross, known they would help. Jerome had taken him in and set him up in a room. The wound was a bite, septic smell. The children had been afraid of him.
"We help people, that's what we do." He knelt in front of the smallest, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I was a stranger, and you invited me in, I was sick, and I was in prison, and you came to me. You know that Steven." A smile as he ushered them away from the door.
Give us this day or daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.
At dinner that night, Maggie ran screaming into the dining hall.
"He's banging at the door! He's awake!"
Jerome frowned. "Were you listening at the door, Maggie? You were told not to disturb him. He's sick, and we don't know him. Sister Amelia, will you please check on our guest?" Maggie wrapped her arms around Jerome's waist, burying a fearful and sorry face into his hip. "It's all right Maggie."
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from Evil.
Sister Amelia had been the first to die of their parish. She, in turn, killed 5 more. Three days later, curled in the tiny room behind the altar of their chapel, Jerome had kept 8 alive. 7, now that Sarah was just outside the door, her blood seeping under the crack, dead hands scrabbling to sop it up.
Six children and himself. Himself. Himself. They'd stayed in the building because they believed God would deliver them from this. It was safer inside, surely, and the children couldn't possibly survive out in the open. Himself. Himself. The door was breaking. They'd finished her. He could smell them. But more disconcerting was the fact that he knew they could smell him.
"Don't leave. Please don't leave." Steven. He knew. As the door broke and the dead poured through with clutching hands and gaping mouths, Jerome stood up, broke out the pretty stained glass window with the myriad, serene colors, and climbed through the opening to damnation.
Amen.
Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy Name.
The Lord's mercy was great. Sarah died of fright before their fingers curled into her skin to tug it open. Jerome stood in the doorway, jaw slack, eyes wide, shaped by horror. The children screamed behind him; one of them pulled him back and shut the door.
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.
Three days ago a man had knocked on the door, panic-stricken, wounded. He'd seen the cross, known they would help. Jerome had taken him in and set him up in a room. The wound was a bite, septic smell. The children had been afraid of him.
"We help people, that's what we do." He knelt in front of the smallest, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I was a stranger, and you invited me in, I was sick, and I was in prison, and you came to me. You know that Steven." A smile as he ushered them away from the door.
Give us this day or daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.
At dinner that night, Maggie ran screaming into the dining hall.
"He's banging at the door! He's awake!"
Jerome frowned. "Were you listening at the door, Maggie? You were told not to disturb him. He's sick, and we don't know him. Sister Amelia, will you please check on our guest?" Maggie wrapped her arms around Jerome's waist, burying a fearful and sorry face into his hip. "It's all right Maggie."
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from Evil.
Sister Amelia had been the first to die of their parish. She, in turn, killed 5 more. Three days later, curled in the tiny room behind the altar of their chapel, Jerome had kept 8 alive. 7, now that Sarah was just outside the door, her blood seeping under the crack, dead hands scrabbling to sop it up.
Six children and himself. Himself. Himself. They'd stayed in the building because they believed God would deliver them from this. It was safer inside, surely, and the children couldn't possibly survive out in the open. Himself. Himself. The door was breaking. They'd finished her. He could smell them. But more disconcerting was the fact that he knew they could smell him.
"Don't leave. Please don't leave." Steven. He knew. As the door broke and the dead poured through with clutching hands and gaping mouths, Jerome stood up, broke out the pretty stained glass window with the myriad, serene colors, and climbed through the opening to damnation.
Amen.