Cassie glanced at her mother. After Cassie's father passed away last year, she had worried that her mother would fall away into the darkness of depression. Instead, Cassie's mother had begun attending this new church, and these days she seemed more serene and happy than ever. That was the entire reason that Cassie was sitting here today; she wanted to know exactly what was going on in this church. As far as she could tell, most of the people in her mother's congregation were good people. They fed the poor, her mother said, and cared for the sick. That counted. Cassie wasn't very religious, but she recognized that right actions were more powerful than a few good words in this world today. So why did the minister felt the need to rant about hell and damnation for four plus hours?
The door behind the altar opened, and the ministered stopped in mid rant. He moved quietly to a small seat behind the podium, the rustle of his robes the only sound. Every eye zeroed in as a man walked in front of the altar and stood. Cassie stared. His hair was dark, his eyes the blue of a tropical sea. His lips were made for sin, and her face felt flushed. Her head spun; she realized that she had been holding her breath. As Cassie exhaled, the man's head turned toward her. Their eyes met, and she saw bright red flames burning in his eyes. Her heart fluttered.
"That's the Reverend," her mother whispered loudly.
The prompt is the third definition of PLUCK. The word always makes me think of that bible verse. And Puritans. But never chickens. Go figure.
