A Preacher in New England

100 words.

They found him in the church, face down in the baptismal basin. In his last moments, the preacher, who’d grown up just steps from where he’d taken his first sip of the blood and first nibble of the body, was relieved. I’ll be home shortly.

Walking away from the church, a boy, not more than 12, coffers cleared and pocketed, heading away from the festering goodness of boredom, puts the Roman collar around his neck. He sips the pinched cup of grape juice, then, in further defiance, bites the cracker, letting the juice soak into it; it turns to mush.

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Originally posted in a comment here:

Free Writing Fridays #037

A cover of the song that inspired my nugget of a story:

And the original. Felt are the best, right?

Let’s chat! Hit up the comments with your own drabble!
Here is your prompt: There is something going on in that church that isn’t quite right.