Foundation Stone

The congregation gathered at the center of the main hall was bathed in a dappled light streaming through the cracked and shattered windows. Reflecting off the bone-white floors, light illuminated the faces of the chosen ones here to pass The Judgment. A man strode to the center of the room, cracking his knuckles and clearing his throat.

“A’right Suzie, come on up,” he said, beckoning to the girl waiting in the doorway.

“It’s been decided, proper. We all know it’s the price that’s gotta be paid; always has. You understand?” he asked, his dingy yellow eyes peering over the rims of his old glasses.

“Not really. Daddy said it ‘twas what’s right … but, then again, he ain’t here,” she said, a hint of defiance flashing in her eyes. Reverend Jones’s pointy chin jutted out in anger.

“Right. John, you’ve got first right, then t’others,” he said pointing to an oafish man in a special white hat with holes cut out for the eyes. John lifted the Blessed Stone, and flung it mightily into the head of Suzie Morris.

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