Misguided Tradition - PG:13

[Marly]

First things first, I wanna start off by saying how much I hate the title so far.

If any of you have any suggestions, please, by all means, suggest them.

 

Anyway, this is my first long-running literary project that I plan on doing. I mainly started this to improve my writing, not to tell the story, so please try to understand why it's so bad. I acknowledge that I'm a horrible writer, and I simply posted this to get criticism and, again, to improve my writing.

 

[spoiler=Prologue]

 

The bells resonated in the distance, as if a signal to the humble township that lay beneath the church’s gaze. The lethargic denizens of the village were dressed in their finest; the men were garbed in charcoal suits and slick brown loafers, while the women adorned luxurious dresses of a variety of colors, ranging from an engaging garnet to a pale cerulean. They all retreated from their homes once they heard the powerful, melodic voices of the bells.

 

The light of the morning sun arrived on the cobbles and roofs of the small village, coated in a dusty orange, having traveled through the sandy haze of an Eastern steppe. The buildings were mostly small, commonplace dwellings made of granite; the streets were narrow and lay between the Church on the hill and a secure, wooden gate at the entrance of the village.

 

The road was flooded by coinciding black and gray suit-wearing men, hand in hand with a fancily dressed woman and, often, two younger boys or girls trailing closely behind. The crowd ambled toward the ivory church on the hill; many of the villagers conversed with one another, discussing the weather or commenting on one another’s clothes.

 

The church itself was the largest building in the village, towering over all others by a good margin. There was a large stained glass window at the front of the church, directly above the large, yellow doors. The stained glass depicted two large, sympathizing eyes held high over a blue circle, covered with large patches of green. To the right of the entrance sat a tall bell tower of equal height to the church, the bell was swaying rhythmically, letting out a soft beat before changing direction.

 

The crowd entered through the large double doors of the church, and as if the church stopped any noise from penetrating its walls, they stopped talking with one another and became silent. The inside walls of the church were covered in a red velvet; odd symbols and decoration lined the walls, upside-down cones and two knives crossing diagonally were common. Large, wooden pews were lined horizontally throughout the church, leading up to a large wooden stage.

 

On the stage were three elderly men wearing black garments that covered their shoulders to their ankles. Their feet were wrapped in a tight red fabric; they were not wearing any shoes or footwear. All three of the men were adorning a necklace; each necklace was in the shape of an odd emblem. The top of the emblem was a crudely made eye, and the bottom of the eye connected to what seemed to be fire. Under this fire, a simple circle.

 

 

The man on the far right was balding, and the small clumps of hair that still existed on the empty plain of his head were a light gray. His face was covered in wrinkles, and his eyes seemed to hold a sort of dead stare. In his left hand he held a small cane that was being used to hold him up. His right hand lay motionless to his side.

 

The senior to the far left had long gray hair, reaching right above his shoulders. His face was in better shape than the elder to the far right; however, signs of aging still covered his appearance. He had a weary expression drawn across it, and his black glasses seemed to slide off his oddly-shaped nose. It arched downward, and was not proportional to the rest of his face, as the nose was much smaller.

 

The center man looked far younger than the other two. His hair was fully black, not a gray hair to be found. His eyes were a soft light blue, and he had a small black beard. His face looked rugged and scarred, but not wrinkled or old. Contrary to his two peers, he wore a smile and held a thick black book in his hands.

 

The bell’s toll softened and seemed to gradually come to a halt as the crowd dispersed and began sitting in the pews. Each one picked up a small pamphlet that was left in the pews for the patrons, and as the people got settled in, the center man opened the black book, and looked out to his audience.

 

He stepped forward and placed the now-open book on a black pedestal which had two beautiful sets of yellow lilies on both sides. The man smiled, straightened the necklace, and started reading from the book.

 

“Greed is humanity, and humanity is greed. Blessed are the ones who’ve lost everything, wicked are the ones who have everything.”

 

A young boy, around the age of fifteen, garbed in a similar black robe as the three older men on the stage, appeared from a door to the right of the stage. The boy had light brunette hair and a masculine facial structure; the muscles on his lower legs were apparent, despite the red fabric.

 

He was wielding a large staff with a curved end and a wick at the other end; it was aflame. He walked towards the center of the stage, lifted the tool, and slowly guided the flame to the lilies. The right bunch of flowers caught fire, and the boy strutted back to the door to the right of the stage.

 

The center man grabbed the flowers by the bottom pot, and lifted them up to show the audience. He resumed the reading.

 

“We will give everything to be blessed. Possessions, decorations, wealth, love, and life are all the Maker’s, we own nothing, and as such, should rid ourselves of everything.”

 

Using the flowers that were already on fire, he turned them on their side and lit the other set of lilies. He placed the pot back on its original resting place, and stepped back from the pedestal.

With great difficulty, the man holding a cane struggled to the pedestal. He was able to get about halfway on his own, but after a slight slip, assistance from his two fellow preachers helped him to the stand. He stood facing the congregation and breathing heavily for a good two minutes. After he had regained his energy, he began speaking. He had a rough, very authoritarian voice.

 

“I’ve lost my sight, my ability to walk, my family and love, my money and friends. I’ve lost everything, but still have the Maker, and am happier than I’ve ever been.”

 

The entire audience stood up, and, in unison replied,

 

“Blessed are those who’ve lost everything.”

 

The blind man walked back to his old position, and the bell started chiming once again. The congregation all stood up at the chiming of the bell. The weary-looking man walked toward the pedestal, and in an almost wispy voice, started to talk.

 

“It’s time for th-the Riddance.”

 

The first row of people started walking towards the center. It consisted of a small family of three, an elderly man, and an older teenage girl. They all shuffled alongside each other, trying to get to the stage. The first of the people up was the teenager.

 

She had dirty-blonde hair and a tomboyish appearance. The yellow dress she was wearing was covered in grass stains, obviously from playing roughly outside. The heel of her shoe was tearing, and her face and arms were covered in scrapes and bruises. She went up to the front holding a soccer ball in the arc of her left arm.

 

She reached the front of the building and stared at the tired man with the hooked nose. He looked at her and nodded, and she left the soccer ball in front of her, between herself and the weary man. He picked up the ball, lifted it toward the audience, and spoke.

 

“Blessed are those whom lose what they most desire.”

 

He handed the soccer ball to the center man, who took out a knife from his pocket, and released the air. The deflated shell of the ball was then handed back to the hook-nosed man, who placed it in the fire made by the lilies. The congregation repeated the statement he previously said, and then the elderly man ambled to the front.

 

The senior was wearing an oversized gray suit. His hair was of a matching color, and the glasses on his face were cracked in all sorts of places. He was leaning on a walking stick of sorts, and struggled to get up to the front. When he arrived, he began to wheeze. Falling onto his knees when he was finally in front of the hooked-nose man, he lay his walking stick in front of him, and completely fell to the floor.

 

The man gave a large smile, and put the walking stick into the pot of burning lilies. In seconds the stick disintegrated into ashes, and he helped the man back to his pew before continuing on. Once he arrived back at the front, he looked once again towards the audience, and stated,

 

“Blessed are those who lose what they need to live.”

 

The people in the pews repeated this; their voices were boastful and proud.

 

The family of three was the final people of the first pew to arrive at the front of the church. The husband was an unshaven, larger man who seemed to have trouble breathing. His hair looked greasy and unwashed, and his suit seemed extremely dirty. His wife was frail and sickly looking, her eyes seemed barely able to stay open, and her veins looked as if they were trying to pop out of her arms. Waddling behind the two was a newborn girl, barely any hair had grown in yet, and she was bare except for an obviously dirty diaper.

 

The unshaven man looked up at the weary preacher. His voice was feeble and weak, and was coated in a tone of doubt and worry.

 

“Master Shamus, we have nothing to rid ourselves of. We’ve lost all we had already. W-Will the Maker forgive us?”

 

Shamus’ eyebrows rose, as if pondering if this person before him was really being serious. After a moment, Shamus lifted his left hand, and pointed it at the newborn girl behind them, adorably sucking on the toe of a woman in a pew.

 

The mother of the newborn started to weep, and the father looked at Shamus with sorrow coating his face. He tried to take on a defiant pose, but his weeping wife held her hand out to stop him from doing anything. She looked at him with a face full of sorrow, but gave him a gesture to calm down.

 

Shamus reached for the newborn, and lifted her high so the entire congregation could see her, just as he did the previous times. He proceeded to put the newborn girl into the pot of fire, and, using fire-resistant gloves, kept her from struggling as her skin burned. The cries of the baby echoed throughout the entire church.

 

Shamus again faced the congregation.

 

“Blessed are those who lose what they love.”

 

The congregation repeated it, still in that boastful, prideful tone.

 

The rest of the church walked up to Shamus, one row at a time, to give something as a sacrifice to the Maker. Glasses, dolls, cars, books, and clothes were just a few of the things given. Soon, the entire congregation had been to the front.

The fifteen year old boy who first lit the lilies appeared from the room once everyone had sacrificed something. He had a new tool, a large, almost bucket-like object made of metal. He covered both sets of lilies with this, and suffocated the fires. The remnants of the objects that were put into the fire were clearly visible; scorched pieces of plastic, dolls, and a blackened limb were amongst the ashes.

 

The bell had stopped chiming; Shamus and his two peers left with the teenage boy. The people in the rows once again dispersed from their seats, and went back to their homes. Once they exited the church, they conversed as if everything was normal.