On the outside it was just an ordinary church, light grey stone with a simple steeple. The door was made of wide boards that were large and arched, but in no way grand or magnificent. Above the door there was a roughly hewn crucifix. There were not statues no carvings, and no tapering pillars holding up its less than thrilling structure. It was defiantly nowhere a tourist would go. The church was very easily overlooked; I think this was why it appealed to me. When I travel to Paris, (anywhere really but I’ll use Paris as an example) I don’t go to see the Louvre, the Arc de Triomphe or even the Eiffel tower. I go to sample coffee in cafes and visit obscure exhibits at museums. I like to think that these tiny corners of the earth are mine and that I have a tiny piece of the world all to myself. So as I stood outside the dullest looking building ever to leave a blueprint, I knew that this was exactly what I was looking for. I tugged at the door until it scraped open, grinding on the brick sidewalk, emitting a sound that resembled something between nails on a chalkboard and sandpaper rubbing wood. At first the interior was dark, but then it burst into light as if a thousand golden diamonds had fallen from the ceiling. From the outside the ceiling looked low and flat, but in reality it was lofty and domed. The whole church was painted a rich gold color and combined with the sunlight pouring in though the high vaulted windows it sparkled in an even more magical way than what I had always imagined the gold at the end of the rainbow to look like. The wood of the pews was a deep brown and the hymnbooks staked upon them were made of the softest velvet. The altar was decorated with intricate carvings of the saints so real looking that I expected them to wave or blink. The linen cloth draped over the altar was piercingly white. In front of the altar was the largest bouquet of lilies that I had ever seen. Looking around to make sure that no one was watching, I pulled a lily out of the bouquet. I tucked it behind my ear so that it was set against my long wavy brown hair. I gazed fixedly at the ceiling. Yes, I thought, this was the perfect setting for my newest novel.

*This story takes place in Germany. Goldenen himmel means golden heaven in germen.