Crucifixion MAG

By Unknown, Unknown, Unknown

    As the first light of the morning reflected from the soft rain, I stepped out of my sleep-ridden house into the crisp, autumn Sunday. I could feel the liquid coolness soaking through my clothes and pressing its fresh purity against my skin. The dripping grass washed my feet as I stepped delicately among the echoes of church bells. I could feel my mind clearing of the rot of the past week and ritualistically mixing with the nature that surrounded it. As I reached the graveyard I could see the hung-over churchgoers shrouding themselves from the cool rain with their morbid umbrellas. The guilty Christians flashed me looks of disapproval as they marched tediously through the fire red doors and were lost in the hot mass of tempers. The procession finally pushed itself into the stuffy room and left me to the rain. Standing in the silence of the graveyard, I raised up my arms thinking that perhaps the storm would pass.

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