The cold frosty wind bit at his exposed face. He scarcely glanced at his surroundings, an old falling down building, with cracked windows and fallen support beams. He hurriedly threw the clip into his rifle. His hands shook, and his breath was ragged. "Fuck, Fuck, Fuck."
He dropped his cigarette. He quickly lit his cigarette and took a short, jittery drag.
A loud Diesel engine echoed through the wind, and rattled the remaining windows.
The engine slowed, idled, then carried on.
He took a drag, and sighed in relief. He took the clip out of the gun, and put it beside the rifle, laying on the frosted ground. He took a few cautious steps.
'Must be a chapel. So much jesus I could vomit.' He though and chuckled to himself.
He traced his fingers along an old stained window. The pane was split in five, as if someone had deliberately smashed it. He put a few shards together, replacing the last missing one with a ripped paper. Satisfied, he got up and strolled to the pews. He grabbed a few books from the pews and flipped around.
Jesus. Jesus. Moses. Jesus. Virgin Mary. Noah. Abraham. Jesus. Shepherd. Jesus.
His steps echoed faintly as he approached the podium. He stood behind it, gazing in front of the empty chapel.
"Dearly beloved..." he paused. The inside of his cheek was sore from nervously gnawing at it.
"Dearly departed, I must apologize. I wasn't a good man, and I'm sorry. I have sinned, father. For my sins I shall repent. No I won't."
"I know I wasn't good. But two thirds of my life as a honest man isn't bad. Two out of three ain't bad. With this bullet I come to terms with my existence. How simple a thing can tip the scales.
Father.
Forgive me?"
His head exploded with white light and pain.
He heard muffled voices, the sound of ceramic scraping on concrete, and leaves rustling.
He slowly regained his hearing, still seeing unrelenting white. He pressed his palm to the ground.
'What is this?' He thought, 'What the fuck is this?' He slowly moved his palm in a circle.
He could feel pressure, but it just felt like he was scraping metal against rock.
"It's judgment day! Get the cake! Judgment day! Yahoo!" He heard many voices around him, excitedly chattering away.
His arm was lifted up, and the rest of his body followed with it. He moved his head around, hoping to see, but he still saw white.
Someone threw him onto what felt like a bar stool. His hands clasped the edge of the bar, and he felt on top.
A drink.
He tried to smell it, but all that happened was a clink when the glass hit his face.
"What is this?" He asked to anyone listening.
"It's wine. Red. The blood of Christ." A voice beside him replied.
He drank carefully. His head swivelled to the person nearest to him.
"How did I get here?"
"You pulled the trigger."
