𝙋𝙀𝙍𝙁𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉 || EDDIE MUNSON

Hard Candy

THAT morning Atta had surprised Brandy with a new dress. Brandy didn't quite know what to say, she felt grateful, until she realized why she was getting a new wardrobe piece. It was Sunday. That morning Brandy was a little icy to her mother as she got ready for the two hours of absolute boredom and annoyance she would no doubt feel.

Brandy felt like a child again, being dragged to church where she would have to sit still for what felt like forever and ever. The girl brought a small notepad and pen with her; remembering how she and her father used to doodle to pass the time when the pastor just seemed to go on and on about whatever part of the Bible he decided to take of context that Sunday.

That's what Brandy had noticed over the years, if a pastor would seem passionate about a certain topic in the Bible, or a quote, or even a single word. He would rant and rave and preach about it, even if it were taken wildly out of context and twisted to his own intention and his worlds eye preference. His words seemed riveting to those he spoke to, some seemed unimpressed knowing what he was doing with what they considered the word of God, but those individuals fell too in line to say anything against it.

So whether the pastor spoke of a boring old topic like premarital sex, or him raving over being unfaithful to one's partner. While rumors of a cheating wife circulated him in the air like a nasty fog, full of the stench of taboo tales and words that weren't meant to be spoken of the outside of the bedroom or one's home. Brandy thought it all hypocritical, using what they considered sacred as a form of punishment or embarrassment to others, or taking the words of one's own so-called lifestyle and bending them until they fit your narrative.

So as Brandy walked into the church with Micheal and her mother she resisted the urge to scowl at the place of holiness. She didn't feel so pure or righteous in the hallowed building. She had quit being a believer after her dad had gone. Now all she felt towards the lord was bitterness and uncertainty, not a prayer was answered from him, not even a sign to show her it would get better. All she was left with during the rough years was a broken mother and an even more broken spirit.

She must admit the architecture within the church was quite lovely. With tall rounded ceilings painted white, bronze chandeliers hung every six feet down the isle between pews, with fake candle light-bulbs to light up the metal fixtures. The carpet down the isle appeared to be once red, now a dingy maroon almost brown. The windows were that of drained glass, a near rainbow selection of colors in each pane. Brandy's favorite was the emerald-colored one, like a granny smith apple. It almost looked like melted hard candy. A large cross with a sculpture of Jesus himself hung in at the front of the semi-large room, looming over everyone. His eyes looking on judgingly.

Brandy's eyes stayed on the sculpture. Found herself unable to look away from the tortured look on his face. She always found the story so abhorrent and appalling. It quite scared her as a child, the thought of a mother watching her son be brutally murdered over three days and three nights. It sent a chill up her spine and goosebumps over her forearms, the hair rising from the thought. She always wondered why children were exposed to such stories yet not a horror movie or a Stephen King novel.

"Hey," Brandy nearly jumped out of her skin at the contact, her eyes ripped away from the painful face of Jesus Christ, now looking upon the soft yet sharp features of Nancy Wheeler.

Nancy's face always reminded Brandy that of a silent film actress. With her large innocent-looking eyes and her small rosebud lips, even her rounded face and small frame. You could've put Nancy side by side in a film with Lillian Gish or Agnes Ayres and Brandy wouldn't have thought anything of it. With Nancy's reporter skills of getting stories, she imagined the girl would do just fine in the film industry. At least in the nineteen twenties, she thought.

"Oh hey," Brandy let out an awkward chuckle.

"Sorry didn't mean to startle you," The girl apologized.

"No, you're okay." Brandy reassured her gently. "I was just..." She looked back to the sculpture wearily before her eyes readjusted back to Nancy. "Lost in thought I guess."

"It's kind of morbid isn't it?" Nancy asked, her eyes looking to the front of the room. "Most crosses predict him looking peaceful, he's looking down with his eyes closed." She told. "Sleeping I guess?" Nancy mumbled. "Ours makes him look in pain."

Brandy glanced at the large crucifix once more, Jesus looking to the sky with a pained face, like he was crying out for his father. Or perhaps he was accepting his fate, Brandy just looked back to Nancy. "Church freaks me out." Brandy shuddered, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Me too," Nancy told her. A moment of silence passed as the girls looked with their own morbid interest in the statue. "You wanna sit with us?" She asked Brandy. "Mike and me don't really listen to the sermon anyways, we spend most of the time thumb wrestling or doing word puzzles on dad's newspaper."

"Does he go anywhere without that thing?" Brandy asked with a chuckle.

"Mom takes it from him after we get in the building," Nancy chuckled back.

"Sure," Brandy nodded, following Nancy to her pew seats.

"Hi!" Mrs. Wheeler greeted her with a hug, she smelled of patchouli perfume and spearmint gum, as well as something else, almost a musky scent, Brandy could quite place it as she hugged the woman back. "Didn't expect to see you here, honey." She told her. "Are you sitting with us?"

"Yeah, if that's okay." Brandy nodded.

"Of course," Karen placed a hand on her shoulder. "Ted, look who it is."

The man looked up silently, "Hello Brenda." Brandy let out a small chuckle.

"Ignore him," Karen rolled her eyes. "Mike, say hi," She told her son.

"Hey," He looked up from his seat as she awkwardly greeted her.

"Come on," Nancy nodded her head. "I brought some skittles if you want some,"

"That sounds great." Brandy smiled as she sat down between Mike and Nancy. Maybe being dragged to church wasn't so bad in the end, even if she wasn't there for the word of God itself.

Lil rant about how stupid I think dragging your kids to church is and telling them about mass genocide. What did we think, also tell me some things you'd want to see, some Eddie headcanons maybe? I'm running out of ideas for fillers.