Love Songs: The Wrong Note - A Collection of Short Stories

2

The Bible was no where to be found. What on earth was he going to do now?

That's when Necessity's mother revealed a miraculous answer to his conundrum.

He spotted Felicity's 'Children's Illustrated Book of Bible Stories' just peeking out from under the couch where the child had hidden it to prevent Crispin from reciting any more religious rubbish. Although the little girl was his niece, she seemed to have cast her lot more with the worldly crowd, preferring to frolic with abandon outside rather than spend hours cloistered in Crispin's tiny apartment.

Not that he could blame her.

What child likes to sit still and be read to when she could be running merrily with the kiss of sunshine on her cheeks and a warm breeze picking up her silken curls and flying them behind her like a jolly banner of carefree abandon?

Besides, she was barely four years old.

Crispin grabbed the book and flipped open its pages.

Just as he thought.

A victim of Felicity's wax crayons. He frowned. The child had no artistic talent at all. To say her strokes were heavy and chaotic was a compliment.

What would the parishioners think if they caught a glimpse of such scribble?

Desecration? Profanation? An abomination worthy of Lucifer himself? Or worse?

Now was not the time to stand there debating with himself over the possible ramifications of using this book as a substitute for the real deal. He didn't have time.

Besides, this would be his first message to a listening public that was not comprised solely of students, faculty, or his parents. Crispin was sure to be at a loss for words.

Who was he kidding?

At a lost of coherent thoughts.

He was bound to be as nervous as a hooker in church.

He stuffed the book into his coat pocket and headed outside. For the thousandth time, he wondered why. And for the thousandth and first time, he grinned and shook his head.

"So what if they turn their nose up?" he said out loud. "There's bound to be a place for me somewhere."

The echo of his grandfather's voice rumbled in his head.

After all, he'd been called.