After The End

by giraffmang

Father Black trudged through the icy mud as he made his way toward the church entrance. The cloying thick air and red sky did little to alleviate his rising tension. He turned his collar up against the chill wind, took a deep breath, and prepared to enter the building.

The door was unlocked, just like all the others, and the handle turned easily in his grasp, giving an audible click when the mechanism cleared the lock. With a gentle pull, the door popped outwards, and Father Black slipped inside, closing the door behind him.

The interior of the church was dim, the daylight sneaking in through the stained-glass windows which lined both sides. Father Black shivered but it had little to do with the cold which rivalled the dropping temperatures outside the building. The church was silent. Not just quiet but a complete and utter silence. Not a draught, not a drip, not even the crack of an old, worn pipe.

Black drew in a deep breath and began to walk the aisle, his head weaving from side to side. A hand trailed along the backs of the pews as he passed them by. At the very front of the church, to his left, rose a statue of the blessed Mother, arms outstretched as if to welcome all who ventured forth. Her face indistinct, the paint dull. A fine layer of dust coated her surface. Father Black removed one of his gloves and laid a hand on the cold marble. He grunted, shrugged his shoulders, and moved on toward the pulpit. He climbed the small set of steps and took the priest’s customary position. He removed his other glove and pocketed both. Closing his eyes, he gripped the pulpit’s sides and raised his head. He remained this way for several moments, with an occasional cocking of his head.

He lowered his head and, upon opening his eyes, realised he was not alone. Father Black cleared his throat, then spoke, “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.”

The handsome young man before him smiled, his mouth curling up on the left-hand side more than the right, a bemused twinkle playing in his eyes. The smile appeared warm and genuine. The man raised a hand and ran it through his thick, long hair before replying. “No… I don’t suppose you did.”

Father Black made his way down from the pulpit. “You’ll have to excuse me. This is not my church, nor my parish. I’m just--”

“Looking for answers?” the young man interjected.

Black smiled. “Indeed.”

The young man’s eyes followed Father Black’s every move. “And did you find them?”

“Yes… and no.” Father Black made his way past the young man and took a seat on the first row of pews. “And what about you? What brings you here?”

The smile lit his face up again. “Same thing, really, but I think the answers will no longer be coming. Don’t you, Father Black?”

At the mention of his name, Black fixed the newcomer with a steely glare. “How do you know me?”

“Come now, Francis. I’ve been following in your footsteps. I was bound to pick up a thing or two along the way.”

“You’ve been following me? Why?”

“To see if you came to the same conclusion I did, of course.” The man took a few steps toward the father.

Black fumbled inside his coat, fingers searching for his rosary.

The young man laughed. “You know that won’t do any good. And anyway, there’s nothing for you and me to fight about. He,” the man nodded upwards, “has well and truly left the building.”

Father Black hung his head and let out a deep sigh, his hands falling into his lap. “All of them.”

The man slid past Father Black and slumped down on the pew beside him. He fished about inside his overcoat and withdrew a tarnished silver flask. He unscrewed the lid and took a quick drink. “Here.” He offered the flask to Father Black.

Black glanced at the vessel before shaking his head. “I can’t. It’s against…”

The man patted Black on the shoulder. “I don’t think it’s against anything anymore. Those days are gone.”

Father Black accepted the flask and took a swig, resulting in a coughing fit. The young man laughed and slapped Black on the back. “So, what are you going to do now?”

Tears welled in the older man’s eyes. “I guess this is the end.”

“Is it though? Not much of an Armageddon. I mean, some people disappeared and a load of derelict real estate. Sure, the sky’s a funny colour and it’s a bit cold but I’m fairly sure I can fix that.”

Father Black stared at the man seated beside him. Confusion writ large on his face. This was not what he’d expected – ever expected. And yet…

The young man smiled again. “I know you’re struggling with all of this. I can’t believe He actually went and did it either. He’s taken his toys and went home. I thought for sure I, at least, would get another chance. After all, look how many chances He gave you lot. Hell, I knew Him personally.”

“Maybe that was your problem. When those close to us hurt us, it’s worse.”

The young man sat in silence for a few moments, pondering Black’s words. He shrugged. “Must sting like a bugger for you. Personal relationship and all that. Have you some deep, dark secrets even I don’t know about, Francis?”

Father Black hung his head. “Just doubts. Sometimes many, sometimes few…”

“But not, it would appear, few enough. He was funny like that. Fickle even on occasion. I wouldn’t give up just yet though.”

Black raised his head to meet the young man’s gaze. “And why not?”

“We’re still here.”

The words stopped Father Black in his tracks. It wasn’t something he’d considered before. Whilst the churches did, indeed, feel devoid of spirituality, they were still in existence. He cleared his throat, “And what do we do with that information?”

The young-looking man smiled, eyes lighting up. “We spread the word.” With that, he stood, turned, and strode down the central aisle.

Father Black pondered the man’s words for a moment or two and turned to say something only to discover he was, once again, alone in the church.

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