Curate, connect, and discover
suki desu
tw: family issues, implied abuse, arson, Christian church
Sam loved Mondays.
Monday was hands down the best day of the week. For the simple reason that it wasn’t Sunday anymore and it wouldn’t be Sunday again for a while.
He wished today was Monday. He wouldn’t be here if it was.
But no, it just had to be Sunday morning, 9 o’clock.
Ah fuck, how he despised this hellhole! Every damn week. Again and again. It hadn't changed even a bit since last Sunday, or the one before that, or probably any other Sunday since he'd been baptised here.
Samuel, that's what they'd named him. God hears.
Ironic, wasn’t it? Fast forward 16 long years and God still hadn't ever heard any of his prayers. Or maybe he had and just didn’t care enough to answer any of them. Whatever, made no difference.
Same old place,
same old bullshit.
His gaze travelled up the cracks in the ancient wall, like dead riverbeds carved into the land during a drought, then it flickered past the equally dried up looking image of a crucified Jesus in the stained-glass window. A little further up, he locked eyes with one of the gargoyles lurking on the edge of the roof. Always waiting. Always watching. Ready to pounce the second he turned his back on it.
Same old place,
same old bullshit,
same old monsters.
A horrible dread settled in his stomach, much too familiar and as heavy as the massive wooden door creaking open in front of him. The shadows behind it seemed a little too eager to swallow him. Like the greedy maw that door had turned into in one of his nightmares, where the building had come to live so it could devour him for real.
Not that the place wasn't plenty horrible as it was. He hadn't even set a foot in there and yet he already couldn't breathe. This day was going to suck.
If only he could make himself throw up on demand, then he'd already be puking his guts out all over that pretentious angel statue next to the main gate. Maybe then his mother would have mercy for once, or at least send him home to reflect on what he had done.
Yeah, right! Fat chance.
He cast his mother another pleading look, even when he already knew it would be hopeless.
And of course it was. It always was.
Her cold eyes narrowed, staring daggers at him. The accusation she'd left unspoken rang louder in his ears than the deafening stroke of the bell summoning the churchgoers to worship.
He might have almost been grateful she didn't bring any of it up again. Almost. Because even though she hadn't said anything in a while, she also hadn't smiled at him even once ever since she'd learned the whole truth about him.
What had he been thinking, confiding in her in the first place? He should have known better.
Now something like scorn marked her features every time she laid eyes on him. Disappointment. Disgust. Or perhaps it was just plain disregard for him as a person? Maybe she just didn't think him her son anymore. Maybe all he was to her now was a parental duty left to fulfil, while she awaited the day she could finally erase his presence from her life.
Once upon a secret shared, she may have been the warmth of a summer day, but now, with the deep lines of that scowl on her stony face, she might as well be one of the gargoyles.
And here he’d thought he was supposed to be the monster.
He’d been told he was the one who needed to pray for forgiveness. He was the one who needed to atone for his sins. He was the one who needed fixing. According to all of them, including his own mother, the monster was him.
And perhaps there was some truth to it. Perhaps it was in his nature. It would make sense. For what else could he possibly turn out to be, having a monster for a mother?
But enough of that. He wasn’t going to argue the point today. Nor ever again. Honestly, what good had appealing to his mother’s loving kindness done him so far? She probably didn’t even possess any.
An impatient jerk of her chin towards the open door told him all he needed to know.
Yeah, fuck this. Diplomacy could officially go screw itself!
Sighing deeply, he lowered his eyes, let his shoulders droop and obediently entered the church, for what he’d make sure would be his last Sunday service.
Tonight, he’d take matters into his own hands.
Tonight, he’d burn this godforsaken place down.
Tonight, he’d become the monster they insisted he was.
Come dawn, he’d finally be free. Reborn again a higher being, rising, a phoenix from the ashes of what had been his personal hell in a life he’d leave behind tomorrow.
Things were about to change drastically.
A new day.
A new week.
A new life.
Yet one thing would always remain the same.
Sam loved Mondays.