I have come up with a new idea for a story. I am, most definitely, still in the preliminary stages with it trying to figure out what my settings will be, how the plot should evolve, and who my characters will be. This post depicts the first of numerous character sketches.
He lumbered into the sanctuary, dressed in a brown suit with a bisque-colored shirt and a pink tie. His pointed black shoes aimed out to either side making him look like a waddling duck. He had a microphone with an ear piece looped around his left ear. His laborious steps up to the pulpit caused a layperson at the back of the hall to stop what he was doing and stare at the spectacle.
“Reverend Harvey, can I help you with something?”
The preacher looked out towards the voice once he had conquered the stairs. Ignoring what the man asked, he said, “The funeral service went well, didn’t it. Praise the Lord! I bet I gathered at least fifty souls to increase my flock.” He turned towards the one cross that was nailed to the wall behind the dais and gave it a salute.
The layman adjusted his stare into the oblivion of the hall. “Could be.” He turned to finish his work, shaking his head.
Certain he was making headway with the numbers in his congregation. Robert Harvey, arduously, made his way down the steps again into the gallery after assuring everything was in order for the evening service. His ruddy complexion had become more crimson than pink from the exertion of navigating the four stairs. He patted his overgrown paunch and tottered to the doors leading to the parish kitchen.
Working on the lettering of the verses and chapters on the slab, the layman pondered over the funeral service that had filled the hall with people that morning. The preacher thought he had the adoration of everyone there that morning. Obviously, he was blinded by his vanity because the layman has seen numerous people in the pews shaking their heads and whispering about the sermon.
Before the service had even begun, the group had gone to the banquet hall for refreshments after viewing the body. Many had expressed concern about how the surviving family members were interpreting the preacher’s words he had used while in conversation in the vestibule. Hushed voices filled the air as they nibbled on stale cake and watered-down punch.
When Reverence Harvey entered the sanctuary again, the layman was gone. Just as well. He did not think highly of Paul anyway.
He made his way out the front door, opening both sides with his chubby arms stretched out to either side. Once out in the humid-thick air of late spring, he ran his beefy hand through his strawberry blond hair. Looking back upon the white framed structure, his eyebrows furrowed. He wanted a larger building. This one will not hold all the sinners who he was positive would be joining his house of worship.
He was convinced that his career was moving forward with expedience.
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“The urge to save humanity is almost always only a false-face for the urge to rule it. Power is what all messiahs really seek: not the chance to serve. This is true even of the pious brethren who carry the gospel to foreign parts.”
― H.L. Mencken, Minority Report