We file into the sanctuary, folding into our pews. The Christ above His altar beams through His blessed agony. Oddly fixed in shape, just four tentacles and one sense-bud, eyes embedded in its hard shell. Yet He is Lord, and before Him we had none. So we sing His praises as we are able.
His spirit fills me as never before. I shove past limbs retracting and extending, stumbling to the altar. I kneel before His cross and swear: I dedicate myself to His service.
Tomorrow I have the operation. Four tentacles, and one sense-bud. Remade, in His Image. Amen.
You can also see - and hear - "Hallowed" via former t.b'er Laurence Simon's 100 Word Stories Podcast.
©2007, 2008 Alan P. Scott. All rights reserved.
Last updated March 15, 2008.