Locked In

Writing prompt inspired.

My resting place is found in the middle of an old and abandoned church. I’ve 

 

gotten used to drifting off to sleep on the dusty wooden pews. Sunday mornings 

 

are the only time there’s ever a hint of activity. Deafening thuds play across the 

 

old double sided doors. Fear reaches out and latches onto me. Forcing my eyes to 

 

 

peel open. I slowly sit up and further distance myself from the entrance. This is my 

 

reality every Sunday. It’s been this way for many years. However, I’ll never feel 

 

any less scared of what’s outside that door. Whether it be a creature or person. 

 

Honestly, I find people to be far more predatory than wild beasts. Humans have 

 

never shown me an ounce kindness. In fact, they locked me within this long-

 

forgotten church. It happened on a warm summers night. Store bought spirits 

 

were being consumed heavily. It was on every adults’ breath and even some of the 

 

children who had managed to sip from unattended flasks. As the moon reached 

 

higher into the sky the town’s preacher was loudly proclaiming that a sacrifice 

 

must be made. The merriment of the evening died down as everyone grew solemn. 

 

Through drunken slurs he hissed “Ou-our new church cannot be t-tainted. A 

 

guardian m-must be kept within the old church. To p-pay respect!” The town 

 

rippled with loud yells of sworn enemies pointing one another out. Being entranced 

 

by the hectic scene unfolding I was startled when an old man snatched me up by 

 

my collar. The man raised me so high I felt my feet dangling beneath me. “This 

 

rascal has no family and lives on the streets.” I kicked and screamed as tears 

 

pooled into my eyes. Yet the town showed no mercy. I was no better than garbage 

 

in their eyes. The towns folk dashed their fires and created a long line to the old 

 

church. The black silhouettes gruffly passed me down the line until the collar of my 

 

shirt had snapped. Then they passed me by the roots of my hair. This was truly a 

 

nightmare. I last landed into the preachers’ grimy hands. “LET US REJOICE, THE 

 

DEED IS DONE.” He screamed as he threw me into the church. I spent many 

 

weeks banging on the doors. Yet they would not budge, the windows were too high 

 

to break and crawl through. I stopped banging on the doors one Sunday when the 

 

doors ruptured back. I distanced myself. Now, I’ve grown much older. The doors 

 

have grown thick with spider webs. Their eerie creators lurking in them. I’m left to 

 

forever fear the unknown until my eyes shut for that one last time.

 

Author's Note

Any suggestions would be helpful. Thanks!

Reviews

[matrixmark]

With this piece, I loved the sentence you used with humans more predatory than wild beasts - that really was a fantastic usage of words and packed quite a punch. I got so wrapped up with the whole story. It really was a compelling read with the crowds chanting and the drunken preacher man cursing. I feel that that this could be leading onto something quite bigger - it certainly has the potential for a much bigger story to follow.

Mark.