Post by Mr.Ego on Jul 30, 2015 21:42:24 GMT -5
The sun rests directly overhead, baking down upon every living creature that finds itself unfortunate enough to live in such a horrific place. The clouds off to the West are beginning to grow dark, and a low rumble of thunder is heard off into the distance. Whatever storm is brewing is sure to be a doozy.
Such is the life in the Midwest.
Three miles east of Iola, and after a quiet ride down Route 54, you will come to a dirt road. With sparse vegetation on either side, taking this road will lead you to an old, abandoned church. Well, what is left of the church, anyway.
As he puts the car into Park and steps out into the blistering heat, he immediately reaches for the handkerchief that resides in his jacket pocket. Dabbing at his brow, he walks towards the half-burnt out church that has brought him on this journey. The reflection of the half mirror that somehow stays in its windowsill catches his attention, and a smile crosses his face as he looks into the glass and fixes his hair.
All sub-six hundred people that inhabit this shithole of a town known as Gas, Kansas would absolutely love to know that of all the people that could have visited their dreary existence…it is in fact ‘Vain’ Alan Wallace that has come to town.
Be jealous, Iola.
He ascends the steps and comes to a stop, as he notices that the door is slightly ajar. He studies his surroundings, and once satisfied that nobody else is around, he shoves the door inward, and steps into an absolute mess.
Half of the structure is burnt beyond all recognition, the result of an alleged purposely-set fire only a few months ago. In a few corners that are still somewhat inhabitable, empty bottles and dirty bedding supplies are scattered about; obviously the result of either people looking for a place to party…people looking for a place to sleep…or, sadly, perhaps both. Vain simply shakes his head slowly from side to side, and begins walking towards the area that once was the central area of worship in this small, Catholic establishment.
He stops in front of the destroyed pulpit, looking up at the statue of Christ that has been littered with graffiti. He quietly contemplates how a person could draw that many sets of male genital onto their own Savior, but seeing as how people are supreme assholes, he gives up rather quickly.
Just as he is about to turn and make his exit, and most assuredly curse at himself for making such a wasted trip, he spies a door. Tucked just in behind the last row of pews used by the church choir, he almost didn’t see it. With the raise of an eyebrow, his curiosity gets the better of him, and he decides that it might be worth checking out.
He turns the knob and shoves the door inward. There is just enough light within the small space for him to see a string hanging down from the lone bulb on the ceiling. Yanking on it he is only slightly surprised to see that the electricity has been turned off. He reaches into his pocket and grabs his cell phone. He navigates to the flashlight option, and immediately regrets his decision.
There are numerous cleaning items thrown in the corner of the room, and an old mop bucket still half-full of stagnant water rests a few feet from the cleaning supplies. He brings his handkerchief to his mouth, as the putrid aroma of stale water hits his nostrils, and he quickly turns to exit the room.
And immediately stops in his tracks.
His eyes gaze upon a small wooden board that hangs just inside the doorway. Numerous newspaper clippings are tacked to the board, and each clipping bears a striking resemblance to the one on either side of it.
Each and every newspaper clipping is about a professional wrestler known as ‘Vain’ Alan Wallace; and each newspaper clipping also has the name ‘The Mainstreamer’ crossed out, and the name Holden Orson written over top of it.
Vain simply smiles as he stares at the black and white printed madness that is before him.
-----------------------------------
-----------------------------------
His white robe drags the floor as he slowly makes his way out of his master suite. With his hands chest-level and in a position of prayer, he comes to a stop at the top of his staircase. He looks down upon his parishioners, and silently prays for each and every one of them.
At the base of the stairs, the harem – err, parishioners – all look up at this man in silent awe. Some of them keep their eyes locked on this visage of virtue, hoping against hope that he will choose them to worship with. Others look away, the shame for their life’s choices not allowing them to gaze directly upon such perfection for too long of a time period.
He begins to slowly descend the staircase, and once he reaches the bottom, he stops in front of each parishioner. He studies each for many moments, lightly running his fingertips down the cheek of each woman. Ultimately, with each parishioner, tears begin to stream down his own cheeks, as he silently suffers along with them.
St. Wallace at His Finest.
Once he has visited each member of his harem – err, congregation – he motions for them to rise and follow him outside. As the doors open, a large area of the yard in front of the house has been inundated with chairs, tables, beds, sleeping bags, and coolers. ‘The Vain Lord’ reaches down and grabs the end of an electrical cord, and plugs it into the outlet that resides under the window.
A large marquee lights up. It reads…
’The Vain Lord’ Presents…
A Night of Reflection…
Please Allow the Saintliest of Saints…
To Help You Find God
A Night of Reflection…
Please Allow the Saintliest of Saints…
To Help You Find God
As Vain’s harem – err, Disciples – begin frolicking in his makeshift ‘garden’, he reaches into his robe and pulls out a small box. Upwrapping the box, he pulls out a piece of green fabric, and drops the box to the ground. He looks at it for a few moments before smiling. Tearing off his robe, he takes the green item and slides it down over his head.
Slightly singed, the item could be immediately recognizable as the mask of one Holden Orson. Yet, it’s been made even better.
A gold-colored letter ‘E’ has been stitched into the center, and Vain grins from ear to ear as he joins his worshippers in their various states of undress.
FIN
- 1x
- 4x 
- 5x
- 6x
x2
2013, '18, '23 
2013 
