A door far behind the altar and tucked against the wall was closed but a slice of light shone through the bottom. Inside was a room smaller than a bedroom, maybe twice as large as a broom closet. Bookshelves stood floor to ceiling with texts concerning everything from geography to graphic design. More importantly there were two large cardboard boxes on the floors with several copies of bibles inside. Thick, leather covered Bibles, all exactly the same. The priest sat in the swivel chair, packing Bibles into the box. Shredded paper covered the floor and everything else but the wastebasket. Thin paper, translucent, holy letters forming sinful words. Crumpled and left to be forgotten on the floor of a dying cathedral.
He carried the box to his truck. His warm breath hit the air, transforming into condensation and then carried off into the abyss. The green scarf tucked into his long coat, worn down gloves enclosing his hands tightly. Keeping what’s inside in, leaving what’s outside out. He climbed up into the rusty truck and started it.
The brick road was uncomfortable, and the old truck let him feel every bump and turn. Down these quiet streets. He drove for only a few minutes before he pulled over and jumped out of the truck, leaving it running, and carried a Bible to the stoop of a house.
He sat it there, with no note attached, and climbed back into the truck and carried on down the street. He did this a few more times, stopping at other town houses and leaving Bibles. There was a solemn expression on his face throughout all of this, which made it very hard to detect if he actions were relating to demand or love for his cathedral. The last place he stopped was at a house on the far corner of the city. He quietly picked a Bible out of the cardboard box, set it on the doorstep, and climbed back into his truck, all in one swift movement. Dawn was vicariously approaching.
The next morning was hectic. Television stations were roaming the streets talking to anyone and everyone about the previous night. The usual questions of suspicious noises or lights were asked. The priest looked out of the cathedral window with the same solemn expression on his face, and the closed the curtain. He hurriedly started cleaning up the torn paper off of the floor, he hid the pocket knife that he left on the desk, and he opened up a trash bag to throw away the test tubes and other miscellaneous items that were lying about. Everything was done precisely, with intense care to make sure that everything was gone from his office.
The television stations had not quit knocking at the cathedral door, which he locked just incase they caught on too quickly.
“Several houses were demolished last night after explosives went off outside of the homes.”
It was just too easy to kill what you did not want around anymore.