Pat and Lynn stood outside of the chapel underneath the sycamore tree, the alabaster branches radiating in the sunlight as if covered in snow.
“I hate this church. Why do you insist on coming here? There’s not a woman in the congregation the Bishop hasn’t slept with,” Lynn said, picking at the bark. She held her Bible at her side, the leather cover still firm as if she’d just plucked it from a store shelf.
“He hasn’t slept with you,” Pat said, winking. He switched his tattered Bible to the other hand and pulled her into him, kissing her forehead. “Today?” He whispered.
“Not to that sleaze ball?”
“You’re asking Jesus to be your Lord, not Bishop Reynolds.”
“If he’s supposed to represent Jesus, I ain’t interested.” She shrugged and walked inside.
The sanctuary was half-empty, occupied only by the Bishop, who wiped his forehead and neck with his handkerchief, and his former mistresses, who shuffled about in their pews anxiously.
“What’s going on?” she asked, but Pat was no longer behind her.
word count: 173
Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers is a weekly challenge where you write a story in 100-150 words (give or take 25 words) using the provided photo prompt as inspiration.
Click on the froggy icon to read other stories and add your own!