When Zombies Attack
You finally pluck up the courage to leave the booth, determined that no zombified beings have had the thought to come into the church looking for bloodshed. Perhaps they know, that perhaps God has forbidden them from the Church. Or just simply can't be bothered to go inside. There is rather a scarce amount of people here. Ony benches, alter's confession booths, a few mighty pillars and wafered bread that, certaintly isn't your usual takeaway meal. You suppose to bums on the streets, it's rather a delicacy if they have been starved of food.
You lighten up the church with your random preachings of random words that involve the salvation of the Lord you take for granted in your usual days. You decide that if you're going to fit, one way or another you're going to have to do something drastic. Instead of concealing yourself inside the confession box. You gesture the sign of the cross on an old man's forehead, he bows his head as you do so, then politely enforces a smile. You don't know much about being a priest, except about the Pope's 'priest's enjoying the comfort of children. In ways you needn't think about.
Now that you 'fit in.' How about searching for weapons for defense and offence?
You lighten up the church with your random preachings of random words that involve the salvation of the Lord you take for granted in your usual days. You decide that if you're going to fit, one way or another you're going to have to do something drastic. Instead of concealing yourself inside the confession box. You gesture the sign of the cross on an old man's forehead, he bows his head as you do so, then politely enforces a smile. You don't know much about being a priest, except about the Pope's 'priest's enjoying the comfort of children. In ways you needn't think about.
Now that you 'fit in.' How about searching for weapons for defense and offence?