💾 Archived View for spam.works › mirrors › textfiles › stories › sunday.txt captured on 2023-11-04 at 15:38:20.
⬅️ Previous capture (2023-06-16)
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Comments and helpful criticizms are always welcome. Please send them via email to nm0w@andrew.cmu.edu. Enjoy! Nanci 2/20/93 ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Sunday ------ Whap! An arm shot out of the bed and soundly smacked the off button on the alarm. Sunday, again. The covers seemed to take on a life of their own as a disheveled head reluctantly burrowed it's way out into the morning sun. Groan. Another Sunday. Time for church. Why can't they do this in the evening, or at least in the afternoon or something? Mornings are horrible, and Sunday is definitely the worst. Thunk. Out of bed and onto the floor. Making progress. Grumble. It's Sunday. A haggard-looking form slowly crawled toward the open door that was the bathroom. Ugh, Sunday. Got to get going! An hour later, a cleaner, prettier, and much more coherent woman quietly left the small apartment. At least it was warm and sunny out, but unfortunately, there was no time to enjoy the weather. Walking quickly, the woman approached the big cathedral on the corner with a sense of resolution and duty. It meant nothing to her, but then, lifetime habits weren't that easy to break. So she solemnly followed all of the other worshippers through the giant doors with vague thoughts of herded sheep. The sound of those doors closing a minute later had an almost deafening finality. Nothing could get in or out now. The music tried to majestically fill the huge sanctuary, but barely managed to drift weakly back to where she was sitting. Hymns, prayers, kneeling, standing, preaching, chanting. A chorus of robots mechanically went through the motions of the service in unison. She looked around her and imagined she could see the consciousness, the life, of these poor people struggling to get out, only to be stifled and buried alive under a ton of sterility and boredom. Time seemed to creep ever so slowly. Tick tock tick tock. Would it never end? Then there was one word. "Amen." It seemed to create a stirring, an awakening. A tidal wave swept through the congregation taking with it all the stuffiness and tension. In an instant, the robotic sheep became a sea of humanity, rushing to get out and far far away. When it was empty, the woman shook her head and slowly turned to go. Never again, she promised, never again. -------------------------------------------------------------------------