The “work-in-progress” is progressing so slowly these days that it has simply become “the work.” As has become a thing I do from time to time, I thought I might post a bit of it here to see if it kick-starts my attention and energies. This week I will serialize a piece I’ve titled “Laodicea.”
(Note: unlike the rest of AUFS, this is a work of fiction, with characters conjured and attitudes expressed not my own or that of the rest of the blog. Meaning, there is some vulgarity expressed — occasionally in its language and attitudes toward gender and sex — that might be considered mildly offensive by the mildest of mannered.)
And unto the angel of the church of the Laodiceans write; These things saith the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the beginning of the creation of God;I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot: I would thou wert cold or hot.So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth.— Revelation 3:14-16
—The taste of you makes me nauseous.
The sibilance curled its way through the impassive congregation into the empty vestibule. Someone seized the momentary silence with a cough. A pew moaned its protest. Rain tickled the edge of Reverend Homer Ramsey’s senses as he pinched a nonexistent itch at the tip of his nose.
—I know what you have done, he continued, his eyes avoiding the blues of Josephine Lawrence, the mauves of William Rollins, and the unsightly pistil print of Mrs. Rollins’ blouse. The pastel wall’s bruised brown water stain, left by last year’s storms, absorbed his attention. —I know what you have done, and you have been neither cold nor hot. Would that you be one or the other so that this world fractured by the Fall and swollen by its sin might be soothed!
Alliteration keeps them alert, Ramsey believed. It congratulates them for following along. Imogene Reyland nodded gravely at the mention of sin, a mental ticking of the only criteria she had for a sermon.
—Would that you be hot or cold, Laodicea, for as it is you are no better than the water you siphon from your sisters to the north and to the east. You who have no water of your own, in whose aqueducts the pristine cool of Colossae’s wells turn warm and the hot springs of Hierapolis cool, your satisfaction is undeserved. Read the rest of this entry »