CHRIS J. MELANSON
PoetryArtworkFiction
“Broken Preacher”


There was drama in the air.
The church bells rang differently in the background
As the evangelist approached the crowd.

The once zealous preacher stood there for a moment,
Behind his sacred outdoor podium,
Gazing over the swarm of followers,
And believers—
The devotees of his words.
They stood patiently in their religious ardor,
Awaiting his sermon.

“Garbage!”
The preacher yelled into the microphone.
“It’s all fucking garbage!”
He stood there for another moment, silent,
Continuing to look over his now confused and astonished flock.
“Garbage!” He yelled again, softer,
But with the same spiteful look.
He was swaying back and forth—
He was obviously drunk.
“My words are garbage, and you’re all to goddamn naive to realize that I’m a fraud!”
The people in the crowd looked at each other, puzzled.
“I’ve neglected on faith, not cared about helping you,
And just told you all what you wanted to hear!
I’ve been lying to you for years,
And have taken your money only to drink and gamble it all away!”
He paused for a moment.
“You listened to me, and I don’t know why you ever fucking bothered!”
The people in the crowd were silent.
Their mouths hung open.
“I’m a piece of shit!” The preacher yelled into the microphone,
In an angry voice,
As he poked himself strongly in the chest with his finger.
He then staggered off, exiting the stage.

The people in the crowd began to wonder
What had happened to their beloved preacher—
Why he said such evil things—
Then were startled by a single gunshot that rang out from behind the stage.

-Chris J. Melanson 2002
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