The Pastor

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I had barely stepped out of the church when I felt the first drop on my head. I looked up and couldn’t believe my eyes. It was red. What was dripping on me? My first thought was blood.
But where did it come from?
I kept looking and looking and looking but couldn’t see a thing. The mysterious liquid kept dripping and I heard a loud scream. It took me a while to realize that I was screaming.
Screaming loud. But the woman across the street was screaming as well and pointed to something above my head I couldn’t see.

Marla, my wife, had lingered in the church and was about to step out beside me - I thought. Instead she pushed me hard and I took several steps forward.
“What are you doing?” She hissed at me. “This is your best coat and it looks ruined! Standing there like an oaf getting soaked instead of stepping out of the way!”
Just like Marla. She was practical to the core and a little blood couldn’t disturb her. Not Marla. She grew up in the country and had slaughtered many animals in her time.

Body functions didn’t scare her either. She loved to cook Mexican Food and always had a pot of beans on the stove. I loved to eat them but they surely didn’t agree with me at all.
When we first got married, she said, “Some people can eat beans with abandon and never suffer side effects. You aren’t one of them.”
But why am I thinking of beans and gas right now? Maybe because my stomach is starting to turn as I see the puddle between me and the church door grow bigger. And more and more people pointing to the roof of the church.

Marla was pulling me across the street and we both looked up. I felt the scream rising up in my throat again. Even Marla was a bit shaky.
Two severed heads were on top of the spires - just like one reads that the ancient tribes used to do. Or maybe the Romans. My mind was not working at all as I frantically tried to get rid of my coat and find something to clean my head.

Who could be so brutal to do something like that? And why did I have to be the one stepping into the mess?
The thought made me recoil even more. It must just have happened right before we came out. Someone must have noticed something. There weren’t that many in the room. We were holding a special meeting to decide if we should fire the pastor. He had been acting so strange lately. There were nine on the board, but only 7 of us showed up.
We wondered where the other two were. They usually were the first to arrive.

The decision was a fast one. We all wanted to to get rid of him.

My phone buzzed in my pocket as I was looking up trying to figure out why the heads seemed faintly familiar to me.
It was a text from the pastor’s number: remember that not all is sweet in life.