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Huh?

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By Percipia
Most of these pieces are things I've written when the mood struck me.

Starting in March 2008, we started having a monthly Breakfast to augment our weekly Dinners at the Motel. Part of those Breakfasts has been a story that I write each month just for that occasion. I've been trying to follow some of the Beatitudes and to write about what they'd look like in the lives of real people.

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The Merciful

By Percipia
Tony hadn't been up this early in – well – ever, maybe. He thought there'd been a few times in college when he'd still been up at this hour, but that was different. Nobody should ever get up at 4:00 am on a Sunday. He tripped over something that wasn't there on the way to Shane's door, had to try twice to grab the door knob before he got it turned and the door open a crack, mumbled something into the darkness, heard a mumble back and shuffled off to the bathroom. Turned on the light and ducked his head to get away from it. What had he been thinking? Why had this seemed like a good idea? He was aware of only seeing what was directly in front of him. His peripheral vision hadn't turned on yet. It occurred to him that if an axe murderer had to choose a good time to hide behind the shower curtain, this would be the day. He opened it just to be sure. Nobody there. Even the axe murderers were still in bed. Everybody was still in bed. Except, ap...
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The Meek

By Percipia
Shane was going to be a vet. He'd never wanted anything else and he never would. His marks were good enough, even for a scholarship at Western. Which Tony was actively praying for. For now he was working at the animal shelter where he'd volunteered as a kid and he was learning a lot. He was younger than he should officially be for some jobs, but everybody knew him and knew that if he didn't think he could handle something, he'd say so. The shelter staff was just the director, the vet and himself. Everything else was done by volunteers, especially on the weekend. His favourites were Artie and Eloise. Hippies now for like 50 years or something, they had matching long grey braids, and matching heart tattoos on their left hands. They looked after adoptions on the weekend. Busy days, but they were kind and warm and absolutely impossible with paperwork. One time, Artie had actually filled in a form upside down. Shane thought it mu...
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Those Who Mourn

By Percipia
It was in July 1963 that Walt met Allen.  And November when he’d lost him. Five months. Walt had just started as pastor of St. Anthony’s Anglican.  He and Esther had spent nearly 13 years at St. Stephen’s.  Their first home.  Their first church.  Where they’d left little Faith. It had been hard to leave, especially knowing the tiny grave would be an hour’s drive away now. They promised each other they’d come and visit, but he wondered. Esther would be teaching all week, and Walt worked Sundays, and he knew from experience that Saturdays had a way of filling up.  He worried that the little plaque on the ground would get lost in the grass and stepped on and cracked or something. He’d lie awake worrying about that. One of the things he’d inherited from his predecessor at St. Anthony’s was a soup kitchen. St. Stephen’s hadn’t had one. It was in a small town and it didn’t seem to be necessary, but this was an actual ci...
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