He hated that place. It wasn’t because his mother made him attend each and every Sunday morning, and it wasn’t because of the super boring sermons the old Padre presented each week. It was because of those seats.

Fashioned from solid birch, the seats were especially unforgiving. Frankly, they hurt his back. It was hard to keep still. He either slid out of them, or he squirmed endlessly, prompting his mom to insist he keep quiet.

These days, he still tries to stay away. Again, not because of the preacher’s sermons, but this time because of his damn Hemorrhoids. Ouch!



This story of discomfort in the Lords’s place, is my entry into this week’s Friday Fictioneers. Click on the link for more stories.

12 thoughts on “wood

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