The old man showed me the goriest crucifix I’ve ever seen. I puked all over the room of religious relics. He told me, “Little girls like you shouldn’t be so squeamish when it comes to the body and blood of Christ.”
He made me clean my mess with only one worn piece of old bed sheet. You can still see my stomach scum on some of the old saint statues. He’s no longer alive, but very well.
A great gold statue of the man that made me vomit now stands heroic to greet the parishioners. I no longer attend his church.