Short - Dark Comedy #006: God Has Left the Chat...
A Mecca of Thrill Original 🖤
Caroline's eyelids had been staging a rebellion against the glory of God for the better part of twenty minutes They drooped with the dedication of a career government employee… slow, inevitable, and utterly immune to the fire-and-brimstone sermon echoing through Greater Mount Zion Baptist Church.
Just a quick rest, she reasoned, her head performing a gentle ballet of nods as Pastor Williams launched into his third "and furthermore" of the morning. Jesus took naps. Surely, He'd understand.
The organ's triumphant chords were what finally dragged her consciousness back to the land of the well-rested, though something felt distinctly... off. Through the melodious chaos of "Jesus Can Work It Out," Caroline could hear a voice. Crisp, conversational, and not harmonizing with the choir.
She blinked hard, wondering if this was divine punishment for dozing off during the Word. The voice seemed to float somewhere above her head, like someone had installed an intercom system and forgotten to adjust the volume.
"Look at Sister Jackson shuffling in here like she paying rent," the voice tutted with practiced disapproval. "Thirty minutes late and still got the nerve to sit in the front row. Some people got more audacity than a telemarketer."
Caroline's blood chilled as she traced the voice to its source: her own grandmother, Bernice Henderson, sitting three rows up, swaying gently to the hymn with the serene expression of a woman whose thoughts were presumably occupied with righteous things.
Oh, no. Nah. Caroline thought, Was this hell? Purgatory? Or a live episode of Touched by a Messy-Ass Angel?
The mental commentary continued with surgical precision. "Mmm-hmm, and I see Sister Williams brought her famous potato salad again. Famous for what? Making people pray for deliverance from food poisoning? Child's got less seasoning sense than a Mormon cookbook."
Caroline twisted her one of many rings, torn between horror and reluctant admiration for her grandmother's ruthless internal monologue.
"And look at these young folks," Grandma's thoughts continued, zeroing in on a teenager checking his phone. "Coming to church like they visiting a museum. All they missing is the audio tour. 'at least to the left, you'll see people who actually give a damn about their eternal souls.'”
The observations grew progressively darker, like watching someone's browser history auto-complete in real time. Affairs were speculated upon with the efficiency of a CIA analyst. Sister Morrison's "migraine" absences were connected to Brother Thompson's equally convenient "fishing trips." The church's financial transparency was questioned with accounting precision that would make the IRS weep with joy.
"Poor Brother Jones," Grandma's thoughts turned morbid. "Hundred and two years old and still dragging himself to church. Lord, don't let me live that long. You can take me after Caroline has her first baby."
Excuse me? Caroline's mental protest went unheard.
"Actually, that might be pushing it… Girl's twenty-six and ain't even brought a man home yet. You can take me after she gets married." A pause. "Lord, that might be asking for immortality. How about after Daniel graduates’ college?"
Three years! Caroline calculated, equal parts offended and concerned about her grandmother's mortality timeline.
But it was the final transgression that shattered Caroline's already fragile grip on reality. As Pastor Williams gestured emphatically about resisting temptation, Grandma's thoughts took a sharp left turn into biblical fan fiction.
"Mmm, that man sure does look fine in that terracotta suit. Almost as good as he looked last night when he was climbing out of it in my—"
Caroline's eyes bulged like a cartoon character hit by an anvil.
“—bedroom, while I was… Oh, Lord forgive me," Grandma's thoughts abruptly course-corrected. "What am I thinking? We are in the house of the Lord!"
Apparently, the house of the Lord had been taking notes.
A sound wave rippled through the sanctuary, not heard, but felt. Like reality had just been put at pause by a cosmic remote control. Every person in the church froze mid-gesture: Sister Jackson's late arrival halted with one foot in the aisle, Pastor Williams suspended mid-gesture, the choir trapped between "How" and "Great."
Only Caroline and her grandmother remained mobile, their eyes meeting across three rows of frozen congregants with the mutual recognition of two people who had just been caught red-handed by the ultimate authority figure.
The voice that followed was unmistakably divine. Deep, resonant, and thoroughly unamused.
"No, Bernice Irene Henderson, I will NOT forgive you. And Caroline Tamera Ballard, if you don't wake up while the pastor is speaking..."
Both women looked skyward with the synchronized horror of children caught drawing on the wall with permanent markers.
Another cosmic clap echoed through the suspended sanctuary.
Caroline's head snapped up like a jack-in-the-box, drool connecting her lip to her collar in a thin, shameful strand. The fluorescent lights attacked her pupils with the enthusiasm of an overzealous interrogator.
"You done fell asleep on the Word of God again, Caroline!" Grandma Bernice was suddenly inches from her face, fingers pinching her arm with surprising strength for someone supposedly planning her own demise. "I'm telling you; you need to stay away from them nighttime activities and carry your behind to bed!"
Caroline stared at her grandmother… sweet, churchgoing, apparently pastor-seducing Grandma Bernice and wondered if some divine interventions came with a money-back guarantee.
"Yes, ma'am," she whispered, rubbing her arm and making a mental note to invest in better earplugs.
After all, some family secrets were better left unheard… especially when God himself was apparently taking note.
Until the next short, stay strange,
🖤 The Mecca of Thrill