Nic leaned back, balancing on two of the four rickety metal chair legs. She couldn’t stop looking at the body hanging off the huge crucifix that dominated the small room. For some reason the body seemed to be precariously close to the circle of chairs. Every meeting it was the same grouping, and every meeting Nic fixated on the huge cross with the too-realistic man, a crown of thorns dripping blood down his face. The constant reminder they were in the basement of a local church wasn’t lost on Nic, either. The persecuted, the broken, the…Well, she’d had enough.
Tonight would be her last night for this group. She’d given it a couple of months, months spent listening to the same stories, seeing the same faces in tortured relief, and months of silence on her part.
“Colonel, would you like to
