The delicate cross around her neck, and everything else, had him way off his task by now. "Oh Mark, please?" Everything became so beautiful and silent; not even the radiators made any noise. The only light in the sanctuary was the two lighted candles on the alter, and a small overhead light. There was a grown of gratification. The wind blew softly outside the chapel. "You dropped your halo, Mark." "I dropped it on purpose too." "I would like to go to the alter for awhile. Would you come and pray with me?" "Of course, Steph." Together they went and knelt at the alter. As they prayed, Stephanie reached up on top of the alter for the chrome plated cross which stood between the candles. Putting both hands at the base of it she raised it over her head just above Mark. With a fast lunge she thrust the right arm of the cross into the head of Mr. Parson. There was the grewsome sound of bone and metal colliding with each other, a single excruciating gasp of pain, and blood flowing from his head. The flow of blood began to slacken and puddle around his head. Stephanie wasn't alarmed with what she did. She pulled the cross free from his head and placed it back on the alter. She then grabbed his arms and dragged him down the three rises. She stopped for a minute to rest, then continued with her task. A smeared blood trail ran from the alter down along the side of the chancel, along a long hallway which lead to a flight of stairs. The trail continued down the stairs and into the furnace room. Stephanie again took a long rest. Finally she got up, retrived the machete from its hiding place, and returned to Mr. Parson. She stopped and listened to the noises of her surroundings, then began cutting his body into pieces. What blood there was left ran down into the sump. The sump pump began pumping off the excess water. Through the open door of the furnace she began to toss the pieces of his body. There was the sound of crackling grease. The smell of burnt flesh filled her nostrils. Last, she took his head, stuck it on the end of her machete, and held it over the roaring furnace fire. Hair crackled and the colors in his eyes ran together. It darkened and blistered. Soon it became unrecognizable. She let the head fall to the bottom of the furnace. "There" she said, "I will feel the crave no longer". by Kingsley Petersen 10 A Preachment On The Necessity Of Adversity In All Things Carolyn Mason Sanitary solitary Reduces produces Germs lend variety Toil Soils Pedestled ignorers Snore Mingling lends clarity Disenfected existence erases both races Life lends reality Cinquain C. H. Waddoups In turn, I wait for just The right time of the day To say what should be said and then I lie. 11