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It was a calm day at the local grade school. The first graders had made little butterflies out of construction paper and hung them on the classroom wall. All was as peaceful as an elementary school could be. Lunch passed, and recess began.
The play area was large. There were basketball hoops, soccer nets, and plenty of area in between. The younger children played on the tires and wooden obstacles of the playground. A collection of wood-chips acted as padding for unintentional meetings with the ground. It was a Catholic School, so they didn’t have the most modern equipment, but the children made due with their imaginations.
Father James wasn’t the best priest, either. He was a quiet, friendly man incapable of captivating any parishioner gathering- whether it be mass or barbeque. That fateful mid-day, things would change.
He walked out from behind the pine trees lining the playground.
“Come, children. I have a story to tell you,” he said as he raised his arms, allowing his robe sleeves to slither down them.
“The will of God shall be obeyed.”
Wood chips levitated off the ground and morphed into candy and other sweets. As they moved towards the old man, so did the children. King of the mountain ceased, balance-beam wars ceased, and they went to him.
With the children quiet and seated around him, Father James began:
“Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Peter. He was a very good little Catholic. He went to church every Sunday, and gave up his favorite things every Lent. He became an alter boy to better serve the Lord, yet he still wanted to do more. And so, one night, Peter prayed, ‘Dear Jesus, what can I do to better serve you?’ Normally, Peter’s prayers went unanswered, but that night Jesus replied loud and clear: ‘Do whatever your pastor says, but do not tell anyone. He needs you.’ The next day, Peter entered into a very special relationship with Jesus and the priest.”
“Praise be to God.” They echoed these words, and everyone followed with a unified “Amen.”
A little devout Catholic stood up. “I want to help Jesus,” he said enthusiastically. “Come with me,” Father James replied. They went behind the trees while the others waited patiently.
Fifteen minutes later, they returned as they went, except the little boy’s eyes were wide open, and his face looked like stone.
“Who wants to serve our Lord next?” Father James proclaimed with a grin.
Just as another child rose, a mysterious man entered the scene doing back flips. He was wearing an ornate robe, dark sunglasses, and a gigantic hat. In his arms was a large assault shotgun. Once on his feet, he cocked his shotgun.
“Feeling very celibate, James?”
“I’m still a technical virgin!”
“Technical this!”
The Pope fired his gun into the air, and the children fell out of their trance and scattered. Then he cocked it again and aimed directly at the crooked clergyman.
“It’s too bad you did that. We could have shared them,” James said, rather displeased. He ripped the crucifix from his neck and it grew into a sword. The Pope threw down his shotgun and proceeded to do the same with his crucifix.
And thus, they went at it. Hacking and blocking and cursing in between.
The Pope ducked just in time to keep his head, but alas, his hat had been slain.
“Nobody fucks with the hat,” he one-linered, as he removed his sunglasses with one hand and threw them to the ground. He then whispered a few lines and all you could hear was, “Amen,” and threw his sword to the ground.
James laughed, “Give up so soon?” Suddenly, a light shone down from the sky and highlighted his crucifix sword. It melted. “So you want it like that? Good, cause I’m great with my hands. The kids say so.” His arm extended and grew to five feet tall, and he smashed the Pope against the ground. “You like being fisted? Do you? Do you?”
And the Pope lay lifelessly in the grass.
“Don’t worry. You’re too old for me,” taunted James, waiting for the Pope to rise so he could smash him again.
But the Pope was no fool. While being beaten he’d recited the entire Rosary, and his magical necklace flamed up and lassoed Father James’s arm, amputating it. Father James fell to the ground in pain, holding his bleeding stub.
The Pope recovered his shotgun and limped to the pedophile. He placed the barrel against James’s head.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” cried the priest.
“You’re excommunicated.”
He pulled the trigger and the clergyman flew backwards. His scattered remains lasted only a few short seconds before they dissolved into ether.