The congregation shivered. The canon-shaped wood stoves hadn’t been fired in centuries. Ice hung from the pulpit. The organ pipes resembled stalagmites. And it might still be a week until advent. That season of warmth and light. That time of hope and salvation.
Cocooning themselves in tatty curtains and carpet rags, the congregation members regarded their ghostly family counterparts hunched beside them in the pews. Spirits living but no longer giving. Grinning, their captors levelled guns at them, but the deadness consuming their eyes meant nothing. Children wailed. Mothers hugged their offspring while those guns backfired. Another winter’s glow.
This one hundred word flash fiction story of mine has been inspired by my reading and enjoyment of the flash fiction stories posted on The Drabble.