[ WP ] After a world-wide abandonment of faith , the churches are now in power again by keeping people subdued and with communion

Jarem ’ s hand twitched slightly as he moved forward another step, and a quick but intense ripple of apprehension passed through him. 
 
 God Damnit. He thought, annoyed. The feeling was gone as soon as it came, but for that half a second, he had been terrified, a quick flash of dread that seemed to catch him unawares for the moment, as if he was jerked awake and realized he was late for some important event, or had suddenly remembered something he shouldn ’ t have forgotten. It was nothing but an inconvenience, and frustrated him more than anything. It didn ’ t happen often, and only recently had it been getting harder to ignore, the trepidation lingering a little longer each time. 
 What did bother him though was the slight taste of bile that he had begun to be left with; the fact that his body was disturbed on such a deep level in that split second, that in its fight-or-flight moment, almost sent vomit from an empty stomach rushing up and out of him. 
 
 Why? Fucking knock it off already, you ’ re fine. He thought, addressing his own body. He sucked his cheeks, gathering saliva, and swallowed, trying to wash his throat clean of the taste and sting of his stomach fluids, and tried to focus his thoughts elsewhere. Another hour or so and you can get something to eat. You weren ’ t allowed to eat on the mornings of Communion, not beforehand anyways. To do so was saying that the food for the body was more important than the food of the body, the bread of the body of Christ. These mornings were always the longest it seemed, a slow-moving blurry hour of hunger and patience, accompanied by the occasional wave of fear, for Jarem at least. Afterwards though, the day always seemed to turn for the better; he couldn ’ t remember the last unpleasant communion day he had. 
 
 A small waft of musky perfume tickled his nostrils as he stepped forward again, following the woman in front of him, where the smell no doubt came from. She smelled out of place, and made Jarem curious as to why she seemed that way, and why the smell seemed to bring with it a forgotten experience or memory that was just beyond his recollection – how smells so often did. The woman wore a simple, loose fitting black dress that spilled down to her feet, which were planted with stern posture, along with a velvet like coat of deep purple, almost black itself. Her hair, tucked neatly under her hat that was just as unfamiliar as the rest of her, only peaked Jarem ’ s interest. She was out of dress, out of the ordinary, out of the times it seemed. 
 
 Either way, she was a curious island of deep blues and blacks in a shallow sea of tight greys and off-white uniforms that had somehow become the normal attire of everyday life. He followed her as she stepped forward again, and heard a faint metallic rustling as the beads of her rosary brushed up against each other. She was clutching the cross with both hands, her arms relaxed down against her womb, a curiously determined grip on the holy symbol. 
 
 He could see the top of the crown now, its thin defined angles of gold wrapping the silver beneath it. It bobbed and turned rhythmically as each new person stepped forward to receive the blessing. It still amazed him how accepted and established the Faith had become since the Overthrow, seventeen years ago. He felt pride in his community, that they were able put aside their contempt and embrace the passive lifestyle of worshipers, realizing that all they are and all the have they owe to the saints of past, as well churches of now, for maintaining the holy practices of peace and adoration. 
 
 The Overthrow had tried to collapse all of that. Lasting three and a half years, it had been the most devastating event since the middle east conflicts, and had sent the world into a hate fueled, blood filled frenzy against all religion. Churches, monasteries and places of worship of all kind were brought down by the masses, set to fire with all their history and relics – and more often than not their pastors, ministers, and clergymen – left to the flames and smoke inside. 
 
 The true origin that great upheaval was still not fully known to Jarem, or most people for that matter, and didn ’ t seem to be of anybody ’ s interest either. After all, it wasn ’ t the cause of it that mattered, it was the result: the peaceful, worry-free life they all now lived. He found it curious that the never wondered at the cause of it all.. 
 
 Another step forward and he was bathed in sunlight, pouring down through the huge, seven-meter high windows that lined the cathedral walls. Galaxies of dust floated on unseen currents through the light, pollution that would otherwise be unnoticed if not for those illuminating rays. 
 
 The air we breathe is contaminated, yet we do not even see it. We take it in without a second thought, not even caring for what it may carry. A sharp sting, a nail in the back of his head suddenly split his thoughts for a second, sending the bile back up and his fingers into tight balls. Heavy paranoia filled him, and he thought: poisoned. Is the air poisoned? He was almost frantic, there was something he was forgetting, something he needed to remember, or something he was about to realize, that pulled at him as he struggled to maintain composure. He was so afraid, he wasn ’ t even sure what he was afraid of, and that just scared him more. 
 
 He contemplated turning around and leaving, walking fast before anyone could stop him. He could go lay down somewhere, let his head clear, or get something to eat, perhaps that would help. It wasn ’ t possible though, he would be shamed and probably taken into custody for refusing communion, seen as a hostile and potentially dangerous individual to reject the practice that had brought them all peace. He didn ’ t want that, he couldn ’ t have that, but something primal had been triggered in him, his mind raced without him being able to grasp a thought. He need air, he needed to vomit, to run, to hide, to escape. From what? What ’ s wrong with me? What the fuck is happening? His foot began to turn, but just as he was about to make his escape that would prove so foolishly futile, he was there. 
 
 Well, he was almost there. Second in the line to be exact. The woman in front of him had just stepped up to the dais, fidgeting with her rosary still, her feet awkwardly shuffling for a few quick moments. She had been looking down since they had begun their procession, but now she lifted her gaze towards the vaulted ceilings above and the cross that hung below them against the back wall. Her eyes glistened with the slightest sign of tears, which seemed odd to Jarem, as nobody was overly devout these days, everybody was just as dutifully pious as the next person. The tears scared him also, as he was still swimming through currents of opposing and disengaged thoughts. Perhaps it was only her unusualness that was scaring him, something he wasn ’ t used to. For some reason that didn ’ t seem to be it. 
 
 As the priest recited the ceremonial verses and slowly brought out the small, yellow wafer, the woman closed her eyes, tiny rivers slowly tracing the lines of a time-worn, grief-ridden face, to collect for a moment under the corner of her jaw, before falling to the floor. 
 
 “ And with this, the bread of the body of Christ, you are reborn once again, lifted from the blackness of guilt and defiance, submitted to the light of God and given the gift of honest sight. Eat now child, and see the truth that is our lord and savior ” 
 
 But as the priest lifted the offering to the woman ’ s mouth, she suddenly became alive. Her eyes flicked open, shining with what seemed like rage, and her hands moved with such speed that Jarem almost missed the entire event. Her age betrayed her though, and the sharpened cross never found its home inside the priest ’ s body, as he almost instinctively, with ease, caught her arm, twisted until the cross fell to the floor with a steel clang, and her arm as well as her voice cracked. Jarem was completely frozen then, though the urge to run was never greater, he couldn ’ t however move his body for the life of him, or even hold on to a single thought except: What the fuck is going on? 
 
 This thought was more applied to his entire life than the moment currently happening. It was as if he was slowly awaking from a long deep sedation, colors and sounds and sights slowly seeping back into the world and into his mind, trying to regain understanding and a sense of what the fuck really was going on. And as he stood there, unable to move in a crowd of people who seemed to not even notice let alone care for what was happening right in front of them, the woman, on the ground now, clutching her arm and sobbing deeply and mournfully, turned to look at him through eyes of terror and deep sorrow, and the third wave hit him. 
 
 This one was in his chest however, not so much his mind, and it all rushed back into him; his thoughts, emotions, memories, his being, drowning him in the overwhelming realization of what had become of it all. His lungs filled to almost bursting as he sucked in the dust filled air, trying to comprehend all that was happening to him, all that had happened to him, to everything. 
 Then there were hands on his face, and his eyes suddenly focused on the two staring back at his, and the thin, dry smile that was drawn on the priest ’ s face. A face that seemed soft, yet hard beneath, pudding on the surface and cold steel just behind the slit of a smile. 
 
 “ Jeremiah. I ’ m always glad to see you here, so obedient, so committed to our cause. ”
