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As the moon's glow dwindled behind fuchsia clouds, insinuating yet another heavy rain, a curly red haired man fell hard into a slosh of mud and hay. 'I told you, I don't know!', said Peter, a Food Lion sales clerk now trying to register his predicament. 'Oh?' said Randy, an ebony veteran recently discharged from the Corps for 'failing to fail a mission', got to the point. 'Ain't NObody gon' sucka me outta my money, cracka.' He squatted down near Peter's face, his boots old yet polished wrinkles folded with frightening organization. He played with Peter's name tag and smirked. Peter bleated, 'I only 'av a mmMa-p.' Randy's eyes flickered like frosty beryl and their sudden delectation gave Peter gooseflesh. 'This guy', Peter thought, 'seems to have a veterinary office inside of his head, crammed with rabietic dogs.'1

It poured. Peter had been forced to drive and he wasn't allowed to even crack open the thick windows for a little air. Randy had lit a cigar in the backseat as he read the map, directing Peter's every turn. The smoke was heavy like in a burning forest, 'and of course,' Peter thought, 'I don't have my inhaler. It wouldn't help anyway.' 'Stop here,' said Randy. Peter slammed on the brakes so hard that his glasses flew onto the dashboard. Randy grabbed them while Peter searched frantically and crushed them in his hand. 'Get out da car', said Randy. Peter's stomach bottomed out when he heard the crunch of his glasses. Randy stomped out the cigar and opened a rusted antediluvian gate. The rain slid down from his forehead, but with ease did the forsaken gate tear through the rocky ground. 'Oh Mother of God....' Peter shrilly whispered as he groped the saturated sign, pulling it closer to his face, 'we're robbing St. Joseph's Cathedral!'2

Inside, past the cobwebs and insects on the mortared stairs, they gazed upon the interior of St. Joseph's. Without warning, Randy grabbed Peter's face, digging his nails into the flesh beneath his cheek bones. 'If you hear da boogie man, you bess say, 'cause if I gets arrested, I gon' take yo' female and all yo' ghosty imps wit' me. 'Stand, leprechaun?' He released him and Peter quietly sobbed saying, 'I should have never stolen Anne's map. O'Christ, why?'3

Randy tore through furnishings, finding a faded green Christmas tree still in traditional decor. It's candles were completely melted inside of brass dishes and an abundance of dusty gossamer hung from its helpless branches. Striding through pieces of stained glass that he punched out, like a godless government, he kicked the tree over. The enormous cross on the corresponding table tumbled onto the filthy ground. With it's dull thud, the Holy Grail slid down from a shoot behind where the cross formerly had stood.4

It's white gold radiated but not brighter than its various gems and carvings, seemingly impervious to wear.5

Randy avidly reached for the Grail before it hit the ground. It filled his eyes and the depth of his soul shook with excitement. But his face was solid as a wall. 6

Peter sat up in the bench when he heard Randy's footsteps. 'Hey white boy, hope you prayed 'cause soon you all gon' be dead,' said Randy as he poured the elixir of the Grail down his throat. As it burned through his bloodstream, his memory played a hazy clip of his Aunties voice, "Have you ever been called an angel in dis house boy? No Lord, no! Cuz an angel is a messanger, an' ain' nobody want dem messages." 7

Suddenly, a truck pulled up in front of St. Joseph's doorway. The driver cut the engine and held down the horn. It sounded like a million sirens echoing from within the rain. He opened the truck door, His sandal touched the ground. Light and silence poured into the mud. Running towards the Man firing, Randy collapsed at His feet in a hateful spitting rage. 'It's MINE! Everythang is MINE! I is da messanger!' 8

As the Man walked passed him, Randy's eyes went vacant, his mouth hung open quaking as if something to say, and tears poured without meaning. Saliva dribbled down his chin as his mind exploded with thoughts. 9

One Person defended him and an army left.10

Cosmic disturbances. Purple rain was showering through the window of the church when Peter sat down and sprawled out in the wet broken glass, ready to accept a life in the slammer or even a spray of lightning. The Man picked up the fallen cross and supported it on His shoulder. He began to walk down the aisle toward Peter between the many benches. Wiping his nose and eyes with his cotton sleeve, Peter watched a two-thousand year old, Jesus of Nazareth on the day that He carried the world's cross.