By Gordon Brown
On account of the storm damage and the generosity of certain blessed members of the congregation we were able to get a new jesus for the sanctuary, and a damn fine jesus he was. Face the picture of perfect grace. Pecs that could crack a walnut. And about 50% bigger than the old jesus, who was moved first to the basement with the water damaged hymnals, and next to the dumpster out front, where his eyes poked over the edge. For a few weeks he watched us come and go from the parking lot, the long shadows of the palmettos across the street casting a shadow across his face, which looked betrayed but not surprised, before, in time, the city took him away.
Gordon Brown grew up in the deserts of Syria and now lives in the deserts of Nevada. Since arriving in the New World, his work has appeared in McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Weird Horror Magazine, Hunger Mountain Review, and elsewhere. His horror haiku chapbook, Skin Crawls, is available from Cuttlefish Books. He spends his time writing feverishly and looking after his cats, of which he has none.
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