“Cash, credit card, easy monthly payments. Redemptionist accepts them all.” Hard to price a soul’s salvation, he thinks. But the rubes are always eager to pay for his signed Church of Holy Mercy pardons. “I’ll even trust grandma’s good word.”
Wary chuckles from his audience.
Outside the meeting tent, lightning shreds the sky.
“Come along, sinners. Believers too. Forestall the devil’s embrace. For the easy price of a new sofa.”
Peals of doom overturn the heavens.
Redemptionist slaps his suit pocket. His throat tightens. Cold eyes bulge in despair.
His own warrant sits, overlooked, on his hotel bureau.
Gary Thomson: The author resides in Ontario, where he riffs Beatles and blues on his Hohner harmonica. His micros have appeared in fiftywordstories[4] Molecule, FairfieldScribes; his longer works elsewhere.
The Centifictionist 
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