The Backwater Gospel

Prologue

Trigger warning - Gore, suicide, self harm, religion/religious trauma and sexual themes are all mentioned in this book, please be advised

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The sun beat down onto the dirt spread across the ground. A man rested against a wooden post with crows pecking away at his leathery flesh, though no effort was ever made to make them stop.
The all too familiar sound of hooves thumping against the dirt grew closer and closer, louder and louder though they earned no response from the man. A large wagon holding four passengers stopped in its trail before the post. It was a wonder how it was able to carry such weight, the wood it was made of had begun to decay and most of the metal that held it together was rusted, beginning to pop and peel away.
Each passenger slithered from their seats in the wagon, standing in a neat line as their gaze simultaneously trailed down along the length of the wood and landed upon the broken body of the man that rested so painful against it. Poor bastard had gone and killed himself. Fallen while trying to fix the damned thing.
Not a word left any of their lips, they all simply knew what to do.

A tall and slim man stepped forward and leaned down, withdrawing a ribbon from his pocket. His bones popped and snapped as he took the man's measurements. A large man pulled fresh planks of wood out of the wagon, hammering piece after piece together as a woman sewed the tears in the man's clothes. A fat man remained still. Not a thing could be done to preserve the man, he had no purpose here.

"Papa!" A voice, frail from thirst and fear rang down the trail. A teenage girl sprinted towards the group. That wagon. Those figures. All of them were a terrible sign of something bad to come "Papa!" She called once more as she pushed the man and woman away from the crinkled body "Don't touch him! He's my father!" She demanded. Tears grew in her eyes 'He's ok. He's just hurt.' Almost as if her thoughts could be heard, the slim man placed a hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eyes as he offered a shake of the head. There it was. There was no begging, no prayer that could bring him back. That was the girls answer. A shake of the head. A scream forced itself from her lips as tears flooded from her eyes.

The woman leaned down and gently squeezed the girls hand in her own. The girl slammed her eyes shut as she whaled in the pain that only a person who had lost everything could feel. It was then that a freshly-made coffin slapped the ground before her. She didn't expect anything else. That's what the group did. They took care of the dead. And just like that, each of the four was piled into the wagon once again, ready to go. No word was ever spoken. Hell, she swore she could still feel the woman's hand squeezing her own.
She watched as the wagon simply trotted away, leaving her and the corpse of her father alone. It could've been a mirage or or tear-filled eyes but she swore for just a moment, she could see each other the four with large, black wings.