Red, red wine (it's up to you. All I can do, I've done.)

The Communion (Part One)

Your life-long best friend, Cassadie, invites you to her catholic CHurch this weekend. It's hard to tell the blondE bitch 'no' because you're such a good friend, but mostly because you're madLy in love with her. DesPite your agnosticism, you comply and atTend church... for Cassadie. Upon arrival, you put on your this-is-a-bad-idea glasses and aggressively cHeck Facebook completely ignoring the pastor. MaybE, just this once, you should have paid More attention to detail to what they're handing out.

Remember, there's no such thing as a free meal.

~~~~~~~~PART ONE~~~~~~~~

"Mommy are they going to give the kids wine too?" a small voice a few rows ahead asks.

"Baby, it's probably just a grape juice, I don't think they don't use real wine anymore, unless you're catholic" the mother answers, grabbing a cracker and passing a tray to the left. The mother pulls her child close, he stares at her grey Harvard sweater with giant blue eyes. Tray of crackers are passed throughout the establishment. Ushers line up on each row with more piles of trays, waiting for the cue to distribute.

"Ushers, if you will continue passing out the communion." The pastor mumbles into a microphone. Ushers turn to face the rows in synchrony like a military unit, almost robotic. Trays weave in and out of hands sailing to the left, where the exit is conveniently placed. "Wine" continues to be passed. An older lady with long white hair and an almost medieval cloak wrapped around her shoulders crouches a couple rows ahead. The lady with wild eyes taps on the mother's shoulder, "don't give the wine to the children, it is the devil poison! I tell you it is the devils poison! Do not drink the wine!" she shrieks, flailing her arms around. Two bulky ushers fight their way through the chairs and people making their way to the screaming woman. She spits in their face as they grab her by the arms, dragging her all the way to the left and brutally throwing her out the exit door.

"Bro, this goes against rule number one of being an alcoholic." The girl to your left, Cassadie, says with a chuckle. "Never drink anything you didn't see the bartender pour directly." Cassadie has plenty of experience on that matter just last week you had to drive her home after this crazy old man got her blackout drunk off one Blue Hawaiian. She threw up all night, ruining the interior of your car. She apologized by bringing home some olive garden breadsticks. Apology accepted, right?

Cassadie grabs a small plastic shot glass full of "red wine" from the tray and sends it flying your way. You grab a cup and pass it to the tall black gentleman beside you, "thank you," he mumbles with a kind grin.

"Now, everyone should have their communion of an oyster cracker and grape juice- I mean wine" the pastor says, mockingly. "Now, with me, everyone shall eat the cracker representing the body of Christ our Lord." Hands raise up to mouths and the sound of crunching consumes the building. "You may now drink the juice representing the blood of Christ." Everyone sends the cup to their lips letting the liquid rush down.

"Mommy," the young boy coughs, eyes watering, "I don't feel good."

The black man to the left falls to his knees, landing towards the chair in front. He turns and faces you, staring coldly with dead eyes. He grabs his chest with his right hand and spits up a frothy foam. Witnesses cry out unable to withstand the horror show. Several victims fall into their seats, screams soar through the air. The sound of people choking overwhelms.

"Mommy, am I gonna die?" the child begged for her answer. The mother grabs the boy tucking him into her chest like a wild animal protecting their young. "No, sweetie," She coughs, "I won't let you die. You're safe with me son." Her arms tighten up, veins poking out, bones tense and white. The child screams into her sweater. She grips harder.

Something brushes your right shoulder and Cassadie falls to the ground. Her eyes and mouth soaked in blood, veins pumping vividly. Your voice strains above the crowd at the loss of your childhood friend. The feeling of helplessness consumes. Hundreds of victims fall to their feet all around you. Your socks are blood soaked, ears ringing. The screams suddenly stop, substituted with silence. You stand alone among the bodies, holding a full plastic cup. The pastor returns back to the microphone, staring directly at you. Ushers turn to face their leader. Pointing at you he mouths, "you forgot one".