Ambrosia, at 24, was a good little Christian boy (emphasis on the 'was'). He went to church twice a week, prayed before supper and after washing up for bed. He had read the bible at least 5 times. He went to bible school since he could walk and he had always slept explicitly with his hands above the bed sheets. So, over all, it wasn't unexpected that he was going door-to-door, showing people down the path to salvation. What was unexpected was the particular series of events that led to his probable ultimate damnation.
He supposed it must have started that Saturday morning when he skipped elatedly into his church at precisely 6:26. He waved and smiled at the sleepy-eyed teens that were brought by their more devote parents and chatted for a few minutes with the old woman supervising them all before scooping up a stack of pamphlets and business cards to fold away in his satchel. He scolded a few youngsters for dumping their loads ungracefully into ratty sacks. However were they to give this church good face if they were presented that way? He skipped out at 6:38 (Shucks, he was running late) humming a few notes of 'A Glorious Day is Dawning'.
By the time he got to the neighborhood he would be working today it was 7:12, and by the time he knocked on the door of the first house it was 7: 14, and by the time he got the first door slammed in his face, it was 7:14 and 31 seconds.
But it wasn't until 7:53 (nearly 7:54) that he knocked on the white screen door of the little house with overgrown weeds around the rusty windows, and a beaten up bike sitting against the wall that might have, once in its unfortunate existence, been white. And it was seconds away from being 7:56, just before his nervousness overcame his eagerness to bring another lost soul into light, that the owner of the dingy little place (who seemed to blend in spectacularly with his setting) appeared.
Hevvin didn't care. If he had had anyone that would have bothered to describe him, those words would have been their best choice. So when he rolled groggily out of bed at some ungodly hour of the morning to answer the door, he knew it would be to be witness to something that he absolutely did not care even the slightest bit about. So he didn't bother to get dressed, he was wearing a pair of boxers, after all, what more could they want. He did bother, however, to grab a warmish can of some off-brand cheap-ass beer before he answered. He also bothered to pop it open and drink half of it in one gulp. He heard another knock at the door and grumbled, he had hoped whoever it was might have left by the time he got over there.
So when he opened up the off-white door that was almost constantly halfway off its hinges no matter how many times he fixed it and looked through the screening on the other, useless front door that this blasted house had to see some pansy choir boy smiling at him he didn't even care at all.
Well, maybe he did. He cared that he had been woken up at this ridiculous hour (the sun was still in east for fucks sake) to be preached to about Jesus by some twink with slicked-back golden-blonde hair and a weird pinkish-bronze complexion like he had recently been seeing too much sun but other than that hadn't been outside without sunblock once in his entire high-brow life. He was also a little peeved that this guy was probably a few years older than him and a good head taller than him and was baby faced and smiling like a baboon on acid because he was just so peached to see him on this lovely day, and did he have a moment to hear about his lord and savior, Jesus Christ, and would he like to be lead into the light and away from eternal damnation yadda yadda yadda. And frankly, Hevvin didn't have the energy to even slam the door in the guy's face, so he looked him up and down, from shiny black shoes to khaki trousers to tucked-in blue polo shirt with a little silver cross hanging between the folded down collar, which made little clacks against the plastic buttons when he moved. Hevvin somewhat recalled accepting a pamphlet and business card for some church and might have mumbled something along the lines of "you too" when told to have a wonderful day, and God bless him. He also vaguely remembered dropping the pamphlet and business card into the garbage before collapsing on the couch and falling asleep to the sound of some game show because fuck mornings.
The homeowner appeared at the door before Ambrosia in a less than spectacular manner. He seemed to be wearing nothing but a pair of white boxers which, unlike much else about the place, appeared clean. The man seemed a little younger than himself as well as a little shorter. His hair was ruffled and unkempt and light reddish, perhaps even pink, it was difficult to tell because the house behind him was completely dark. He held an open beer can in his hand and squinted against the morning sunlight. His skin was a yellowish pale like he hadn't gone outside in months, but he might have had a beautiful southern European tan had he ever seen the sunlight. He was also exceptionally scrawny, like an underfed ally cat. He had a little bit of stubble around his chin and what looked like a half closed piercing in his right ear. Ambrosia already knew this would be a hard case, and half expected to be cut off in the middle of his first sentence. Surprisingly though, the man leaned against the doorframe and seemed attentive through the whole spiel. Perhaps he had already recognized the importance of salvation? Ambrosia was elated that he might have found a good case for conversion, so he grinned happily and pepped up his speech even more. He handed off the pamphlet and wished the man a fantastic morning, then skipped on to the next house.
That Sunday, after morning service, he was getting ready to go out again. Perhaps he should request the same neighborhood? He hadn't gotten a chance to get to everyone yesterday and he was wondering why that man hadn't showed up today since he seemed so likely to. So at 11:29 he left for that same neighborhood and he was there by 11:52 and making great time so he went straight to the rickety little house from yesterday, and he knocked on the door at 11:27, and the door opened up at 11:28 and 16 seconds, and the homeowner had a very confused and slightly annoyed face by the time 11:28 and 22 seconds rolled around and he had introduced himself, and the man seemed to remember him, and Ambrosia asked whether he was going to show up for service next Sunday or perhaps this Wednesday and by 11:28 and 41 seconds he realized he was staring at him blankly and he was staring at the man's chest and that made things a little awkward for no real reason so he stopped talking. He had other houses to get to, after all, so he wished him a nice day and hoped to see him a church. Wow, was that a strange thing to do why had he felt like he should have done that.
And yet, the next two days, he did it again.
And then for the next 4 after that.
So, by Sunday Hevvin had realized that the poor guy would keep coming by until he had gone to church or something equally improbable. Hevvin hadn't really held a conversation with him yet, he'd just let him blabber on for a while til he got embarrassed or something and wandered off. It might also be noted that not once had Hevvin been wearing a shirt when he answered the door.
So when Ambrosia (as Hevvin had been told nearly every day that week, that was his name) came knocking at the door around noon that Sunday, he was met with Hevvin's almost instantaneous appearance. He gasped a little in surprise, but before he could begin his monologue, Hevvin cut in.
"Are we gunna fuck, or what?" He might have sounded a little more drunk than he actually was, he had only had one, ok?
The smiley kid (cause let's face it, despite the height difference and age gap, Ambrosia was more of a kid in the sense relevant to this situation than Hevvin was) looked a little confused, then a little afraid, then more than a little surprised as he stepped forward. Oh thank all that is holy that Hevvin had cleaned for this.
"O lord. Forgive me, for I have sinned. Forgive what I said, and what I did with that eccentric pink haired man. Perhaps I took 'Love thy Neighbor' a little too literally. Amen"
"O god. I'd say I'm sorry for fucking up one of your abstinent little boys, but I'm really not. If you really wanted me to stop then you'd stop delivering cute ones right on my doorstep. Hallelujah or whatever"
