Author's Notes: Heh. So I finally got around to writing the third chapter... It's still dwelling on the 'God' issue, a bit. I apologize in advance to anyone who might be offended by my rather zealous priest. I know that most of them aren't like this, but it was necessary for the story. Also, please say a prayer for my friend, who is having a very rough time in her life right now - her father shot her mother, and then shot himself today... it's just awful. And if you don't believe in prayer, then maybe a little positive energy or good wishes her way... Thank you.

Questions

Chapter 3

Greg was in church, for the first time that he could ever remember. Church hadn't sounded so bad when his mother had told him about it, but so far, it had been nothing but boring people talking and old ladies singing weird songs. He leaned back against the uncomfortable wooden pew, trying not to swing his legs and attract the attention of his father, who was seated next to him. Greg remembered the conversation that he'd heard a few nights ago, when the idea of 'church' had first come up.

"John, I don't think it's such a bad idea..."

"What do we need some church for? All they're going to do is beg us for money, anyway."

"Greg was asking me who God was the other day! If we only went once or twice, so he wouldn't be so curious over the whole matter..."

"The boy asks five billion questions a day. I think it's a waste of time."

"Are you doing anything on Sunday morning?"

"Well..."

"So it wouldn't be a big effort for us to go the base church—it's only a walk down the street, John. And it's been so long since we went to a church, I think our wedding was the last time."

"I suppose."

"And another thing; have you been swearing around Greg? He said that you were always saying 'god damn it' and I'm worried that..."

"Do you people see what I'm talking about!"

Greg jumped as the booming voice startled him out of his thoughts. Up in the pulpit, the priest was talking... or rather, shouting. He had a book held in one hand, and his other hand was tightly clenched into a fist, and his face was contorted in fury.

"I see things like this, and I wonder, what is the world coming to?" the priest demanded, banging his fist down on one of the rails that encircled the pulpit, which seemed to be the only thing keeping him in. "Is this the sort of place that Jesus intended us to live with? No! My brothers and sisters, I urge you to see what the Devil has done to our wonderful world! We must make the blind to see!"

Greg drew back at the loud voice, frightened, while the priest swung the arm with the book in it wildly. He wondered if his fingers might slip, and the book would go flying across the church and hit someone. Worried, he tapped his mother.

"Mom?" he asked.

"Shh..." she whispered, pushing his hand down without ever taking her eyes off of the priest.

"Do you believe that Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, was nailed to a cross and savagely crucified so that we could sit here and rot in gluttony and sloth? Do your duties as a Catholic and spread the word! Be a messenger—of—God!" the priest screamed, the book in his hand slamming down on the podium loudly with each syllable.

"Mom," Greg whispered again, more urgently as the fear rose up inside of him once more. He glanced nervously to his father, and then to the insane priest. "Why's he being so strange? He looks like he wants to kill somebody."

The priest stopped talking suddenly, and Greg suddenly realized that he was staring at him. With a gulp, he tried to shrink back behind his mother. "You boy!" the priest called, lowering the book while the anger in his face intensified. "What are you saying?"

"I was..." Greg whispered, and then he swallowed and summed his courage. "I was asking my mom what why you were being so strange!" he said loudly, his voice carrying to the far corners of the church. "I told you looked like you wanted to kill someone!"

For a moment, there was perfect, ringing silence. Even the priest seemed completely speechless, and Greg wondered why. He hadn't lied; he'd told the truth and answered the question, just like his father had always taught him to do. Then there was a snort, and suddenly Greg was swept up by his mother, who began briskly walking towards the door. Over her shoulder, Greg could see his father following, but he was still confused.

"What did I do wrong?" he asked, not understand why so many people were chuckling. "He asked me a question..."

His mother did not answer as she pushed open the door, but as they left the church, Greg could hear the priest's voice echoing once more.

"Do you all see that? This is exactly what the problem is..."