Each Sunday, Sebastian buttons down his white, long-sleeved shirt and dons pressed black slacks. He forces himself into the car; his father drives. They sit straight-backed and silent.
Sebastian seethes inside the church, as if the very place repels him. Perhaps faith is a positive force somewhere, but these hypocrites say "love" and mean "hate." Behind a stony expression, Sebastian critiques, deconstructs, demolishes their pious rhetoric. He daydreams about burning it all down and nearly bursts out laughing.
The mirth disappears once they command him to pray for his loved ones. He cannot laugh, yet, at the fact that prayer is a hollow lie.
Their unwitting dishonesty prickles on his skin.