Pride In The Pews Novels & Stories

Then, in unison, every device came alive again. One word glowed across every surface, painted in molten gold letters that seemed to pulse with life: PRIDE. Alessandro stared at it, disbelief shadowing his face. “What does it mean?” Elena’s chest rose and fell, her eyes brimming with tears. Matteo’s voice slid through her veins like liquid light. It’s what they stole from me. And now, I’ll take it back.

Jason sat in the back, chattering away, oblivious to the complex emotions swirling between his parents. When they arrived at the church, the three of them walked in together, wearing matching outfits. They were a picture of unity, even if that unity felt fragile and uncertain. As they sat down in a pew, the priest began his sermon. His message was about forgiveness—a topic that struck a deep chord with Adrian.

Gasps stirred through the pews. Even the preacher halted. All eyes turned. Bibo stammered, flushing. “Sorry—just… my throat.” Cressida’s glare could’ve burned holes through him. She gave him a firm nudge, forcing his head low. The preacher cleared his throat and continued: > “And today, we pray for the return of our beloved Prince, and for Amber—the girl who vanished into shadow. May the Lord guide them home.” From beside her, Rhea gently reached for her mother’s hand. Isis hesitated before clasping it—cool and rigid. Her gaze never left the pulpit, though the storm within her grew thicker.

He said gracefully into the mic. “AMEN!” The crowd hailed. “You know, I’ve never been to a party on a Monday evening. In fact, I’ve never been invited to such a prestigious event before, but I believe God led me to this house today for a reason! Miss Billings, look around you; you are surrounded by your loved ones – family and friends. That’s something to be grateful for…” The pastor preached.

Gwendolyn murmured, her eyes not showing much approval as she surveyed the interior of the chapel “Are you sure this is… A good idea?” I nodded, though I knew perfectly well what she was referring to. The priest there seemed to have just finished a sermon, so there were at least a dozen people scattered across the two rows of pews the place held, mostly elderly people. Most of their faces weren't unfamiliar to me. And that's precisely why their agitation was quite obvious as soon as they saw us standing in the doorway.

And considering that we didn’t know who else might be looking for her, the only place Grace was allowed to be was at the club and at Prez’s house… I glanced at Prez, who’d become very unpopular the second he walked in. Low grumbles of ‘fucking timing’ were muttered as they instantly turned off the TV, sat down drinks and women, before making their way towards church. Prez hadn’t even said a word and yet everybody rose to their feet, knowing what he expected from them. “Come on,” I offered, pointing towards the stairs. “Steel’s old room is this way, you can use that to change.”

He said. I understood Femi’s reasoning before but now it was more understandable and mor insightful. I had a view as to what was going on in my fiancé’s head. I was immensely proud of him for doing that,l. For giving something that cost him so much to the work of God. He was right that Past Iren and Celebration Church was one of a kind and I was really grateful to have found Church there. It is a home for me. Being able to contribute like this was something very meaningful and purposeful for us.

“Who knew that they were amongst the people who had fasted the violating stench cowering our homes. A church service was organized every Sunday inside the church. Reverend Ernest was the only priest in the parish, apparently the other priests had fled for their lives in the pretense of vocation outing when the civil war came to their doorstep. “Who blames the system when we are part of the subsystems” “It is only in the night that one cannot tell the difference between a black goat and night shadows”. Maybe – the people who we had expected to be role models will not lead the way but why do we have to sit still and pretend not to inhale the odious smell hovering in the air.

Fear keeps men honest when faith does not. When I returned to the pew, the choir had swelled again. Hannah lifted her face toward the altar, light catching her cheekbone through the veil. The picture of sainted sorrow. Nico’s hand gripped hers too tightly, and she let him. Good. For now. ********************************** During the homily, I lowered my head, ostensibly in prayer, and allowed myself the smallest exhale. The campaign was working. Whispers shifted to sighs. Reporters scribbled notes about resilience, legacy, the Mancini name carried forward through loss.

And the church? This place was my cage, not my playground. Then came that Sunday morning, the auspicious day Dad always raved about, the one where the congregation swelled with out-of-towners, praising God extra loud for whatever miracle he was spinning in his sermon. I was in the kitchen, adjusting the collar of my church dress...a prim knee-length number in pale blue that hugged my curves just enough to feel like a tease under the fabric. The cheers from downstairs already echoed faintly, the service in full swing.