Wretched Saints
by Assaunta Fay Howard and Marc Lacy
AVO Publishing

Intro/Synopsis

Wretched Saints is a jarring collection of fiction short stories authored by Poet/Author Marc Lacy and Assuanta Fay Howard. This unique book forces readers to choose sides and to escape the lukewarm lifestyle. 
 

Between these covers may be your spark to eternal life or a ticket to everlasting confusion. . .  depending on how you look at it. For we all have the greatest intentions at heart regardless of whatever we may desire to accomplish. Our faith provides energy and focus during the lifelong scamper down the path of righteousness. However, one thing that poses the greatest challenge is the fact that no human being can escape being human. . . ’til death do us part. Temptation lies behind each exit off of Heaven’s highways. Detours become more alluring as construction takes place within the most crucial times of our lives -- in turn, potentially providing a next day delivery service to hell’s doorstep.

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Wretched Saints provides a literary window through which we may possibly see traits of ourselves within one or more of the characters as they learn the hard way to listen when God is talking. Thus His signal, when digested properly allows suppression of sinful urges opening up the door, for spiritual growth.

Are you a Wretched Saint? Open the covers... and see.

Of course our desire is to walk within The Kingdom’s Neighborhood, but it can be very difficult leaving the alluring amenities of home. We have the protocol down pat; especially when others can witness us “witnessing.” However, when backs are turned and the sun has set, the righteous hotness of the self-proclaimed saint can suddenly turn lukewarm. Although the tongue can no longer house rationalizations, we still find a way to verbally cover spiritual deficits... thus casting us further into a pit of unrighteous debt surrounded by several unused shovels.

Excerpt from Tornado in Kansas

 

“That doggone National Weather Service and their freakin’ tornado warnings. I don’t know if they’re helping us, or trying to scare us. I do know this…it’s 4:30 and I’m headed away from that blasted medical office and removing my medical consultant cap for the evening,” said Kansas to herself as she barreled down the K-180 in her classic ‘81 Midnight Blue Trans Am, listening to the radio in the midst of rush hour traffic. “Tonight’s gonna be busy as all get out and I refuse to let the weather stop me.”

     As more weather updates were broadcast, Kansas called herself trying to pay attention, but she could not stop thinking about her busy evening ahead:

     I’ve got to stop at Target, go home, then I’m gonna meet the girls for a quick cocktail, hit bible study, then ladies’ night at Scofield’s will be in full effect.

     Kansas continued speeding on the K-180 as if she were qualifying for a NASCAR race. Of course her restored automobile was an eye-catcher by itself, but it wasn’t like the driver was hard to look at either. Even though Kansas Dickerson was an unassuming free- spirited and very independent lady, her fiery red long twists, caramel skin, slanty brown eyes, and well-endowed petite figure didn’t hurt the cause either. Kansas was the prime example of forty being the new thirty.

     Target was finally seen on the horizon as rush hour traffic got thicker under a very cloudy sky. Kansas pulled into the parking lot and parked close to the main entrance. As she made her way to the door, Kansas could feel someone’s eyes on her at close range as she noticed a strange lady dressed in Goth and appearing homeless, in the periphery to the left. Kansas never really stopped and looked fully in that direction, but continued walking at an even faster pace.

     Once inside the store, Kansas slowed down slightly and pranced through the aisles looking for a disposable digital camera. A modest feeling of guilt overcame her as Kansas made her selection.

     I hope that lady is not out there when I return to my car, she thought. I get approached all the time and I’m really getting tired of having to be on the defensive. I wish I could help more people out, but it’s just not safe for a lady to reach into her pocketbook in front of strangers.

     Realizing the time, Kansas paid for the camera and dashed out the door moving in a b-line toward her vehicle. She didn’t even look left or right while crossing the pavement between Target and her car. Upon her arrival at the vehicle, Kansas sighed briefly and appeared relieved that the strange lady was not around. As she unlocked the door, a squealing witch-like voice bellowed, “Excuse me, ma’am!”

     Kansas’ camera went straight up in the air as she lunged forward and smashed her shoulder up against the open vehicle...then the camera smacked her dead in the head and bounced off of the asphalt like a rubber ball, before settling on the ground behind the vehicle.

     “Uhh! Woman, are you out of your mind? What in the world do you want from me?” Kansas yelled. “Can’t you see I’m in a hurry? I can’t even make it to bible study without being badgered to death! Will you please go away and get a life? Better yet, get a freakin’ job!”

     “Ma’am, I think your words are totally uncalled for. You have no right to speak to me that way,” countered the lady.

     “And you have no right to sneak up on me like you just did. You probably do that to people all day in different parking lots.”

     “You don’t know that. You don’t even know what I’m about to say.”

     “I don’t care what you have to say. You scared me, I’m late, and I’m pissed. So get the hell out of my face.”

     “One day, you’ll not speak to Matilda like that, Ms. Church Lady who is holier than thou.” Matilda then read the tag on Kansas’ car. “God is My Co-Pilot?” and looked Kansas in the eye and added, “Ah, I see you got the Lord riding shotgun. Looks like all the signs of a Bible belt wearer and proverbial follower to me.”

     “One day, I hope to never see you again, you scary looking hag,” mentioned Kansas.

     “Well God bless you, too,” replied Matilda.

     Kansas, boiling, picked up her camera and headed home to change clothes. As she scampered out of the parking lot in route to her loft in Five Points, Kansas was still fuming like parents would when their little girl just lost a beauty contest.

     The nerve of that heifer trying to run up on me like that, Kansas thought. If I weren’t a Christian, I’d place my stiletto in her posterior so far she would be the official spokesperson for Kenneth Cole. I have been looking for a reason to use that old broken down nine millimeter Pop left me. And just what does she mean by proverbial follower?