Darkness descended upon the small town, cloaking dark dense shadows over houses, shut tight for the night. Rain slashed down in small rivers, causing streams of water to race swiftly through gutters. Street lamps flooded obscure corners with intense, brilliant light as those still lingering out in the storm seek their protective sanctuaries—once there, they close out the impending night. With doors barred and windows locked, the wind howled ever louder to welcome the incoming storm as streaks of lightning flashed across the dreary, obscure sky.
The town priest, John Francis stared out the wet, glass panes of his office with eyes upon the swaying trees as swooping gusts released what was left of their leaves. Beneath his godly demeanor, his muscles rippled—turning his immaculate white shirt into a visible six pack. He narrowed his green eyes at the man relaxing in the chair before his expansive wooden desk.
“How do you propose we handle this, Stephen?” The dark haired follower of God gazed at the older, heavy-set man. John then slipped into the high back, a black leather chair near the darkened window.
“I’m unsure of how to deal with two reckless teenagers that choose to disobey the law or any other authority for that matter.” Stephen replied as he blew his nose into a red handkerchief, “They’re a chaotic bunch of hoodlums.” He then stuffed the sticky cloth into his pants' pocket.
Grimacing slightly, John shook his head and implored, “Youngsters nowadays need discipline, Stephen.”
“Like you had, John, we can’t do that today. Parents cry out against that type of discipline.” He leaned forward with raised eyebrows and preached, “And you know that, priest. It really is an awful set of circumstances. Life today is so complicated.” Stephen’s hand ran over the wood-grained desk before him as he felt every uneven bump. He looked up and asked, “Oak?”
“You sure do know your wood.” Confidence filled the priest when he responded with a lowered chin. Within he wanted to string the youngsters up.
“I should, my furniture is the best this side of the Mississippi. It is better than the other side too.” Stephen smiled and pulled his callused hand back into his lap.
“These boys should be doing community service for their baseball practice on mailboxes. Wouldn't you agree?”