Louis Vandenbotten the Third opened the mouth of his father, Louis
Vandenbotten the Second, and out came the joke in the younger Louis's
voice. Louis the Second's jaw was stiff in its awkward pantomime. His
mother, half way through Romans 14: 7-9 with hands white knuckled on
the pulpit she stood behind, choked and sputtered on "whether."
Louis looked for her smiling face. It was a joke she always laughed
at, every night before bed. She and father. Instead her jaw dropped,
stiff as his father's, eyes wide with horror. Louis's smile died
on his face. He pulled his hand off the creamy velvet that lined
Louis the Second's casket in its place of prominence in the nave of
the church.
"Good show, young Louis!" cried his Uncle from
the back as Louis walked down the aisle in silence, past looks of horror that
mirrored his mother.
The first mini-story. Reasons why I'm doing this and further stories to follow, soon ...
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