It was on a Saturday evening, ten years ago, and Father Tom was at the Church’s altar preparing for the next day’s sermon. I walked in through the front double doors and he quickly turned to face me, the altar now behind him. I had worn my uniform special for that day and skipped happily down the aisle. I could feel my brown curls bounce on my white collared blouse. I smiled with my hands behind my back and Father Tom smiled in return. When I got to the edge of the maroon carpet steps I stopped, batted my big brown eyes, then pulled the gun from out behind my back and shot him right in the
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