The church so far (sofa?)

The world opened up or… closed down… potentially. Anyways, what had been a lush sprawling grassland desecrated by the horrors of war had turned into a lavish corridor desecrated by the horror of poor taste.

Uneven neon green stripes of paint had been slapped haphazardly across a base pink wall. Random splodges splattered against the walls and there were no clear lines to be seen. Any and all attempts at symmetry had been brutally stamped out by the pervasive style long ago.

A knot of anxiety worked up through Kato’s stomach as he fought against the urge to be physically sick. Did they have to suffer even here in their most sacred place?

He paused, a sudden much worse thought taking over. ‘What if this isn’t mean to be suffering, what if this is just their common design.’

The sickness he had forced down earlier rose again, threatening to choke him. ‘It can’t be!’ He desperately bargained with himself, but the evidence was mounting.

Small chairs had been placed at awkward heights. They were either so high that your feet were forced to dangle far above the floor, or where there cushioned base was sunk so low your legs had to be practically horizontal when sitting if you wanted any chance at a reasonable rest.

It was diabolical and worse than that it was in theme. A slight shiver ran up his spine.

Of course, the people who thought it was normal to want to slaughter each other, thought that this was appropriate.

A long sofa, in keeping with the church’s depravities, stretched across the centre of the corridor. It was positioned in such a way that you would have to either clamber over the top or slip around the edges and barely squeeze yourself through.

Kato’s eye twitched, ‘of course this is how they would set them up.’

The pink and neon green of the sofa matched the walls. It was at a first glance the first real sign of order but alas on closer expression its design was as janky and malevolent as the rest. Patchwork patterns at one end before abruptly devolved into spiral designs that jolted into a flowered pattern before descending into a bolt of cloth that had been loosely drooped across the floor.

There was no rhyme or reason to this design, and it appeared as if it had been done more to irritate than from any real stylistic choice. There weren’t even any polka dots! Kato smiled slightly; they had missed a trick there. Or. He paused, maybe they liked polka dots.

He shivered again before sighing, ‘just get the thing and go.’ He nodded slightly, for Styx.’ And with that a fierce coil of resolve wrapped around his centre. He stepped forward.

Kato stumbled as his foot hit the ground and was unexpectedly pushed to the side. The ground writhed beneath him as it rolled around his foot. He glowered at the floor, ‘how is that even possible?’

He imagined this was what a sailor on a boat on rocky water would feel like… except without the boat… and without the water. He sighed again. ‘What is wrong with these people?’

He took small, steadying steps forward till finally his hand rested against the sofa. It was a pivotal moment he could go left; he could go right. Hell, he could even climb over the top!

The weight of the decision pressed against his chest. This would define his path going forward. He suddenly snorted and laughed sardonically. ‘I will not play your games demon!’ He shoved the sofa back forcing a reasonable opening to emerge and then further pushed it till its back lay flat to the wall. ‘Your reign of terror is no more.’ He declared internally as he strode forward.

An old, wizened man with a stern expression and a slight hunch to his back materialised in front of him. Light, windswept white locks cascaded down the side of his head. His eyes scanned over Kato as he looked him up and down.

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“Thought you could get away with moving my sofa, did you?” With a small turn and a light grating swish a metal sword emerged from a leather scabbard. It wavered slightly before the tip began slowly pointing further and further to the floor.

Kato glowered at him, “are you threatening me?”

The man wheezed before his voice devolved into a series of coughs. “Drat, forgot you’re one of those, damn pain seekers,” he muttered,

“That’s not what I-” Kato’s mouth hung slightly agape as he felt his cheeks begin to redden. ‘Is this my life now, forever destined to be that weird guy in the corner. People try to avoid. Don’t walk near that guy he’ll probably ask you to hurt him or something.’ Kato nestled his face in his hands in exasperation.

“Hey there,” the man said gently as he began to walk over to Kato, “I didn’t mean to be so kind, I can insult you or cut you a little if you’d like.”

Kato sharply raised his head from his hands, “NO! I mean.” He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, “that won’t be necessary. Thank you.”

“If you’re sure,” the man muttered moving to resheathe his blade. “Ahah,” he sprung forward thrusting at Kato.

Kato jumped back.

The man started coughing again and let his blade drop to the floor with a slight clatter. “Nearly… had… you,” he got out between gasps.

“I guess so…” Kato looked at him strangely, “why?”

“Damn youngsters,” the man paused breathing heavily, “think you can go around touching a man’s sofa and the like.” He inhaled deeply, “even for one of you pain seekers I've never seen such arrogance.”

Kato wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh, or cry had a man seriously just tried to kill him because he moved his sofa. He paused. “Your name isn’t Sofa guy by any chance, is it?”

It was the man’s turn to look strangely at him, “no it isn’t damn sofa guy, what type of absurd- You know what I don’t even want to hear it. You’re probably getting your kicks just from embarrassing your self.”

Kato’s face reddened further, ‘that dastardly voice spreading such foul rumours about me,’ he seethed, ‘you’re doing this for Styx,’ a voice reminded him.

“Its Darren by the way, ‘fore you try and get some more pleasure of calling me something equally absurd,” he muttered something under his breath about Riserans. It did not sound pleasant.

“Nice to meet you, Darren.” Kato forced a smile and extended his arm towards the diminutive man.

Darren muttered in response and turned away from him, before grabbing the sofa and slowly shimmying it back into place.

Kato walked to the other side; he wasn’t sure if he could cope with the dilemma of so many choices again.

“You aren’t going to help me?” Darren grunted at him.

Instinctually Kato went back to help the man shifting it back into its awful placement. “I didn’t know whether or not you would want me to take your suffering from you,” he tried in apology, hoping Darren was as crazy as the rest of them.

A small smile crept across the old man’s face, “twenty years and I still forget you lot are like that, No I’m not a member of your precious church boy.”

Anger flared up within Kato, ‘this was not his church!’ but he pushed it down, this was not the time, and it definitely wasn’t the place to argue that particular point.

“I just work here money’s money am I right,” he side-eyed Kato with a coy expression.

“Guess so,” Kato remarked as he bent down to return the man his sword.

The man took the blade back returning it to its previous home by his side. He frowned slightly at Kato, “interesting.”

Kato’s ears pricked, ‘did I do something wrong?’

“Most of you seem to detest the idea of cash,” he cleared his throat. “Say it’s sacrilege and it decreases their suffering far too much,” he coughed. Hard. “Always thought that was just an excuse for the elites to take more and more from you as you’re left behind with a beggars’ bowl and a smile on your face.”

And with that comment there was a slight blur, and the man disappeared as quickly as he had come. Kato briefly thought about touching the sofa again, grill the man for some more information. But he wasn’t the church, and he wouldn’t increase the old man’s suffering just for his own personal gain.

He walked past peeling and faded portraits that hung loosely from twisted frames. They were as distorted and wrong as the rest of this infernal place. The eyes were asymmetrical, noses had been shifted to unnatural angles and their mouth had been contorted to a painful degree. Each one depicting its own amalgamation of a narcissist’s worst nightmare.

Doing his best to ignore the garish and the off putting, he continued until the corridor widened into a large room filled with doors of all sorts of shapes and colours affixed to the walls.

Continuing straight on he pulled open a door, only to be greeted by a bare faced brick wall behind.

Kato gently palmed his face and was severely tempted to go back and irritate the man with the sofa once more. ‘Seriously what is wrong with these people?’

A small voice crackled around him, “fifty doors lie ahead of you, only one brings salvation, but which one will it be?” It cackled and the accompanying static faded into the background.

Kato glowered. He hated riddles.