The Word

"The Word!" Jim shouted. "Proclaim it loud brothers & sisters!"

"The Word The Word!" They cried, waving pamphlets up in unison, over & over & over- "The Word the Word the Word!" Like it was the greatest thing since sliced bread & sex & the free market combined."The Word, The Word The Word!"

Even Jimmy swayed to the beat of his own tune, quaking like in a particularly potent session of electroshock therapy, all flailing limbs & rolling eyes. The crowd absolutely ate it up, those that weren't following suit egging him on with more pumping fists & salutes.

Peyton wanted out then & there but the flock closed its ranks, squeezing in tighter & tighter in a bid to get closer to their sheppard; he was absolutely surrounded on all sides.

Jimmy finally bottomed out, panting & doubling over. When he swung back up the same rock solid fervor danced in his eyes, barely dimmed by the freak-out solo.

"Yes brothers & sisters", He said. "We were delivered from the edge of the abyss by the glory of its message, the halo of its everlasting love!"

More amen's & cries of devotion. Peyton wondered if he could crawl out if he got down on his legs & knees.

"By the power of its truth! There is no greater authority, no higher purpose my friends."

Jim seemed to reach a fever pitch, spreading his arms & screaming at the top of his lungs, face turning ruby red while his neck arched

"And WHAT is the WORD brothers & sisters!?" He roared.

More than cries of faith now, a proverbial call to arms-

"SALLY BELLSON SUCKS HUGE COCK!"

It was so loud he plugged his ears, biting down hard. Jimmy went berserk, absolutely livid, twisting & shaking & jitterbugging across the concession counter, tuning into a pirate broadcast Peyton could only assume emanated from some distant constellation, 10 000 light years & counting, firebrand sermon an anthem of such willful single mindedness it made their school pep rallies look like communal Koom-by-ya's.

This could get old real fast he reflected, gingerly stepping over the spasming parishioners, cutting a jig from spots on the carpet. That was when someone grabbed his shoulder and pulled Peyton away from the masses, successfully completing its transformation into a full fledged pitch fork waving mob by now.

"What are you doing Peyton?" Asked his grandpa, shaking his head & dragging Peyt away. "That's not for you, that's not your crowd. You should know better than that."

"I-uh sorry grandpa. I don't know what I was doing."

His grandfather just smiled, finally letting up as they headed back towards the auditorium he'd initially headed towards. Behind them the screaming went on, so loud now he looked over his shoulder several times to make sure the flock wasn't following.

"Don't you worry now," grandpa said. "They're all to caught up in their own show. They won't be coming with us just yet. Were going somewhere different."

On the dimly lit walls posters advertised films yet to be released to the viewing public. Peyton had trouble keeping up with them all as they zoomed by. None displayed any eligible titles from what he could see, but sported detailed illustrations of particular merit, especially to Peyton as he was featured prominently in each & every one.

There was one with him on stage, behind a podium & sporting a rather debonair goatee if he did say so himself, one where he was sitting behind the wheel of a car, one other where he was across from an intimidating man in a suit & yet another with him climbing into bed with a beautiful brunette, naked as the day she was born-

"Wait wait wait is that one"-

"Not now Peyton, c'mon, were late now."

Grandpa re established his grip, yanking Peyton back in line, back towards the open door waiting for both at the end of the hallway.

And still more posters floated by: Peyton in a pool, Peyton in a hospital bed, Peyton wielding a knife & attacking police officers in riot gear. Peyton in a fire, Peyton behind bars, Peyton dressed as a soldier with a bayonet, slashing at bystanders cowering on the street-

dragging heels, Peyton brought them to a stop, again yanking free of Grandfather.

"I have to see," Peyton rasped, lurching towards the nearest banner with a drive that had been missing just seconds before among the Proclaimers of the Word.

His grandpa, whom he remembered always balanced on a cane cracking funny, proved too quick, bounding in front of the nearest advertisement just as Peyton closed in, arms crossed.

"No... this is not for you!"

"What do you mean not for me-I'm on the poster for Christ's sake!" Peyton cried.

Another first. A lot of details seemed foggy at the moment but this he could be certain of: Peyton had NEVER sweared anywhere in spitting distance of his father's father, not while he'd been alive; he wouldn't have been able sit for a week his hide would've been tanned so bad.

The old man seemed to take no notice, doing his best to obscure the marquee, even waving his stick arms about.

"These films haven't been released yet," he barked. "More cuts & revisions are necessary..." he took a step forward. "Peyton...you don't want to see them right now, just believe me...please, we need to go now."

Peyton stayed rooted, not quite capable of letting this go. Now that he'd been given a taste, just how the hell could he?

"Peyton...its time to go son."

Then a gnarled hand was back on his shoulder, squeezing gently, guiding him away. Peyton reluctantly went. The need to look back, to cheat, fell away when he heard the Proclaimers again, chanting in awed tones.

Without another word, they both entered the screening.

It was dark, the only light coming from bulbs that lined the steps. It was a full house judging by the murmurs, in the black nigh on impossible to see any of their faces; after a moment he didn't really care either way, following his grandpa as the old man slowly shuffled down the aisle.

Outlines in the shadows turned to watch them go, falling silent as the two passed by. That Peyton's sneakers stuck to the ground with every step, kernels & chocolate & who knew what else hitching a ride via the soles of his feet, certainly didn't help matters.

Someone really should complain to management Peyton thought. Wasn't it their job to clean up that sort of thing?

All questions of upkeep were immediately dropped when the projector above sputtered to life, sounding exactly like his mother's ancient sewing machine with every wheeze and pop it took. The screen lit up, casting light on their blind scramble but also exposing they're fellow theatergoers.

"Hey Peyton, over here."

Blanks, every one of them, unfocused fuzzy shapes, like he was trying to see without his glasses on except Peyton had never even tried on a pair in his whole life.

"Right here," his grandpa whispered, tugging his t-shirt & shuffling between a row of chairs.

They sat at last, the auditorium wall just a meter to their side. Grandpa nodded his thanks to a pair of blurs.

"You Ok?" He said.

"Uh yeah, fine...I think."

The felt screen was a dim outline too, indecipherable collage of neon brilliance, unfocused mess that gave Peyton a headache. From the speakers' only cryptic gibberish, a million voices & notes cut up into kamikaze shards than swept on wildly into the dark.

His Grandpa leaned over, squeezing his knee.

"Good good, just sit back & enjoy the show. It's supposed to be a good one, or that's what the critics say anyhow.

"Shhhhhh" whispered the blurry audience.

"...Sorry...."

There was a collective gasp of awe then, all the fuzzy denizens sitting bolt upright in their seats, charging the air with a palpable surge of juice.

"This is gonna be one helluva ride," grandpa said, winking at his grandson & wringing his palms. "Here, want some popcorn?"

"Grandpa...I can't see anything."

"Oh." Grandpa reached back to his side, rooting around for a moment "Here, put these on Peyt" pulling out a pair of 3d specs & handing them over.

The audience inhaled again.

Gingerly Peyton slipped the flimsy glasses on, unsure of what would happen.He needn't have worried.

The room exploded into color, crisp fully rendered pixilated glorious Technicolor. Around him appeared people of all ages & colors, creeds & cannons and onscreen...onscreen there were such sights as Peyton had never experienced before, such dizzying phantasmagoric wonders that we could only hope to catch the merest glimpse of in our lifetime.

Suffice to say, for just a little while Peyton forgot about everything, effortlessly returning to a state where he looked on the world not with trepidation or disquiet, but the open acceptance of a small child.

The next day he arrived at school early.

Standing outside the 2nd floor boy's washroom Peyton felt no more apprehension. He was like a grain of salt floating atop a wave, going where the ocean took him, listening to the wind & trying his damnedest to enjoy the ride.

The journey had only begun Peyton realized; there would be plenty of bumps in the road ahead & for some reason, rather than make him blanch, he smiled widely.

Without another thought, Peyton took his 1st step forward.