She held my arms tighter, her fingers screamed fear rather affection. She always feared churches, too much for an atheist. Though it never disturbed me, only the sight before my eyes. I threw a stone, few feet to my left, before deciding my next move, before they stabbed him. To my horror, two of them came to check. One of them precisely to our location. This is good, definitely nothing like the other ones, I thought. She squeezed my arms tighter, her eyes filled with disappointment. As the robed man reached us, she disappeared with a mutter, “I hate VR.”
Written in response to the prompt pot at Donna-Louise Bishop’s Newshound to novelist.