Friday Fiction: Lisa and the Light Pt. 3

This is a continuation of the Lisa and the Light story. Click the tags to read the previous entries.

This was not how Lisa imagined walking down the central aisle of a church. She imagined wearing a soft white dress that accentuated her breast. She imagined a tiara. She imagined a man in a tuxedo waiting for her at the altar. She imagined it was real. As she walked toward the empty altar, past the empty pews, she got the distinct sensation this was all a dream. And yet, the floor below her was solid enough, the musty smell was real enough, the sunlight through the stained glass windows, whose pictures depicted only geometric patterns, stung her eyes after the cool darkness of the unreal antechamber.

Arriving at the altar, it was hard to tell what the temple was worshiping. It seemed vaguely Catholic, but there were no crucifixes or other Christian signs. She thought she saw a yin yang symbol, and then perhaps that skinny Buddha she saw sometimes, as shapes in the windowpanes, but when looked at directly it was obvious they were only her imaginings. It was peaceful here though; she would admit that. Before she reached the altar, which seemed the obvious goal, she sat for a moment in a pew and tried to remember how she got to this place. She didn't care that she couldn't remember, not really, it just seemed odd. Lisa wore a tank top and jeans, she was barefoot, her hair was messy and she could feel a light layer of makeup on her face. Her survey gave Lisa little clues. Having expended her options for consideration, Lisa walked towards the altar, a wooden masterpiece at waist height covered with red velvet. At the altar were four items, from which she knew she needed to choose.

From right to left there was a hammer, about a foot and a half long, made of iron. The head of the hammer had the symbol of scales inscribed into it. The weapon looked heavy. Next to the hammer was a gilded small box with a chain. The device was beautifully wrought with images of hands and leaves and celestial bodies. As Lisa inspected the device wisps of sweet smoke began to rise from the device, she knew the smell of sandalwood from her friends who were stoners. The smell of the incense wanted to guide her away, but she turned to consider the other objects. Next was a string of wooden beads made from a light wood and well varnished. Each bead carried an engraving; they reminded Lisa of rosaries or of the beads she had seen Buddhist monks carry in pictures. Finally, her eyes carefully examined the last object, a heavy worn tome with gems encrusted and sigils hastily drawn on. It looked like it would take years to comb through fully.

Lisa immediately knew what she wanted: justice. Her hand extended to grasp the hammer and before she was transported again, her fingers traced the golden engraving of scales.