Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.

Day 3

It was August when the sky turned red. A couple days passed before the scale and explanation were known: An electronic storm, or plasma, a strange bending of light and spectrum the world over. Temporary. 

And that was the problem. The plants were fine. The animals too. Fish in the sea, and birds in the trees. Only the people would not, could not, accept it. The sky had turned red. 

“No need for a panic,” representatives at NASA assured. “A week, maybe two. Blue skies will return.”

It was enough for most people. Others not.

It would be over soon. 

Day 13

“How the hell am I supposed to retire!” Charles raged.

His financial advisor frowned. “I’m sorry. This thing with the sky, it has everyone spooked. It’s temporary.”

“I’m sixty-seven years old! My entire life. What did you do with my money?”

“Please, Charles, understand. These things happen. They take time. But they always work out in the end.”

Charles stood up, the financial advisor, too. An open hand extended across the table.

Charles shuffled to his car. “All the time in the world,” he said to himself, opening the glovebox and unsnapping the buckle on the holster of his glock.

Day 27

“This too shall pass!” the Preacher bellowed from the concrete steps of the corner church.

“God, I hope he’s right,” Marci thought, steering through the right-hand turn and the red light. The suicides and occasional sacrifice were piling up in the morgue at the hospital where she worked. She slammed the brakes.

“Damn it all!”

A crowd of protestors had filled the street ahead. “Repent!” demanded the faithful. The guy behind her laid on his horn.

In the distance, between high rises, Marci saw a flash in the sky. That unforgettable blue and gray clouds.

A crack of thunder.

Rain.