Trying to escape the crowd, he noticed a short flight of stairs, the corner of the concrete chipped and worn.
He dragged himself up three steps.
His body felt heavier than it should have.
Pushing the door open, he leaned his weight against the cool wooden surface.
The moment he stepped inside, his legs gave out.
He collapsed onto a couch—
like a fish washed up on shore.
No one else was there.
Morning light spilled through the stained glass, painting the center of the room in muted colors.
Near the ceiling, the air of the old church felt tight, filled with a sacred, unmoving stillness.
Messiah knew he didn't belong here.
Even so, he stayed.
For twenty minutes, he let the strength drain from his body, until at last, he lay completely still.