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A Worse Idea 86

Prometheus sighed, looking up. The Catholic church loomed high, its spire twisting towards the sunny sky.

“Sorry it’s been a while,” Prometheus told that sky. He walked into the church.

It reminded him of when he’d been a kid. How much faith he’d had back then. So much trust.

Things’d changed. Seeing all those men flying around with superpowers while he was stuck on the ground, seeing how disadvantaged he was compared to the racist pricks in positions of power…

It’d changed him. He didn’t much like his god-given place in the world. He refused to believe that ambition and pride were a bad thing.

He took a deep breath and wore a fake smile. He wasn’t there for all that. He was there to get help. Or forgiveness. Or wisdom.

He wasn’t quite sure.

There weren’t too many other people in the church, in that moment. An old lady sitting near the back, a father and son in one of the front pews. Prometheus sat on the left side, roughly in the middle of the church.

Head down and hands clasped, Prometheus began to pray. Unsure he even believed, he prayed because it was all he could think to do, in the moment.

He prayed for Katie, and for Anne, and for everyone this world had ever wronged.

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