This WILL be edited-- it's been consuming lots of my time

Colin was the Reverend's son, so he had access to the church. Since childhood he had liked to go in during the week, to sit on a pew and bask in the quiet. Once at a young age he had gone up to the shrine and tried to hug Jesus on the cross, to give him some comfort. His father had been very angry when he had caught him. "Colin! What are you doing? Show some respect!" He had been belted and could hardly sit for a week. Fifteen years later, thoughts of that still made Colin mad. That incident had tainted his thoughts of God, in a way. His father hadn't helped. The Reverend worked all week on his speeches. He would pace their small house while reciting in a booming voice, keeping Colin, his brother Devon and his sister Mary from playing, or even doing their homework. When they disturbed the Reverend, he hit them with the flat of his hand. It wasn't meant as anything more than a shock; the Reverend was not a violent man. But he did not shy away from punishing. The Reverend was righteous. Agnes, the Reverend's wife, was quiet. The Reverend didn't hurt her, ever. Agnes he loved. Agnes loved the Reverend, too. More than the children, they thought sometimes. They would escape to the fort in the backyard, Devon, Mary and Colin. Devon liked to skateboard, and Mary liked to sew. Colin was the only one that thought the church was a fun place to be. When his father had found out that he went there often, he hid the key. It was a family key and usually hung by the door with all the other ones. Now it went around the Reverend's neck. Colin thought that this, too, was unfair. If the church was God's place, why should he not be allowed to spend time with God? The church, unlike many, was not often open to the public, and besides when anyone else was there it was no fun. Colin liked being alone with God and the stained-glass windows and the unhappy Jesus on the cross. Years passed; Devon graduated high school, then Mary did, then Colin. Devon fled to San Francisco; Mary merely moved across town. Colin went to the state university, for lack of anything better to do. He didn't do a lot in college; he wasn't very social. He managed to make a few friends, but mostly worked hard. By the end of it he was at least financially stable. Agnes, his mother, died young-- brain tumor. The family reconvened and mourned as one. The Reverend spoke at the funeral, of course. Mary played the flute, Devon the acoustic guitar. Colin gave a piano rendition of a church song his mother had liked. Several people he had not seen since high school complimented him; he had grown into a man, somehow serene-looking with his gleaming brown skin and chunky glasses. Mary and Devon pretended nothing had changed; in a way nothing had. They were all still the same people, even if (as Devon said) half-orphaned. The Reverend was stoic. You could tell he was wounded by his wife's death, but outwardly he acted the same. There was just something underneath, a trembling somehow. He died five months later. Everyone said it was very touching, very tragic, very sad but sweet. Devon, Mary and Colin got together again. They spoke at the funeral, sifting their lives for good things their father had done. He had been kind. He had wanted the best for them. He had taught them ethics. He had taught them to love God. The congregation clapped and several women dabbed at their eyes. The church would miss its Reverend. While emptying the house of his parents Colin found a key-- a large, stately one which he placed immediately. Seeing the key didn't depress him, or swamp him with thoughts of his childhood and parents. But he pocketed it. He wasn't sure why. Later that week Colin found the key in his pocket. He added it to his keychain, where it stuck out like a giant among dwarves. He didn't use it; he lived miles from the church. Colin worked at computers, which was tedious but paid well. He took up smoking and bicycling. His siblings got married and had children; at length, at last, he found a girlfriend. Harriet had impossibly small elbows and a petite frame. She was intellectual and she and Colin were well matched. They were a quiet pair that kept to themselves. Harriet had sisters, and the families got along, but neither of them had many friends. Eventually Colin and Harriet married. They got along so well that there was no point in trying to find anyone else. They loved each other, but it was a very mature love, with none of the passion of youth (although they were both under thirty). One day Harriet noticed Colin's key. "What is this, Colin?" "It's the key to my dad's church," said Colin. "Their current Reverend has one, too, of course, but this was my dad's. I got it when he died." "What kind of fellow locks a church?" asked Harriet skeptically. Colin told her about his father. Harriet was calm and collected and suggested very rationally that they go to the church and do something that would "sort of symbolically spit on your father's grave. Deface the church somehow." "We can't do that, Harriet. Just because I still have anger toward my dad doesn't mean I want to disfigure the house of God." "Something that won't leave lasting marks, then, but will be the kind of thing we can look back on forever. And sort of feel secretly glad that we did it. In the church." "Sex," suggested Colin immediately. They drove to Colin's childhood hometown. It was eight p.m. on a Thursday; the church was locked. Colin unlocked it and turned on the lights (there were a few). The pews gleamed. Christ writhed on his cross. They couldn't see the designs of the stained-glass windows in the dark, but Colin had them memorized. They lay awkwardly between the rows of pews and did the deed. The floor was hard and cold. Then they got up (having left no traces), grabbed hands and went out, Harriet locking the door. They drove home laughing all the way. Things were better after that.