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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required It's hard to believe that was the "tame side" of the church when I was growing up. I can only imagine what it was like in its heyday. For reasons I still can't explain, the Stonehouse broke up and people were eventually free to live their own lives. Though I think a great many felt directionless. The building still stands, and there is still a congregation (a grand dozen or so, and the majority of them related). The funny thing is that even now I'm connected to it. My best friend attends there to this day (though for reasons, also unknown, the congregation have all but tore down their Hell-fire and Brimstone Brigade). The best part of those days was the amount of friends I had. The worst being the scars that refused to go away. I remember, sleepless nights, lying awake in a cold sweat. I was about six at the time, and staring at the ceiling, for several hours, there was one thought that took precedent over all else: what would it feel like to burn in hell, knowing it will never, EVER stop being painful? I was too young to know why such graphic images of flesh burning and flames roaring, would pop inside my little head. Or why I'd dread the night simply because I knew those feelings would come again, as they always did, like clockwork. For the life of me I'll never know... NOTE: This cult-ish atmosphere is something I grew up in. And those sleepless nights, when I was 6 or so, were very real for me at the time. Though much has changed since then... my dad is still very religious, but it's hard to imagine that he was so uptight long ago. He's now extremely laid-back and one of the funniest people I know...
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