The church was bedecked with garlands of late flowers.
Naïve fabric appliqués of vegetables and grain adorned the banners that lined the walls.
The children dutifully shuffled in, two by two. Filing into the nave they ambled forward, pressing aimlessly.
The adults barely noticed as they were shepherded to the back.
The children gathered.
At the door a little boy turned a key in the lock and shot the bolt. Smiling blandly he joined the others.
The grown-ups, unnerved, huddled back toward the altar, now slipping over crushed produce, tins knocking noisily down the steps and rolling across the transept floor.
In a strange incredulous silence they sank to their knees, holding out beseeching arms.
The children fell upon them. Snarling. Hungry.
The sun shone coldly through unseeing transparent saints, scattering hard bright rainbows of light.
The harvest had begun.
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