Flash Fiction: Saint Florian’s Sanctuary by Brianne M. Kohl

I wish I had a flashlight but that would be against the rules.

The long gravel drive is over run by tree roots, riddled with dips and bumps. It winds deep into the woods. We find the abandoned church with the broken sign out front. It reads, “Saint Florian’s Slovak Catholic Church. We_come.”

I take your hand and tell you everything is wonderful, you’re wonderful and so pretty in the moonlight.

We call the game “Make Out Patrol” or M.O.P’ing for short. Some of the guys call it “Slut Hunting” but I’ve never called it that.

I would never call it that.

I pull you through the woods, beyond the crumbling headstones. We have to hurry. The guys will find us soon. I think, for a moment, maybe against a headstone? I’ve done it before but I reconsider when I see the look on your face.

Besides, when the guys…