"God, please, help." 

She was running, bare feet pounding on the forest floor. Alone, as always. She'd really believed it. She'd really thought they'd finally love her if... But nothing she did was ever enough. They never would love her. They never would. Her breaths grew ragged and her legs ached but she didn't care... 

"I can't do this anymore..." 

She didn't have any strength to keep continuing. She was just so tired and broken and didn't know what to do... Weak, she knew she was weak, to break every time. She didn't need their affection, she should've been fine, her value didn't come from them... But she cared too much. The worst part was that no one cares back. Rain snuck in through the canopy and landed on her cheek. She wiped it away. And kept running. Until her foot caught on a root and she tumbled down a slope. Into a building. She looked around, rubbing a scrape on her forearm. The place was large and built of stone. Vines overgrew it and a raised dais stood at the end. Stained glass windows illuminated the place. It appeared to be an old church of sorts. But the strangest thing about it was the book that lay on the dais. It was new and seemingly untouched by time, its crisp white pages standing out sharply against the greens and greys. It didn't belong here. But at the same time it did. Hesitantly she stepped towards it. A panicked thought fluttered through her mind. What if the book's owner came back and thought she was trying to steal it? She wasn't, she just wanted to take a closer look, but would they believe her? Who cared if they did? Everyone hated her anyway, what difference would one more person make? No one wanted her. Sometimes she wondered if she'd be better off dead. 

"God, help," she whispered as she sat down beside the volume. 

She didn't know if she could keep this up much longer. She was just so tired... And then her eye caught the words in the book.

"Come to me, all you who are weary, and I will give you rest." 

The words slammed into her and a sob escaped her throat as she read them again. 

"Come to me, all you who are weary... I will give you rest." 

Tears trickled down her cheeks.

"Will you give me rest, too?" she whispered, 

She felt the yes as it silently echoed deep inside her. The tears fell faster, but they were of hope, not of pain. He saw her. He loved her. Maybe, just maybe, that was enough. 

So that's what I wrote. Hope you enjoy 🙂

Yeah so... idk what I'm doing guys. But anyways here's the random thing I wrote... 

I tried but I don't think it makes sense LOL

I also tried using a character from a story I had already worked on and made it into a different AU. Idk if it really captured his personality

prompt: Write a story that takes place in a hidden church.

You’re not my son.

The words rang through my head as I pressed my hands and forehead on the cold stone. I sucked in air, trying to catch my breath. 

“Don’t do this, August. You’re being a bloomin’ idiot." 

My head snapped up. I opened my eyes. I was the only person in the abandoned church. If I counted as a person. I think I flunked the height requirement and got categorized as an elf. Or dwarf. Either way I was alone. I had to be.

It would kill anyone else on the spot. 

I rolled onto my back, gripping the cold grooves in the hilt of my sword. Pews sprouted up and towered around me. Sunlight filtered through the gaping holes in the ceiling, revealing musty, dusty air. Vines were strung around the dirt covered place. Everything was either tipped over or covered in rubble. My non-existent patience was wearing thin. “Sing freaking bird, sing.” I whispered to myself.

As my words faded, the room felt empty. 

Dad? I wish I could have made you proud, but I wasn’t meant to be a knight.

“Hello?” The question seeked me out, as if the owner knew I was here.

I peeked around the pews. There was a girl with curly red-ish brown hair. She wore a long white dress that went off her shoulders. I blushed and looked away. Just my luck.

“Go away.” I moved to a crouching position to see over the pews. She was scowling at me. “Please?” I stood up. “And thank you?”

She gathered her skirts with the stupidest face I’ve ever seen on a lady, and strode towards me like I was a brown mushroom sprouting up in a garden of flowers. “Where did you get that accent from?”

“A sewer drain.” 

She scowled again.

I met her in the middle of the aisle. “Well, it was not nice meeting you. You’re really in the way and I need you to go so I don’t die. Thank you.” I gestured from where she came.

She just stared at me with that stupid face of hers again. 

Then she slapped me across the face.

I did what any self-respecting boy would do in that situation. I flailed my arms around then scuttled away from her holding fists in self-defense. “Don’t take a step closer. You’ll regret it.”

She nodded a smirk dancing across her face. “Like you regretted using fists instead of your sword?”

I felt my belt. To my relief it was still there. I frowned.

The girl crossed her arms. “Aren’t you going to apologize for being so rude? I am a runaway bride, you know.”

“You really shouldn’t announce that to strangers. That’s going to get you back at the altar forcing you to say, “I do”. And I don’t care.” I drew my sword, eyes flicking to the rafters of the church. “If you or your annoying curls haven’t noticed, I'm a little preoccupied.”

She stamped her foot, rage burning in her eyes. “With wha—”

A shriek pierced through the air. I couldn’t hear anything else, just the scream striking me into one ear, through my brain, and out the other. I spun around with my hands covering my ears, scanning everything part of that stupid place to try and find where the beast was hiding. Just as fast as the sound came, it cut off. I snatched up my sword. 

The girl was crouched down on the floor with her ears covered. She looked at me confused and frustrated at the same time with her green eyes. 

Like it’s my fault. 

Her expression twisted with horror, the distance between my soul and hers growing each second that passed. Her eyes were fixed above me. 

I felt the crow’s presence before its breath. It blew my hair and clothes in a strong gust of wind. I slowly turned to face the creature. It was easily three times the size of me and smelt like death. Its head almost touching the towering ceilings of the church. It spread out its glossy black wings. The tips brushing against the weathered stone walls.

I looked into the ginormous dark pool of its eye. I think I would have passed out if I knew how to. We exchanged knowing looks. He wanted to kill me, and I wanted to kill him. That’s one thing my father could never understand. I was meant to hunt down and kill the monsters in this land to protect it. But I was doing it on my own terms. 

The girl whimpered behind me. I had a job to do, and as much as it pained me to do it, I had to fight the giant crow. I slowly moved my sword closer to the crow. “I know you’ve stolen all those people.” My sword brushed against its feathers as I pressed the tip against its chest. My heart sped up. My mother’s screams echoed in my head. “Where did you take them?”

The crow twitched, its body lurched. A choking sound came from it. It spit a pile of bones at my feet. They were all covered with grey-ish pink slime. In there I saw a glittering bracelet with bright cornflower blue gems. My mother’s. 

The creature’s eyes were fixed on me. Gleaming with pride, it let out a laugh, jolting my sword away. Turning tears started to stream down my face. The girl screamed as I lunged towards the bird and lodged my sword in its chest. This is for you mom. 

The crow rammed its beak into the side of my face. My vision went blurry in one eye as I twisted my sword. The crow screamed and trashed, banding its head on pews and crushing them. As it slowly twitched to a stop, I pulled the sword out and collapsed on the ground. The last thing I remember seeing was the girl leaning over me, her hands covering her mouth as she cried.

-A.H. Bradbury

The Hidden Church 

 (Based of friends' testimonies )

   On a routine visit to a doctor’s surgery recently, I was escorted into a small room to be examined by a Muslim nurse. I was proudly wearing a little cross, and when she saw it, she stood without a word, and closed the door behind me. When she sat again, she smiled at me and almost whispered, “I am a Christian too. There are a lot of us here who have secretly converted.”

    I told her that I had been a Muslim and had suffered persecution in my home country and that my husband and I were now refugees.

    We then held hands and cried together as we prayed for our persecuted brothers and sisters and our Muslim families. She told me that she was part of a network of local converts who, like her, still wore hijabs and had good jobs. If they professed openly that they had converted they would lose their jobs immediately. Many were the only providers for their families.

   After the time of prayer and sharing, she invited my husband and I to share our story with her friends.

  “I can meet you on the ground floor of the mall next to here, and take you to the meeting from there. Of course, we meet in secret. If you would like to join us, be at the foot of the escalator at ten tomorrow morning.’’

    After a warm hug, and my assurance that we would be there, I left her office excited about the meeting.

     As planned, we met the next morning and Angela and her husband Peter, led us into the basement of the mall. All was quiet until Peter opened a small door at the far end of the huge room. There was then an explosion of noise and light as we stood before a small room filled with the laughter and chatter of about thirty people.

    Peter explained, “I work for the owners of this mall, and the CEO is a Christian. When he heard how difficult it was for us to find a place to meet secretly, he offered this basement room. It is perfect as when we close the door, no one would suspect we are in here.”

    We enjoyed an awe-filled time breaking bread together, remembering our Lord’s death and resurrection. Everyone had paid a high price to commit their lives to Jesus but the smiling faces made it clear that there were no regrets.

    We were asked about our story, and my husband suggested that I share. As we sat on the floor together, I felt the warmth of family, and so I began.

    “I was raised in a Muslim household in a Muslim country. I was a good Muslim girl, strictly praying five times a day. My father was the local Imam and I was proud of him.

    At university, I met this handsome young man and we fell in love. He was from a Christian family, so we assumed there was no future for our relationship.”

      He took my hand as we smiled at each other.

     “Our love for each other was very strong and we did not want to part. We knew one of us would have to change religions so we agreed to read each other’s book. Dan gave me a Bible, which I carefully hid in my bedroom, and he purchased a copy of the Koran. Little did I know that he had no intention of giving up his relationship with Jesus, and I was not planning to change my religion either.”

       I heard a few chuckles.

      “Reluctantly, I started reading the book called John, which was confusing at the start, but I continued. When I read chapter eight, I was shocked. Jesus was confronted with a woman caught in adultery. According to Jewish laws, which were the same as ours, she should be stoned. But this Jesus was kind and compassionate, unlike any god I had ever heard of. I cried for a very long time. I wanted to know this Jesus; the one Dan had told me about. He had explained that Jesus died and rose again for us so we could be forgiven. I read all night and by morning, I had counted the cost, repented of every sin I could remember and accepted Jesus as my saviour. Oh, the peace and joy that overwhelmed me!”

    From the shouts and cheers that erupted, I knew many of them had similar stories.

    “With joy, we sought a preacher to marry us, but it was difficult. One pastor yelled at us to get out of his church. He was frightened because I was a converted Muslim, which could possibly put him in danger.

      We were married secretly by a kind pastor who also baptized me in the river on the same day. To celebrate, we shared a little cake with him in the park.

     “We were secretly married for three years, still living with our own parents, spending time together whenever possible. When I became pregnant, we knew we had to leave the country.

     “Safely on the plane taxiing on the runway, I sent texts to my family saying I had left. If I was still in the airport, by brothers would have apprehended me.

      “We have been living as refugees here for six years, and I am sure you know that the life of refugees is not an easy one. We believe that someday the Lord will make a way for us to leave, and live free in another country. We pray earnestly for that day.”

    The love and encouragement we received was beautiful, and over the next hour we heard stories of secret conversions and the importance of cautious, Spirit-led witnessing.

    Peter shared from the scriptures, with others adding insights and questions. It was a refreshing, informal day spent with passionate brothers and sisters.

    After lengthy goodbyes, we left excited to share more times of rich fellowship with these loving believers, in their amazing hidden church.

    “Hurry, Alice! Suzanne is almost done counting,” Henry shouted to his sister. They and their cousins were playing hide-and-seek in the woods near their Aunt Sophies house. Henry ran into               the thicket, pushing forward as branches and weeds reached out to trap him. He was rewarded by coming to a  clearing, and breaking through, he paused in amazement. There in the middle of it stood an old building surrounded by overgrowth from years of negligence. Henry stepped forward cautiously, trying to be as silent as possible, thought he didn’t know why. He noticed the door was slightly ajar. Pushing it open he stepped inside. To his surprise it wasn’t as dirty as he would of thought. The floor was swept, the ceiling free of cobwebs, the dust wiped away. 

     Suddenly he drew back with a cry. A man was there, kneeling on the floor. He turned as Henry yelped.

     “Hello, son,” He smiled, not at all startled. “Have you lost your way?”

     Henry slowly shook his head. “No, sir. My sister and cousins were playing hide-and-seek and I came back here.” He looked around the room. It was beautiful. He noticed that the windows were tall and made the place very bright. He turned to the man, who was staring at him strangely. 

     “What is this place?” He asked. The man stood up and Henry saw he was fairly young.

     “This is a church,” He replied. “Have you never happened to see one before?”

     “No, never,” Henry answered. “What is it?”

     “A church is where you can lay down your cares and worry and be given peace and comfort instead. It’s where you learn to love your fellow man, how to become a better person. Most importantly, it’s where you come to know Jesus Christ, the one who created you and loves you more than we can imagine.”

     Henrys mouth was slightly open. “It sounds like a pretty important place.”

     “It is.”

     “I wonder why I’ve never been to one? Do my parents not know about it?”

     “I’m not sure, son. There’s a good chance they do.” He paused. “What’s parents names?”

     “Hannah and William Craig.”

     The man nodded, a little sadly. “I thought so. You know, I’ve met your parents. I used to know them quite well. But we haven’t seen each other for eight years.”

     “Why not? I’m sure they’d love to see you again.”

     “I don’t think so, son. By the way, what’s your name?”

     “Henry Stewart Craig.”

     The man started a little. “Do you know, my names Stewart Henry Anderson? Looks like we’ve got the same name.”

     Henry grinned. “I like that.”

     “So do I,” Stewart replied, quietly. “Well, you’d best get back to your game. Wouldn’t want you to lose.”

     “Can I come back later?” Henry asked hopefully. He liked this place, and Stewart.

     “Yes, you can. If you ever feel discouraged or weary, come here and Jesus will help you.”

     “Is that why you’re here?”

     “Yes, it was. But God has made me hopeful again.”

     “How?”

     “He sent you.”

     “Me?” Henry asked in surprise. “I didn’t do anything.”

     “Maybe not, but you’ve made me very happy.”

     “Well,” Henry said doubtfully. “If you’re happy than I’m glad. But I still don’t see how I made you so.” He turned to go. Looking back at Stewart he said, “I will come back.”

      Stewart nodded.

     “I know.”

     But he didn’t. He never forgot Stewart, or the church though it faded. Henrys life became busy as he entered high school and eventually graduated. He took an eager interest in art, particularly drawing, and enrolled for a course at college. He soon found he had the ability to capture a moment in his mind and transfer it to paper almost perfectly. Henry was sought after to draw family portraits, landscapes, weddings, almost anything till he was weary of the fame, not yet out of college. His love for drawing was being constantly drained by endless people wanting pictures done. His mind and body were exhausted. 

     One summer he was asked by his Aunt Sophie to draw a portrait of their entire family, all the cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, even one great-grandparent. Henry agreed. After all, he couldn’t deny his family, the ones who’d helped get him here. He traveled down early wanting to relax his mind a little. No one knew he’d come, therefore no one greeted at the train station. He hardly knew what he was doing, but he wound up at his Aunt Sophies’ house, not realizing he was there till he found he was standing on the porch. Inside he heard, “Why, is that your nephew out there, Mrs Craig? I’ve heard he’s simply wonderful. Oh! I do wish you could convince him to draw a portrait of my Nelly. Such a beautiful child, if I do say so myself. You know, I might just go out and ask—”

     Henry heard no more. He bounded off the steps as fast as he could go, running towards the woods. If that women began talking to him, he’d burst. He had to get away, but there was so little energy in him that he soon became tired of his flight. Catching his breath, he looked about his surroundings. They seemed familiar. Moving forward, Henry came to the edge of a clearing. The clearing. It all came back. Hide-and-seek, the church, Stewart. But what came strongest of all was Stewarts’ words.

     “If you ever feel discouraged, come back here. God will help you.”

     Never in his life had Henry needed those words so badly. He walked towards the church, not hesitant this time. He opened the door.

      And there was a man kneeling in prayer. He looked up.

     “I came back,” Henry said.

     “I knew you would,” Stewart replied. He looked searchingly at him. “Why are you here, Henry?” 

     He took a deep breath. “I am weary and want rest. Will He help me, do you think?”

     Stewart smiled. “Most readily.”

Aled stomped down the grassy slope, stumbled on a small patch of loose rocks, and then righted himself at the bottom. He muttered something about spells to prevent falls. Of course, trying to take a magical shortcut had gotten him and Cledwyn into a bit of trouble this morning. And now he had to go hunt for the other boy, because he hadn’t just stayed put in Aled’s room like he’d been told to do until Aled could get back to him.

Aled straightened and looked around. “Cled?”

At the bottom of this slope set far back on the high wizard’s grounds stood a young oak tree with a few shrubs squatting below it. Beyond the tree was a tiny little chapel that showed its age, despite being recently whitewashed–and by recent, that had been five years ago. A squirrel chittered and a bird chirped cheerily somewhere nearby.

“Cled?” Aled trudged forward and pushed the creaky wooden door open. Inside was the tall main room, with two lonely rows of dark, dusty pews lining either side of a central aisle. The aisle drew his eye all the way up to the pulpit at the head of the room and the cracked and peeling mural on the wall behind it.

Aled turned to his left at a small buzzing sound, and there was Cledwyn, slouching moodily in the back pew. A tiny, dark brown fairy with fragile green wings had squatted on the back of the pew behind the other boy’s head. Aled frowned. The fairy grinned gleefully, tapped Cledwyn’s hair with his finger, and changed the hair to the brightest shade of sickly green that Aled had ever had the misfortune to behold.

“Hey! Knock it off!”

Cledwyn jumped, startled at Aled’s shout.

“Whistles shoot peanuts!” Cledwyn protested. The fairy cackled and buzzed up into a corner by the ceiling. He stuck his tiny tongue out at the boys.

“Ah, crap. Now I’ve gotta undo that too.” Aled muttered.

His friend opened his mouth, remembered that he only could speak gibberish, and closed it with a scowl before shooting Aled a fierce questioning look instead.

“Well, that fairy just got you, so now your hair’s green.”

“Haystacks smirk–!” Cledwyn bit off the rest of his complaint and looked irritably at the corner where the fairy was rolling with laughter.

“Say some more!” The fairy squeaked, out of breath.

Cledwyn frowned and stomped out of the building. Aled followed him into the bright late-morning sun. The fairy trailed after, but the boys ignored him and he lost interest as they passed the oak tree, where he spotted a squirrel to harass instead.

“Why didn’t you just stay in my room?” Aled asked as the boys trudged up the grass slope, back towards the wizard’s mansion. “No one was gonna go in there before I’d gotten back. If you had, we could’ve skipped this green hair business!”

Cledwyn grunted and scrubbed a hand through his thick hair. He glanced at his hand for a second, as if, perhaps, expecting to see a bit of green smudged on it, and then stuffed his hands into his pockets when he noticed his friend watching him. 

The boys snuck through the back garden–past a gardener who was busy weeding the tomatoes–slipped into the mansion, and proceeded to duck into rooms to avoid servants who might spot Cledwyn’s unusual hair color. Or ask questions about why Cledwyn was still here instead of at home where he supposedly had returned to after breakfast.

At last they arrived at the library, and Aled closed the door behind them with a little sigh. Then he crossed the room, opened an ornate miniature chest on an end table next to a purple armchair, and pulled out a small wooden wand as long as his forefinger.

He tapped it against Cledwyn’s chest and chanted in an annoyed tone, “Unspin what I have foolishly spun. Undo what I have stupidly done. Restore posthaste.”

He lowered the wand. Cledwyn stared at the other boy, and then hesitantly said, “What was that?”

“That was the undo wand. The wizard made it for me to use when practicing spells that turn out badly.” He rolled his eyes and added with a mutter, “It won’t work unless I say those exact spellwords.”

“Why didn’t you use that right after breakfast?” Cledwyn demanded. “Then I wouldn’t have had to go hide to avoid talking to everybody!”

“Winstle came and hurried me off to meet with Lord Perch, remember? And I told you to stay in my room.”

Cledwyn sighed gustily and scrubbed at his hair. “At least that’s all over now.”

Aled winced. “You still have green hair. Apparently the undo wand only works on my spells, not fairy magic.”

“Well, great.” Cledwyn grumbled. “So how are you gonna fix that?”

Aled and Cledwyn turned to the bookshelf, which stood droopily in a dim corner. Thick old leather books waited stiffly on the sagging shelves.

“I guess we’re back where we started.” Aled sighed.