A lock is a device for securing a door when closed, operated by a key. I face many of them every day. They are not, however, the kind of locks that secure doors and trunks.
People open up their locks and confess their sins to me. That's right, I am a priest and believe it or not, my life is made up of almost nothing but locks, metaphorically speaking of course.
It's evening, my work with the people of my parish is complete for the day. My job consists of people coming to me and springing open those vaults in their hearts and minds and ask for God's forgiveness. I oblige, and afterwards we celebrate mass to fill up those empty vaults with our Lord's love.
Ah, finally, my street. There's a strange odor in the air. Hasn't the garbage been picked up today? Why yes, it has. Then what is the smell?
No matter what a priest is told during confession, he has to keep the conversation secret. It can not be broken for any reason whatsoever, even if there's a life in danger. That information is kept secured inside the priest's mind.
What's that black cloud I see? What was today's weather forecast? On no! It's coming out of the block of apartments opposite of mine. Is that crying I hear? There's a person trapped in there, I can see him. My God, no, it's a child.
Earlier this evening, before I left, I had secured the left over Eucharist in place and locked the Church up. I rechecked the doors, I didn't want anyone to break into the sacred building and commit sacrilege. Our pastor has taken this idea so seriously that he installed a security system. So far it never went off except during the testing that was performed after the installation. It's a good thing too. We'd have a serious problem if the alarm went off after installing it just yesterday.
The flames don't look too big, but the fire engines are nowhere in hearing range. I have to do something. The door of the block is open, so I dash inside. The air inside isn't so bad. You could barely smell the fire, let alone see it. Which floor was it? Third, I think. I dash up the stairs. One should never use the elevator if there's a fire. I never use the elevator since I suffer from claustrophobia.
After locking up the Church, I made my way to to the car. It's not as shiny nor fine tuned like the ones from Tokyo Drift, but some hooligan decided to leave me a souvenir anyways, which is a scratch on one of the doors. I rubbed it a bit, sighed, unlocked the car door and stepped inside.
I have just arrived on the third floor. The fumes are overpowering. I can hear the cry from out here. The door is locked, but it's thin. A credit card would not help, this is not a movie. It can be broken down through.
The car engine didn't want to start, but none the less I managed to coax the it to start. It had been a long day, I was looking forward to a good super and rest. I made my way to my apartment.
The door of the burning apartment goes down easily enough. A blast of heat hits me in the face, and I instinctively put my hand up to my nose and mouth. I can see the child. His parents wanted to name him Moses. How absolutely ironic I think as I make my way to him. I take him in my free arm and press his face into my clothes. It's best to avoid more damage. I rush out as fast as I can with the child on me, by now the sirens could be heard and an ambulance is already at the scene. As soon as I appear at the doorway a medical team rush up to me and hit me and the child with oxygen. Before he goes to sleep, he asks “Where's mama?”