Evangelical.

The blue glow of the television conically lights the otherwise blackened room. The still of body of an old woman sits staring at the television. An evangelical preacher's voice resonates through the room with it's accented "-ah" suffixes on every word.
"And-a, the Lord-a has spoken-a" he says as she listens ever so intently.
Her picture frames fill the end tables. Smiling children with their arm around each other, posed faces tilted at a slight angle. A copy of the Holy Bible rests on her blanketed lap, closed. The cobwebs cast brief shadows on the walls behind her. The preacher continues his sermon. Her eyes focus on the center of the television, on the preacher's headpiece microphone, on the podium he bangs his fist on.
Newspaper clippings litter the floor with headlines of sports achievements, "Star Quaterback Wins Again" one reads.
Her glasses rest at the tip of her nose, like a high school librarian. Her breathing is soft, slow, and sporadic. The wrinkles of her face create the crackled view of what was once a beautiful portrait but time added coats and layers. The lines around her eyes extend in a sunburst pattern to her gray hairline, thick and wiry. Every breath sounds like another struggle, the preacher breathes in deep and exhales loud words in tongue. Her mouth drops open, and her blinking slows. Her spotted hands open the Bible open, she flips through the onion pages, and finds a picture hidden between. In the picture, a young woman kneels between two happy children.
A tear follows the maze of wrinkles down her nose, under her glasses and around her mouth, her lips are cracked at the corners; sore, red and peeling. The preacher plugs a book he wrote, and a 1-800 number appears on the screen. "To send-a donations-a.." he preaches.
A steady flow of tears follow the maze, making a path for the rest, and like ants the follow in line. She takes the picture out of the Bible and closes it. The puts the picture face up on top of the Bible and rests her hand on top of both. Her shaky bony fingers bend over the picture. Her eyes glisten and she closes them, squeezing out a small waterfall. She shivers and pulls the blanket higher on her lap. Her breathing becomes steady, deep, and she dozes off.
A baby boy tosses himself in a crib, rolling over and over all night, crying. A young woman rushes in the room and lifts him, cradling him in her arms, rocking him to sleep. She lays him back down in the crib, under a wall hanging of a cross. The baby boy rolls to his side while hugging the corner of his down blanket.
A young man sits on the side of a white bed, his digital clock say it's 3:31 am, he sits with his head in his hands and hid elbows on his knees. Bent forward he shakes his head. He rubs his face and slings his body back onto the bed.
The old woman shifts her body to rest herself in the corner of her chair. The preacher is still asking for donations, explaining where to send them. She shakes her head side to side.
A woman in a black dress stands alone in a cemetery, pinching the stalk of a rose. An open vault rests before her and even under her veil, she's obviously crying.
A boy sits cross legged on the sidewalk, his magnifying glass aimed perfectly to burn ants, and him eyeing the entire process. One, two, three, ants march; one, two, three ants fry. After a few ants, the boy puts his own finger underneath the glass, creating a bad sunburn almost immediately.
A teenage male slams a door shut, cracking the molding around it. The crack inches it's way upward, like a canyon in the door frame and a woman walks up to it, fingering the crack from top to bottom. She walks away with her head down and her hands pressed together.
The old woman's hands inch closed, picture inside of her palms, bent. She lifts her hands and rips the picture. She drops both halves to the floor. The Bible still rests perfectly centered in her lap, face up, it's gold lettering almost unreadable in the blue light. Her left arm drops, and a ringed hand falls to the side of her chair. Her breathing returns to shallow, sporadic and short breaths.
A boy sits in the bathroom alone, his face wet, pink and puffy.
The woman's right hand rubs the brown leather of the Bible, she rubs her finger over and over on certain spots, paying close attention to the same areas as if she was trying to rub her way through the cover.
The boy in the bathroom reaches for the Bible resting on the tank behind him, he opens it and reads the Ten Commandments. He rests the book between his legs, on his lap and closes his eyes.
The woman wakes up, startled and out of breath. The preacher is prancing around on stage, smacking foreheads and lifting the paralyzed. The grasps the entire Bible with her right hand and throws it at the television screen. The whole room goes black when the screen shatters. The Bible lays open, it's onion pages bent and crinkled. The woman's eyes shut again.
When the sun rises, the woman still rests, in her chair, in the same positon she fell asleep in. The blinds let in bars of light. The floor shimmers with broken glass; the Bible is spotted with crimson red splotches. Her breathing almost nonexistent. Her face calm, relaxed, a drooping spiderweb of wrinkles.
A young man rests in the bathroom, slumped over, his arms at his sides, his head between his knees. The same crimson red splattered over the wall behind him. The old woman's eyes glaze, her hand lazily opens and falls. Her breathing slows to a stop.