So what is "The Road To The Church" you may ask?

Well this is the start of a weekly serial that I am writing to put myself into creative writing fully.  I have already finished a number of entries, but this is the first time publishing them online (well my livejournal friends are a week ahead of you, but only a week and I will be doing them at the same time).  This serial is about a forctional cast of characters living in Toronto (sort of fictional hehehe) and the paths they are taking in life.  I'm hoping to keep it for a while since I'm in love with my characters and I love serials.  Most of the characters appear quickly, but some take a little longer to unfold so be patient.  Please send comments about what you like or don't (just make sure its creative criticism) and I hope you enjoy :).

I           The Beginning

            Five months ago, his friend Justin had dropped him off at the corner of Church and Wellesley on his second day in Toronto and had said, “Go find your people” like a modern day Moses and slipped back to his apartment to delight in level 40 of Diablo on his computer.  Now today, three years later, Byron was standing on that same corner, a little more acquainted with the gay milieu of the neighbourhood and wondering where he was supposed to go next.  Fate had led him here, but it had offered little in the way of answers to anything.  There was just so much more out there.

            Byron stepped one foot on the crosswalk when a young Asian man ripped by him on a sleek bicycle, clad in glittering black spandex shorts with a pink strip down the side and a jersey advertising a local coffee establishment, bright red with black writing.

            “Move it or lose it, white boy!”

            The phrase echoed in Byron’s mind as he watched the cyclist disappear as quickly as he appeared.  He was amazed at how anyone two cultures could survive in this city without killing each other.  However, no one else was even phased by the incident, casually walking by without even the slightest stare and Byron realized that it was just the way of the world, a strange sensation that still astonished him after three years.  He looked both ways again before crossing and made his way on. 

            It was a sunny day and he was heading off to work, a small pet store, just outside the reach of the gay ghetto.  He often took this route through the village even though it was still a good twenty minutes away from the store.  There were just so many interesting people to see downtown, though during the day, the crowd was more restrained.  Byron walked past the small pubs with their decks filled with hungry patrons.  They were also eating food.  Byron tried to offer that air of non-chalant as he passed, but a slightly raised cement block on the sidewalk destroyed any elegance he may have had.  Most of the lunch crowd didn’t even notice anyway.  Byron wasn’t one of their crowd, the rich and carefree only interested in the twink variety.  Byron’s beard, red and rough, was seen more as an obstacle than a source of sexiness.  The fact was that he wasn’t bothered in the least by not being noticed.  It just wasn’t his nature.

            Strolling down the rainbow infused sidewalk, Byron was still surprised at how free everyone appeared.  Two Gap clad men sauntered hand in hand, two Pomeranians adorned with Roots leather collars being led on either side of them.  A tattooed woman straddled a Harley while her very feminine girlfriend in a red dress and pumps clung on behind.  An older man sitting outside Starbucks sipping his mocha latte concoction gingerly, not missing the seemingly never ending line of barely legal (and some not so) beauties, ogling them so overtly that the drool would drip and he would wipe it away with a quiet dignity.  Oh yes, it was a beautiful August day in the gay village.

            By the time Byron reached work, the sweat was pouring from his brow.  There were moments like these when he thought he should shave off the abundant amount of fur on his body.  After such moments, he thought back to a time when a potential date had told him that he would only go out with him if it all disappeared.  Angered by the arrogance, he told the now less that potential date to shove it and the thought of shaving rarely crossed his mind again.  Well except on hot summer days.

            The second that he enters the store door, chaos ensues.  Four dogs all needing harnesses fitted and his poor manager nearky pulling her hair out.  Byron relieves the agony a bit, throwing his book bag over the large oak counter and dressing up the yappiest of the dogs, a Pomeranian with a superiority complex (surprise) and an unknown mutt that graces him with its protruding lower teeth.  At only twenty pounds, the mutt has very innocent black beady eyes beneath his his scruffy bangs, but his low growl that he emits informs Byron that he shouldn’t push his luck.  Byron instructs the owner, a crotchety older lady with remarkably the same eyes and furry bangs how to dress the harness instead of risking any of his valuable limbs.

            At the first sign of a slow down, Byron finally grabs his backpack and throws it into the staff room.  When he returns, his manager is standing with the front door open, sucking back on her light cigarette like it were a ventilator.

            “Thank god that’s over.  My nicotine fix was nearly letting go.”

            “Has it been that busy all morning?”

            “Oh just at my most insane moments.  Every nut job and weirdo is out today.  I swear the looney bin just sends them here and tells them they have pets to get rid of them.”

            “It can’t be that bad.  I thought they only came at the end of the month when their checks came and saved them.”

            “There was a hint of beer on their breath meaning the suckers actually saved a little cash.  I need to go for a walk.  You can take the next crazy person.”

            His manger grabbed her cap and escaped through the front door, almost sprinting past the large picture windows.  Byron was sure she would be back, but there was also a nagging thought that one day, he would suddenly find himself managing the store due to a missing person’s report.  It would be okay, but definitely not his dream job.

            The next half hour breezed by, just a few rawhide bones sold and some light dusting of the glass shelves.  Byron was just about to grab the broom when he heard the bells chime from the front door.  Well here’s my first crazy, he thought.  Suddenly, Byron was cemented to the ground, his jaw scraping the hardwood floors, his eyes fixated on this new customer.  Byron couldn’t believe that he was so lucky because standing before him was the picture of a god and Byron felt like he was in heaven.