Published: 2025-09-05

Father Rogelio roamed the streets as if looking for something. He was an out-of-shape middle-aged man with a gray beard, dark skin, and a bad attitude, unlike other religious leaders. After much wandering, he found himself in the local park. Some youngsters laid on benches or even the floor with a pair of glasses on their faces; they were zombies. Others played on the basketball court. Father Rogelio sat on the stands and watched them. He was not paying attention to the game, but to the players. These are good kids; they stay away from trouble — he thought.

The ball bounced out of bounds and landed at the bottom of the stands. “Yo, Father, pass the ball.” One of the players said. Father Rogelio bent out to pick up the ball; his knees crackled. He strolled towards the kids, “Hey, have you seen Pedro?” He asked. “I haven’t seen him in a couple of days, Father.” One of the kids said. Father Rogelio stood in the three-point line and shot the basketball. It landed nowhere near the rim. “Back in my day, I would have made that shot without problem.” He said with a big smile, “Stay out of trouble, kids.”

What Father Rogelio was looking for was not a thing, but a person, a young man named Pedro; he was always on church for the youth ministry, but he didn’t show for the last two weeks. Less and less youngsters were assisting church nowadays, he feared Pedro had become a zombie.

“It’s those blasted glasses!” Father Rogelio said.

He was not wrong. The glasses let people see another world. It was an infinite network of realities; the one who wore them could see the memories of everyone who ever wore any other pair. It was sublime, becoming another person, seeing everything they ever saw, feeling everything they ever felt, experiencing everything they ever experienced. It was like letting one’s soul inhabit another body; like laughing in the face of God.

All these kids in the streets — thought Father Rogelio — throwing away their lives, trying to live somebody else’s. What have we become?

Nobody seemed to have seen Pedro since he disappeared. Not his friends, not even his family. Father Rogelio seemed to be the only one concerned by it; for everyone else, it was just how things worked in the neighborhood. One day, you try the glasses, the next day, you become a zombie, and finally die of starvation one week later after refusing to do anything but use the glasses. Father Rogelio, however, refused to believe that a kid like Pedro could become a zombie; he was the exception, the hope! If a young lad like that could be tempted, then what will become of the rest of the youth?

Without realizing it, his wandering had brought him at the church doorstep, where he always ended up. He knelt in front of the imposing statue of Jesus nailed to the wooden cross, and prayed. He prayed as a man prays, for the health of his family and for bread for those that lacked nourishment, and like a man does, he too had a selfish request for God. Lord, please bring Pedro home. Bring him sound and safe; return him to his mother.

Father Rogelio opened his eyes and looked up. The agony in Jesus’ face, he could suddenly understand it. The church was empty, as it always was at that time of the day. Except for a tall young man with brown hair who sat in the back with his hands folded over his lap.

“Father.” Said the young man. Father Rogelio turned to see who called him, since he believed himself to be alone. He recognized the man. It was Juan, a quiet young man who always visited church and never seemed to be in any trouble.

“My son, what is it you seek in church at this time of the day? Nobody comes to God’s house at this hour.” Father Rogelio said.
“But you do, Father. Perhaps you and I are looking for the same.”
“And what may that be?”
“Answers.”
“Answers?”
“To your questions, Father. I know where Pedro is.”

It seemed as if God had answered his prayers.

“You know where Pedro is?”
“I not only know. I will show you, Father.”

Father Rogelio put both his hands on top of his and thanked him while lowering his head.

Juan took him to the outskirts of town. It was a rural area where cows were more common than people and plantations more common than houses. What could Pedro possibly be doing here? — He thought. — Maybe he ran with a young woman. That’s the kind of foolish thing a young man would do.

They arrived at what seemed to be an old, abandoned warehouse. “It’s here.” Juan said.

Juan pushed the big wooden doors with both hands and they opened. Father Rogelio’s eyes became as big as plates. The warehouse was filled with people laying on the ground. Mostly young men and women, but older people too. They were are zombies. Juan walked towards the center of the room where a big wooden chair was placed.

“What is the meaning of this?” Father Rogelio asked.

Juan paid no attention to his questioning and sat in the chair.

“You see, Father Rogelio, this is my throne. From here, I rule and I command.”

Father Rogelio stood near the door, motionless.

“It has been brought to my attention that you, Father, have been meddling in my business. Asking for people you shouldn’t ask; poking the bear. I cannot allow that kind of behavior, Father; therefore, I’ll have to dispose of you.”

Two big men closed the wooden doors while another two held Father Rogelio’s arms.

Juan bent and reached for a metal pipe, then he slowly approached Father Rogelio. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“My son, killing me may bring you satisfaction, but one day you will be judged by a man far more just than I could ever aspire to be. You will be judged, not for what you did to me, but for what you did to your fellow men.”
“I’ll take that as your last words.”

Juan swung the metal and connected with Father Rogelio’s jaw. The clink of two teeth was heard as they fell on the floor. Juan raised his hand in preparation for a second blow, but then there was light. The warehouse doors opened, and a mob, led by the kids who played basketball in the park, barged in.

“Leave Father Rogelio go, and we will let you off the hook this time.” One of the young men said.

Juan dropped the metal pipe and ran.

“Cowards. They always run.” He said.

Someone saw Father Rogelio head for the bad part of town, accompanied by Juan, and alerted the others. Everybody knew Juan was distributing glasses in the neighborhood; nothing good could come of hanging out with him.

Pedro’s corpse was found behind the warehouse, among many others that perished as zombies.

THE END.