and pour contempt on all my pride

We file through the aisles as the band floods the air with lapping soundwaves. I bow my head and try to feel reverent as I take a crumble of saltine and a dixie-chalice of grape juice at the holy buffet table. Suddenly, my fingers slip on the clear plastic. I jump back and my heart skips and the non-alcoholic blood is suddenly a sticky, staining substance that covers me. The mood was somewhat disrupted by the spilling of Blood.