Alpha and Omega

This week, LaShawn M. Wanak returns to the Sunday Morning Transport with an omegaverse story of mega proportions (you can read her previous story, “Deconstruction in the Form of a Cat God,” here).

May brings with it fantastic Sunday Morning Transport stories by Ken Liu, LaShawn M. Wanak, Scott Edelman, and Kelly Robson.

We are grateful for your support in helping us get here, and in continuing to bring more extraordinary writers and their work to the page.

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~ Julian and Fran, May 10, 2026

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Alpha and Omega

by LaShawn M. Wanak

We sit, bored, around the smooth-planed conference table as Pastor Kenneth Rimes outlines his next sermon series (“Your Battle Belongs to the Lord, Not You”) when he stops and scrunches up his nose. “What’s that smell?”

We look around the table, confused. There’s no odd smell other than the sharp nip of whiteboard marker and the redolent leather that always comes exclusively from Pastor Kenneth. He steps from the whiteboard, sniffing the air like a basset hound. “It smells . . . it smells . . . like . . .”

He comes to the head of the table and takes a long whiff. “Like peaches.”

Dustin Bockles keeps his mouth shut.

Saul Taylor, the worship leader, suggests, “Maybe someone’s making peach pie in the kitchens for a class?”

David Gilles, the youth pastor, shakes his head. “Naw, it’s one of those scent plug-ins. My wife loves those. Got the whole house smelling like some fancy plastic bouquet.”

We all laugh, pretend it’s not forced. Dustin shrinks down in his seat. Pastor Kenneth leans farther. “No. It’s coming from here.” He’s almost in Dustin’s face now, dragging in deep lungfuls of air like a dehydrated man gulping down water. “It’s coming from you.”

We all stare at Dustin. He laughs weakly.

“Must be my wife’s shampoo. May have grabbed it by mistake.”

The conference room erupts in genuine guffaws. A few of us crack jokes. Women and their flowery scents, right? Tell the wifey to clearly mark the bottles next time. Dustin laughs right along with us. Never mind that we don’t actually recall Nicole smelling of peaches ever. Rosemary, perhaps, but never peaches.

Dustin Bockles is brand-new to his role of an associate pastor, the youngest on the elder board. When the former associate pastor left, there was talk of promoting Saul Taylor to the role. It didn’t happen, of course. Every single man on this elder board knows why, though we won’t say it. Making a Black man an associate pastor will only cater to a certain demographic. Dustin is young. He’s relatable. He has a mixed wife. He checks all the right boxes.

Plus, Saul is a . . . you know.

Pastor Kenneth eventually returns to the whiteboard to continue his outline, and we all relax. Dustin tries to pay attention, idly scratching the inside of his wrist. For some reason, his wrists have been itchy as of late. Must be some weird reaction, he tells himself. Nothing to get worked up over. It’s either that, or . . .

No. No. He doesn’t want to think of the alternative.