Cramped space gave little room for movement, but little was needed. Alone he waited in dimness, studied smooth wooden walls and traced their polished patterns. He took a long draw of bourbon from a pewter flask.
It seemed not long ago when he was amongst those he awaited, but it had been a long, tiresome time since. He wondered how the passage of time should be measured--years seemed too short an interval, and allowed the number to climb higher than he would have liked, but it was years he used and many had passed. He wondered if they had been wasted, but was yet to decide.
He thought of leaving, but feared life as a paroled prisoner, one who spent many years in jail, and the thoughts never lasted long. He would stay and ask the unanswered questions, wonder if the answers still mattered, or if they ever did.
In younger years women had come, many intrigued by his position, many searching a divine benefit from an offering of a different nature, but there had been but one affair. It was a week of weakness he later termed a lapse in judgment, a phrase that gave haven from humiliation.
It was then he befriended the flask, attempting escape in a different way, yet learning mental abandonment was too easily hampered by reality. He questioned the turn of events, and wondered if providence was at work, not allowing them to turn any other
These thoughts gave brief reprieve, but the peace was eclipsed by the ominous reverberations of an organ, rattling rafters like the damning voice of God, a voice always there, a relentless reminder of the past. "Yes, I know,” he answered. It was then the small screened window slid open. He tipped his flask and straightened his posture, crossed himself and listened to the words he desperately needed to say: "Bless me Father, for I have sinned.”
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Catholic upbringing...
A version of this was published in Thunderclap a couple years ago.
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I've often wondered about the priests I knew as a child. This has a melancholy, thoughtful sweetness and gives us so much of the man in a few, well-chosen words. Fave.
powerful, understated. good work.***
Expertly crafted. Intriguing intro., solid concl. Very well done. *
Strong writing -
"It was then he befriended the flask, attempting escape in a different way, yet learning mental abandonment was too easily hampered by reality. He questioned the turn of events, and wondered if providence was at work..."
I like Nonnie's use of the word "melancholy". Fits. I like this piece. *
"These thoughts gave brief reprieve, but the peace was eclipsed by the ominous reverberations of an organ, rattling rafters like the damning voice of God, a voice always there, a relentless reminder of the past."
Deeply musical writing. Reminds me a little of Fitzgerald.*
Good work, *
Very nice work. I can't add anything to what's been said, above. You've chosen a voice that knocks me out!
The odd constrictions of faith.
Carefully and craftily crafted. Exploits what only fiction can do.
Perfect end.
*
Ahh. Yes, love the ending. Perfect.
Lovely tone to this piece, as hushed as the confessional. I can hear that little window opening.
Indeed. Glad to read your stuff, Foster.
Having often been on the other side of the window, this is a remarkable story, which brought back a very tangible and risible memory. Wonderful. Perfect short prose.
Introspective, lovely. *
Strong work, Foster.*
Coming to this late. It's awesome. *