{Old Words}: Shattered Faith

Originally written July 2013

Sometimes, I have these dreams that haunt me.  The other night, I had a dream I was in a cathedral and sitting on the floor was a boy I used to know and a bishop standing nearby.  The boy was one we used to tease for the jeans he wore, his skater shoes, the hair that fell into his soft brown eyes like a cliche.  The boy in a cassock, the bishop in his clerical garb.

The boy rolled a ball of wax on a black tray back and forth, mumbling a prayer in Latin under his breath.  As his prayer grew stronger, I felt the rumbling of the earth beneath my feet.  The stone ground cleaved beneath me.  The ground broke apart, and a gap appeared.  I watched as the boy continued to mumble his prayer as stained glass shattered and crashed around me, the candles swung in their glass sconces, and fire begun to spark spontaneously.

Though it was a dream, the more the ground beneath me trembled and broke apart, the more frightened I became.  I would shudder with fear as the fires drew nearer, as the cracks widened.  By the time I awoke, my heart was racing.

(My dreams always did have a profound effect on me.)



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