September

Issue 48

They try to bring God's world to God's church. A vaulted roof fans branch-like overhead. Pointed windows stream pale sunlight onto dead stone. It is nothing like dawn in Faërie. Ghost fingered incense destroys my memory of true flowers. Behind me, forests breathe, calling me home. I enter Holy Ground on leaf-clad feet. Wind touched, I’m blown. I waver. Doe-eyed dryad, twiggy haired creature, I drift past pew and candle. The box of whispered sin Has ne’er heard what I will confess. A lattice window between heaven and hell opens Tempting hope - threatening damnation. "Bless me, Father, for I am sin." "My child, we all fall below God's will. Thou canst be so damned at an age not yet grown." "Nay, Father, my kin live an immortal life." Sharp-eared, I hear his breath, his shift of feet and whimpered prayer. "Do not doubt me. No, good Father, do not run. Do you not teach that we are sin incarnate? Banished far from God’s glory, we cannot die, but live on. Damned by all your kind holds dear." "What manner of creature art thou to brazen-hearted enter Christ's temple?" "No hussy, nor harlot, but true demon. Did not demons once stand among God's own? I ask to be counted His." "Thou art damned, dryad-demon. I smell thy leafy boughs. Get behind me, Satan spawn." "Could I sit within God's breast, if I were not His? Bless me, Father, for no one else will. I cannot stop being what I am! I want with one hand to break my neck on noose and branch. My other fist would strike Him in whom I believe. He sells peace at death. If I destroy His gift and send my soul to Hades, I shall receive no peace. Damned to live. Damned to die. It's harder to choose, as endless years pass. “What of demon-dryad?  God answers me not. Perhaps that's the final jest. For if He lives not, then in vain I die. If He lives to torture the eternal soul He gave me, shall I continue to love where love is not due? No! I cannot choose. Sitting forever astride thorny branches, daring to move not an inch, lest I be cursed to live or blessed to damned death. My life is Hell, can death prove worse?" Grainy tears fall like rain. Sap stains my cheeks, trickling onto my silver-chained crucifix. A hoarse whisper grates through screens. "Dominos noster Jesus Christus te absolvat. God have mercy on us both. I for compassion on Satan's own, thee for love of a Master long known."