Today the queue snakes around the font and down the aisle. In desperate times we are all believers. To pass the time I list my sins; my brain cannot contain them all. As I kneel, my heart races a marathon. The door opens, his silhouette bows. I watch his lips move in silent prayer. Dust motes dance, confetti in his red hair. The scent of him hangs about us; sweat, cigarettes and spice. ‘Father, forgive me…’ he begins. For a moment darkness traps me; I can’t move or speak. Panicked footsteps jolt me from my study. Father Duncan, late again. ‘Jamie, I love you.’ I flee before he knows my name.
Christina Taylor
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