The Chapel
Historical Fiction.
It was a night like sackcloth, rain came in torrents, thunder shakes the stones of the church and I catch my first glimpse of him in a flash of lightning.
He sits in the shadows of the corner of the chapel, wrapping them around him like a blanket.
The braziers have burned out, I can clearly see the haze made by my breath, but no breath comes from that dark corner, only the glint of golden eyes. That he can come here is an affront to everything that I've been taught about the sanctity of the Church.
"Tell me monk, do you think the Devil confess'?" There is a glint of glistening teeth. "Do not answer it was rhetorical, meant to set the mood. And don't leap to conclusions I am not here to ask forgiveness. While my mere existence doubtless causes you great distress, it does not cause me the same."
His voice is clear and rings from the stonework. The angels carved deep by long forgotten masons, seem to grimace in pain.
"I know that you would like to drive me from this place, and I quite understand. I am an abomination. But it is very important for you to understand this. While it has not always been true, the fact is, that I love life. I will always fight in my own defense. And well, your body is very frail compared to this flesh that I am given." He flexes his arms to punctuate his statement and in the absolute quiet I can hear his muscles and tendons pull tight like cables.
He rises from the chair he has been lounging in. His boots make no sound, there is only the faint rustle of his woolen cloak. Again I am disturbed by the lack of frosty breath, my own so clearly seen in the candle light from the alter. He moves directly for the alter and I rail, squaring myself against him, knowing I am about to die. He dismisses me without concern, a casual gesture of the hand.
"Don't worry, I will do it no harm. Although it would be a greater justice to mankind if I did." He stands before the tapers and I can clearly see him. Thin but as if he were carved of stone, like alabaster or onyx with bronze highlights. "I was there you know, when they crucified him. Many dark things were. We wept."
He turns suddenly facing me and there is a snarl on his lips, "While he died for love of you, I have no such compulsion, it's very, very important that you understand that. I've waited a long time for my vengeance. He was a righteous man and did not deserve the torments that were visited on him. There were many of us who would have never allowed him to get to that place of death, but he forswore us. And out of love for him we let him die. He wanted to show you worms that there was hope, and that there were wondrous things you couldn't imagine. And now you have changed his message of hope to lessons of greed. Listen very closely to me Martin Luther, you need to understand some things about your church. And if you do not do something about it, I swear I will strike you like lightning.
He sits in the shadows of the corner of the chapel, wrapping them around him like a blanket.
The braziers have burned out, I can clearly see the haze made by my breath, but no breath comes from that dark corner, only the glint of golden eyes. That he can come here is an affront to everything that I've been taught about the sanctity of the Church.
"Tell me monk, do you think the Devil confess'?" There is a glint of glistening teeth. "Do not answer it was rhetorical, meant to set the mood. And don't leap to conclusions I am not here to ask forgiveness. While my mere existence doubtless causes you great distress, it does not cause me the same."
His voice is clear and rings from the stonework. The angels carved deep by long forgotten masons, seem to grimace in pain.
"I know that you would like to drive me from this place, and I quite understand. I am an abomination. But it is very important for you to understand this. While it has not always been true, the fact is, that I love life. I will always fight in my own defense. And well, your body is very frail compared to this flesh that I am given." He flexes his arms to punctuate his statement and in the absolute quiet I can hear his muscles and tendons pull tight like cables.
He rises from the chair he has been lounging in. His boots make no sound, there is only the faint rustle of his woolen cloak. Again I am disturbed by the lack of frosty breath, my own so clearly seen in the candle light from the alter. He moves directly for the alter and I rail, squaring myself against him, knowing I am about to die. He dismisses me without concern, a casual gesture of the hand.
"Don't worry, I will do it no harm. Although it would be a greater justice to mankind if I did." He stands before the tapers and I can clearly see him. Thin but as if he were carved of stone, like alabaster or onyx with bronze highlights. "I was there you know, when they crucified him. Many dark things were. We wept."
He turns suddenly facing me and there is a snarl on his lips, "While he died for love of you, I have no such compulsion, it's very, very important that you understand that. I've waited a long time for my vengeance. He was a righteous man and did not deserve the torments that were visited on him. There were many of us who would have never allowed him to get to that place of death, but he forswore us. And out of love for him we let him die. He wanted to show you worms that there was hope, and that there were wondrous things you couldn't imagine. And now you have changed his message of hope to lessons of greed. Listen very closely to me Martin Luther, you need to understand some things about your church. And if you do not do something about it, I swear I will strike you like lightning.
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