Home > Flash Fiction, Writing > if only it were last week on my calendar.

if only it were last week on my calendar.

I am so far behind that it is ludicrous. I have lots of excuses, and they are nothing more than excuses.

I am trying to catch up. I am working on the ARC’s for the winners and I am trying to get my word count up for NaNoWriMo.

And that is the end of this week’s post. On to a story.

L. E. White

Faith

When I began my work, I could feel my faith. It was a physical thing that I used to bludgeon the doubts of all others into submission. I would quote the good book or allow my mind to create its own unique phrases to properly dissuade any who thought that their own dogma might in some way be able to best my own.

At the end of any conversation, I would walk away. I attempted to be humble, but it was hard not to smile as I left each poor soul to consider the error of their way.

As time passed, minutes to hours to days to weeks to months and years, I began to feel the weight of my faith. It bore down upon my shoulders like a yoke and I felt my spine bend with the force of gravity upon it.

I was losing my faith. As my heart broke from the strain my faith faltered, spilling out of me like sand through a net. I would soon be lost. I would soon be hollow and empty.

When a sharp pain laid me low, I gasped. I fought, trying to free myself of the doubts that had formed in the absence of faith. It couldn’t be my time to go, I had more to do. There was so much work left.

I saw an angel come forward. A being of purity that was so beautiful as to blind me.

She took my hand.

I squeezed her hand for all I was worth, and pleaded with her to let me stay, that I might finish my work.

She smiled, and I felt my skin blister and burn from the radiance of that smile.

“Please, I have lost my faith. I have doubt and fear. I am not ready.”

“That is the way,” she said. “At the end, when there are no more days to hide behind. That is when faith is tested. Your work will continue with another. Your life will not. In this, the final moment, do you have doubt or hope?”

I tried to look at her through the tears, but I couldn’t see her. “I am afraid to doubt.”

“Then don’t.”

As the darkness and silence crashed over me like a wave that stumbles out of the surf, I saw the truth.

And I wept for that knowledge.

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Categories: Flash Fiction, Writing
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