Laughter and Starless Inky Sky
1
TWICE
IT was a rather blistery, blustery night. The cool wind was whipping your hair all over your face. Great. You get slightly pissed because you just combed your hair. A curse or two escapes your delicate lips. As you make your way to the chapel, you listen to the echo of your footsteps. You are made aware of your own company. It was all so silent. The sound of your own breathing is all you can hear. You look up to a starless inky sky. Oops, the world is not giving you the chance to be melodramatic. So you hurry on with your business. You touch the gates and thought twice. Nah, not yet. You take a step back and another and found yourself wound up the path to the other side of the chapel. The night is young and silent, a short walk won’t hurt.
You made your way, circling the chapel, passing by the statue of the Virgin of the Poor, which students barely notice. The wind blew once more, this time a wee bit stronger and your hair gets messed up again. But this time, you let out a sigh. You are back where you started and trudged in. The prayer session has started and you are very late but the congregation welcomes you anyway. They won’t judge you because they will understand you, because no matter what type of person you are, Christ is in you. Or so they believe. They smile to acknowledge you and bow down to continue. You sit on a space in the circle they formed and followed. A single candle was the only light in the room. It had a kind of dramatic effect to it, plus their calm faces aglow in the dark. As if on cue, instrumental music plays. Ah there it is, your chance to be melodramatic which the stars denied. “Reflect” a woman says. Everybody closes their eyes but you. You stared in to the light of the candle, hypnotized by the single dancing flame, like a moth about to be consumed by its flames. You are about to enter into some sort of reflective meditative state where you think of so many impossibilities and smile because you think you’re
TWICE
IT was a rather blistery, blustery night. The cool wind was whipping your hair all over your face. Great. You get slightly pissed because you just combed your hair. A curse or two escapes your delicate lips. As you make your way to the chapel, you listen to the echo of your footsteps. You are made aware of your own company. It was all so silent. The sound of your own breathing is all you can hear. You look up to a starless inky sky. Oops, the world is not giving you the chance to be melodramatic. So you hurry on with your business. You touch the gates and thought twice. Nah, not yet. You take a step back and another and found yourself wound up the path to the other side of the chapel. The night is young and silent, a short walk won’t hurt.
You made your way, circling the chapel, passing by the statue of the Virgin of the Poor, which students barely notice. The wind blew once more, this time a wee bit stronger and your hair gets messed up again. But this time, you let out a sigh. You are back where you started and trudged in. The prayer session has started and you are very late but the congregation welcomes you anyway. They won’t judge you because they will understand you, because no matter what type of person you are, Christ is in you. Or so they believe. They smile to acknowledge you and bow down to continue. You sit on a space in the circle they formed and followed. A single candle was the only light in the room. It had a kind of dramatic effect to it, plus their calm faces aglow in the dark. As if on cue, instrumental music plays. Ah there it is, your chance to be melodramatic which the stars denied. “Reflect” a woman says. Everybody closes their eyes but you. You stared in to the light of the candle, hypnotized by the single dancing flame, like a moth about to be consumed by its flames. You are about to enter into some sort of reflective meditative state where you think of so many impossibilities and smile because you think you’re