Devotion - Birdy Brunner
The sun loomed overhead of a dismal gray church. On the outside, there is nothing worth remarking upon, save for its intricate stained-glass windows. A mosaic image of a long dead saint dominated those hallowed halls. The blistering sun shone violently shone through the glass, as the insulated world of the church was tinged blood red. Cloistered within this sacred site, a lone figure was drenched under the oppressive light. Cloaked in black, a solitary young woman kneeled at the altar. A nun. Her hands are clasped in prayer; eyes vigorously closed. She clutched a rosary in desperate hands, with the fervor like that of disbelieving dying.
Rocking back and forth, the young woman rambled to the heavens. She was murmuring in Latin, repeating the same words over and over again, until her sentences bled together into a jumbled mess. The regulated rules of the church resulted in nonsense, as this paragon of virtue rejected the traditional systems in exchange for passion. The words of man no longer hold any meaning for a beacon of devout love.
Out of her darkness, a white light clouded the world. In shock, the young nun opened her eyes, but a painful, bleached nothingness embraced her. Tears streamed down her face. Her watery eyes slid out of her skull and down towards her hands—bathing her rosary in an unholy baptism. As the vision seeped away from the young woman, a velvety voice rang in her ears.
“Be not afraid”, the voice demanded. The young woman froze, unable to process what she was hearing. For a moment, it was quiet. A vibrating boom coursed through her veins—the only noise she perceived was her own heart beating in her chest. In this horrifying calmness, a feeling of longing overwhelmed the young woman. She realized that all of her worship, all of her adoration was pointless. There was a hole in her soul that she denied. Up until now, her sacraments have rebuked her—her spirit was starving. Her famished mind never delighted in the splendor of an appetite satisfied.
“Be not afraid”, the voice repeated, louder. What a silly statement—how could anyone fear nourishment? What was terrifying about righteous deliverance? Is a father providing for his child frighting? In mere seconds, an intense craving filled the young nun. An inescapable hunger was etched into her very soul—it was consuming whatever existed before and after.
Her sight was gone, but she has never been so enlightened. She needed more. She was empty and this being, this glorious, amazing being could fulfill her in ways that she never imagined.
She reached out her hands and felt warmth. The heat penetrated her skin and reached into her bones. She was suffocating—drowning in her own lungs.
The young nun screamed. She screamed. She screamed. In ecstasy. And then the world was silent.