Anna Whinnery
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Forgive Us Our Trespasses
--A day before Thanksgiving-- St. Raphael is a quiet church. In its quiet, at the front of the antechamber, a marble relief of Mary stands with a face bowed and lovingly expressionless. Before her, an exchange priest draped in a white chasuble kneels with his hands clasped. whispering prayer. His name is Elijah, and his patron saint is Michael the Archangel. He is recently ordained and soon to be headed home from his time preaching in the States.
By Anna Whinnery7 months ago in Fiction
Edelweiss. Runner-Up in Christopher Paolini's Fantasy Fiction Challenge.
Nuristan province, Afghanistan. ------ Chapter One ------ I crane my long neck to gaze at the sky. The clouds are a wash of deep red and lavender blue. I hear birds above, but cannot make them out with my ruined eyes. Everything I see blends together; the rising sun, the clouds, and brush mixed into one, like reflections on a muddy pond. I feel the breeze against my cheek, cool and caressing. Shrubs poke at my thick hide, softly clicking as they brush from one silver scale to the next. The planes stretch long into the distance ahead, and I am walking slowly and cautiously, sweeping my tail back and forth behind me to erase my tracks. The last thing I want is to be found.
By Anna Whinnery3 years ago in Fiction
