‘The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit’. ‘The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit’. The words flowed from his mouth on a stream of venom. ‘The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit’. ‘The Father, the Son…’ In his hands a wooden cross was slowly eating away at his skin as he rubbed it gently between his fingers… ‘and The Holy Spirit’. ‘The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit’. Behind him a large stain glass window, through which the beginnings of a new day were seeping in. ‘The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit’. ‘The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit’. He began to cry. The tears rolling gently down his cheeks, mixing with the blood from his hands. Death, he hoped, was only moments away. The liquid on his hands smeared and stained the wood of the cross. ‘The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit’. There was a prayer in his voice. ‘The Father, The Son…’ In front of him a mirror, in which he could see all the hope of his soul, ‘and The Holy Spirit’.
His reflection stared back at him. He recognised the eye’s, the skin, but the smile… the smile was not his own. The teeth and the lips, too perfect, and the shape of the mouth, like the Cheshire Cat. He was frightened. ‘The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit’. He’d been a good man, all his life, he’d tried to be good. A child was aching from his chest. Help me. His words changed. ‘I’m a good boy’. ‘I’m a good boy’. His tears grew. The bone from his fingers beginning to show, as the wooden cross dug deeper and deeper in to his skin.
‘The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit’. He’d slipped once. Only the once. ‘I’m a good boy.’ ‘I’m a good boy’. The walls absorbed his words, there was no echo, no sounds of a world beyond the church. The quiet was closing in on him as the ray’s of light warmed the back of his head, reaching over him, pulling at the mirror. His reflection smiled. The hands, his hands, started to knock on the glass. ‘The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit’. He couldn’t look away. The reflection, his own shadow, edged its way further and further out of the frame. It’s hands pulled at his shoe laces, ran its fingers up his legs and pulled at the belt buckle of his trousers. ‘The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit’. The cross set a light in his hands. Still he clung to it.
The hands moved up his chest, the fingers reaching in side his mouth. Taping at his teeth. ‘The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit’. The lips touched his ear. ‘You’ve been a naughty boy’. ‘I haven’t’ he mumbled. ‘I haven’t’. ‘I’ve been a good boy’. The lips moved to his. Kissing him gently. ‘Not what I heard’. Then he laughed, moving his fingers over his eyes. ‘I heard you’d sold your soul’. His tongue licking at his cheek. ‘I was tricked, I was tricked’. The fingers dug into his eye sockets. ‘The Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit’. The hands covered his mouth. ‘Shhhhhhh… there’s a good boy. Shhhhhh’ Silence. Only the breath of the dying.
The light of the day began to warm the empty glass of the mirror, and there in it’s moving pattern’s, the wings of a bird. His eye’s grew wide. He had not been forgotten. He had not been forgotten. The fingers lashed at his sockets, nails ripping at his skin, as a squeal ran through his body, the words piercing his heart. ‘Seeing is believing, SEEING IS BELIEVING!’
As the caretaker open the church doors, there was that familiar taste of smoke on his lips. Vicars been on the pipe again. The church was full of light, unusual for late October. He stood in the aisle and for a moment warmed his bones from the sun as it pierced through the giant stain glass window. Heaven he thought. This is heaven. His feet trending on the ashes. As he went to fetch a broom, clear up the mess on the floor, candle he thought. One day the whole church’ll burn to a crisp. He collected the vicars mirror, left leaning against a pew. Lovely man. As vain as a Barbie doll though, and he shuffled off to the back rooms, unaware of the blind man, huddled in the corner. In the shadows of the wall, waving. Waving to a reflection in the mirror. A reflection that waved back, mockingly, as it juggled with the eyes of a lost soul.