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The Dove
There she was again, whispering prayers. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.”
“Clair?”
She turned in the pew. “Hi John. What are you doing here?”
He stepped forward from the vestibule, feeling the warmth of the sun alternate with cool shadows as he passed through slanted rays of light coming through the stained glass windows. “I came to see you.”
“Hello, then.” She got up from the kneeler and sat back in the pew, her hands resting in her lap.
“You look like an angel.”
“Thank you. Perhaps I am a fallen angel.”
John took her hand. “You will work through this, Clair. Your mother was in pain. Not anymore.”
Tears glistened in her eyes, and were illuminated by the shafts of light. “I know. But everything she taught me, John… that taking your life is a sin. That those who do can’t go to heaven. I don’t know what to believe. Or what I want to believe.”
If only he could take her torment away. She would smile again. They could begin planning their wedding.
There was a fluttering of wings, then, and a small white dove circled the church once and landed on the altar. It bobbed its head, as if trying to impart some message. Then it was airborne again.
“Oh!” Clair gasped as it flew past and out the open door into the sunshine. Then she smiled. “You’re right, John. I will work through this. She wants me to be free.”
Thank you for reading my 250-word micro-fiction story. Your comments are welcome!
I wrote this story when I ran a weekly micro-fiction writing contest, and I would also often contribute my own piece, just for fun. This story was my piece for the prompt, “grace.”