a short story | winner of MFP#6
colors & eastern religion
colors & eastern religion
Despair
Black, like his pupils. They were dark and pierced through me. It didn’t matter what color his eyes were.
It was the undiscovered universe behind them. It was the mysterious darkness that looked at me. It was like the
color of this room. Completely and utterly pitch black.
I opened my eyes and studied the shadows of the silence. All I saw was black, like a void, trying to swallow me.
My sheets were reassurance that I was still alive, still breathing, still lying in the stiff, sanitized bed in a hospital room.
Father Sergius is scheduled to visit me today. He will arrive with his black cassock and black briefcase and
black shoes. He will open his briefcase and pull out his cross and a few other holy things. He will caress his black
prayer rope with his fingers. He will ask what is on my mind, what is ailing me.
What will I say? It’s all around me. It caresses my skin, yet I cannot feel it. It holds me tight but never touches me.
It folds me into the very heart of my sin. It leaves me empty and cold. Yet, no matter how close I am to the darkness, it
never leads me to him.
All I have are memories of him. I can watch them. I can hear them. I can replay them over and over. They are a part
of me, and yet I am not a part of them.
How can I keep searching in the darkness for his mysterious universe? No matter how close I get to the darkness, it
will never be close enough to see him again. However, I must not lose hope, Father Sergius, even if it kills me.
Black, like his pupils. They were dark and pierced through me. It didn’t matter what color his eyes were.
It was the undiscovered universe behind them. It was the mysterious darkness that looked at me. It was like the
color of this room. Completely and utterly pitch black.
I opened my eyes and studied the shadows of the silence. All I saw was black, like a void, trying to swallow me.
My sheets were reassurance that I was still alive, still breathing, still lying in the stiff, sanitized bed in a hospital room.
Father Sergius is scheduled to visit me today. He will arrive with his black cassock and black briefcase and
black shoes. He will open his briefcase and pull out his cross and a few other holy things. He will caress his black
prayer rope with his fingers. He will ask what is on my mind, what is ailing me.
What will I say? It’s all around me. It caresses my skin, yet I cannot feel it. It holds me tight but never touches me.
It folds me into the very heart of my sin. It leaves me empty and cold. Yet, no matter how close I am to the darkness, it
never leads me to him.
All I have are memories of him. I can watch them. I can hear them. I can replay them over and over. They are a part
of me, and yet I am not a part of them.
How can I keep searching in the darkness for his mysterious universe? No matter how close I get to the darkness, it
will never be close enough to see him again. However, I must not lose hope, Father Sergius, even if it kills me.