Colour of Sin

arwenaragornstar

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The woman, accompanied by a little girl, enters the church with harried steps; she
genuflects in the poorly lit nave, surrounded by saints with stony stares.

Her lips move quickly—with fervour—she mutters prayers which fly up into the ether.

The little girl, all of five years old, who knows she must be still and quiet, shivers inside her coat.

She is cold, always cold.
She is told, always told
how bad she is, that she’ll never amount to anything, her eyes are the colour of sin, it is a shame that she exists.

She trembles, afraid, a tight feeling in her chest – here, in this holy place, can God see-and punish her for-her wickedness?

She readies herself for a possible lightening bolt should God decide to strike, but even in her fear she is careful, always careful

not to make a sound, not to remind the woman she is here…

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