The Anchoress


By J. L. Dean

The Office of the Dead continued, its ringing tone slipping between the cold stones of the church to settle with those buried below. Agnetha remained inert, becoming to a corpse, even a breathing one, as it passed from the life it had known. Hands grasping in the dark; too many hungry eyes on her, and her fortune. She kept her eyes on the bishop, her uncle, whose oft-professed love for her had taken on a different hue when she had asked her favour.
The taste of him lingered in her mouth. Yet the favour had been granted. She had taken her vow; she would remain here, in this cell attached to the church. As anchoress, a living saint, she would be left to decay in piety without the corruption the world demanded.
Above the chanting, she heard birdsong. Her heart broke even as it lifted. The natural world thrummed around her in all its sustaining beauty. She mourned, but saw no alternative. Her parents were dead and there were too many wolves in the forest.
Her uncle’s voice took on a mournful tone as she was led into her tomb. A bed, an altar and a crucifix. She did not face the door as it was sealed though she flinched as the bishop added his mark.
The rite was over. A hatch in the church-side window opened and her uncle himself pushed through her fare of bread and wine.
“Forgive me. I was weak for you are fair.”
She took the goblet and swirled the wine around her mouth, its sweetness replaced the bitter taste he had left. Her eyes pierced him until his lowered then she turned to the night-soil bucket, and spat.

284 words


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

40 Units

  “ You take forever to order just like with everything else, you haven’t changed at all have you?” A familiar voice with an unfamiliar face calls from behind. A long-lost friend welcomes unfamiliar emotions. We stare at each other in silence because I don't want to have small talk. I know her life ain’t easy, and at the same time, I still fall into the same small talk I desperately want to avoid. Cause just looking at her I know it’s not easy. Taking care of four kids by herself while working at Church's chicken ain’t nothing to even smile about. But I still ask her “How's everything” because I have no clue what else I should say to you. I want to make a joke, cause you know me as a class clown but life is no joke, and I know that better than anyone. Life's not fair in the slightest and I’ve always known that from being in foster care. Yet even I didn’t think life could be so cruel to just steal Rufina’s life from her. You tell me about how tough things ha...
Read more

Childcare

Image
Originally published in https://fiftywordstories.com/2023/12/27/derek-mcmillan-childcare/ Tom was a very badly behaved lad. Dick was frankly a demon. Their parents were careful to keep quiet when they were in the cradle. Harry’s parents were forever playing their Rod Stewart records. He was a very well-balanced child. Perhaps if you spare the Rod you spoil the child. Derek McMillan is a writer in Durringon in the UK. His editor is his wife, Angela. He has written for print and online publications in the UK, USA and Canada. His latest work is the cheerfully- entitled audio-book "Murder from Beyond the Grave" which is available on eBay. Check it out. Click Here
Read more

Demons

Image
Demons cannot do harm in real life. In dreams and reveries? Untold damage. People in the village were saying that the girl I met on the common was a demon. They seemed pretty certain about it too. This was ridiculous. Erica had long blonde hair and blue eyes. In those days all demons were foreigners and she did not look like a foreigner. Even so, I got her to swear blind that she was not a demon. "Do I look like a demon?" "No." "Well then." "So you're not?" "No, Tony, I am not a demon. I could swear on a Bible." She did and the Bible did not burst into flames either. The village was Sodbury but Erica actually came from Nether Sodbury which was a twenty minute walk away. Nobody in Sodbury ever went there. To say that Erica haunted my dreams would make her sound sinister. Let's just say that I haunted my own dreams with images of Erica. My family would not countenance a marria...
Read more