Writing Prompt

I didn’t know how I got there or when it happened, but suddenly, I found myself standing before a narrow path under the harsh glare of the midday sun. There was no way to turn back, no other route to take. On either side of the path yawned a great abyss, shrouded in an impenetrable light. No bottom was visible. The only choice was to move forward.

So, I walked. I couldn’t say for how long. My usual watch, the one I always wore, was missing from my wrist, leaving me untethered from time. Step by step, the path began to widen. Gradually, olive trees appeared on either side, their silvery leaves whispering in a faint breeze. Ahead, a structure came into view, rising against the horizon, a building of old stone and Byzantine elegance. It looked like a church, weathered and abandoned, its domes and arches worn by time.

“Maybe there’s someone in there,” I thought, clutching to the hope that I might find help or at least answers. Where am I? How did I get here?

With that thought, I pushed open the tall, ancient doors, their hinges groaning like a tired sigh.

“Hello?” My voice echoed into the silence. “Is anybody here? I think I’m lost… I need some direction. Hello?”

The only response was my own voice bouncing back at me. I was alone. Completely alone.

Driven by curiosity and a gnawing sense that this place held the answers I sought, I began to explore. The air was freshly pleasant and warm with the scent of newness and at the same time history. I made my way to the altar at the heart of the church. Lifting my gaze to the dome above, I expected to see the usual stained-glass depictions of saints, their holy visages watching over the space with solemn grace.

But what I saw instead made me freeze in place. I blinked, unable to believe my eyes.

There, in the stained glass, were scenes from my life. It was unmistakable. Each panel depicted a moment, vivid and personal. My mother holding me as a newborn. My baptism, the cool water trickling down my forehead. My first graduation, the pride in my father’s eyes. My wedding day, my wife radiant in her dress. The birth of my first child, the overwhelming joy of that moment. And then, other milestones, scenes I had long since tucked away in the folds of memory, unfolded before me.

And then I saw the final panel. It showed me lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by my wife, my children, and my grandchildren. Their faces were heavy with love and sorrow.

It hit me all at once, the realization crashing over me like a wave. This was no ordinary path. I was no longer in the world I knew. I was leaving it. This journey was the crossing, the passage from earthly life to something far greater. The path had led me here, not to an abandoned church, but to the threshold of the eternal.

Tears blurred my vision as I stared up at the dome, my life spread before me in radiant colors. I wasn’t afraid anymore. I had walked the path, and now, it was time to move forward, into the light, into the heavenly city.

I came to this old church downtown for a little meditative solitude. I knelt at the altar briefly, did the sign of the cross,then sat in a pew upfront. I looked around and suddenly saw a familiar sight: my own image as a high school graduate. My eyes followed the pictures in stained glass. It was like having my life flash before my eyes. I saw more scenes from my life, from those revealing relationships to acts of charity and compassion. Then I saw the more deplorable actions and choices I’d made. I murmured my contrition, feeling tears roll down my cheeks. A priest walked in and I went in the confession booth. The priest kindly offered absolution as I poured out my heart.

TW: Hints at Religious Trauma from the Christian Church, Anxiety Attack Depicted

I inhale a deep shaky breath as I stare down my old enemy. The multi-story, multi-spired, Christian church looms over me trying to threaten me back to the person I used to be. It's been years since I set foot in a church but my momma asked me to come for the "experience". My breathing becomes ragged but I ground myself knowing I have faced worse demons than this. I march towards the building, determined to not crumble under the weight of, what they would call, my sins.

The large double doors greet me like a gaping maw ready to devour me whole. The flashbacks threatening to resurface as I enter this "hallowed ground". This monstrously large cathedral may be miles from the church that burned this trauma into my brain but it was still part of the large scale Church that reinforced the ideals that broke me and made me unsure of who I was.

I finally manage to enter the building and admire the gorgeous artwork, including the stained glass windows. The story the windows follow seems eerily familiar as I pace down the halls looking them over. I recognize my life as the images pass in front of me.

I nearly faint as I look around at the story of my life played out in glass. The room spins and my breaths catch in my throat. My eyes go foggy and then everything stops.

"So you've finally decided to join us," a voice booms from behind me.

"What?" I ask as I try to regain my bearings.

"Come now, sister. How could you not recognize your own brother?" The voice cackles loudly.

I look to the figure as he approaches me with his arms outspread as if for a hug. The deep thick scars that mar his wrists and ankles stand out against his sun-kissed skin. As he moves, another scar peeks out from his robe. This one much more ugly and prominent along his rib cage.

"No. You can't be," I gasp slowly backing away.

"I can't be what?" He asks, frozen in place upon my rejection.

"Jesus? Emmanuel? I- I'm not sure what I should call you," I stammer, trying not to let the pain and rejection show.

"Either one," he shrugs, "I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you, little sister. I never condoned any of what they said or did in my name."

"I don't need your pity," I spit, feeling the venom from the years of trauma spill out, "I don't care that you're sorry. You sat here and did nothing. You just watched as it happened. You saw them reject every last bit of who I am and stood silent."

"Sis-"

"No! You don't get to bring me here and tell me you're sorry! You don't get to say they butchered and abused your name for their own purpose! You knew every last thing they did to me and now you're 'sorry'? Sorry doesn't fix anything," I growl, finally unleashing everything I had pent up and told myself I would say to Him if I ever met Him.

I watch as he hangs his head. Tears drop to the floor and pool around his feet. My anger dissipates watching the highest power to some crumble beneath my words.

"Send me back. Let me go home," I say softly.

"I can't," he chokes out through his tears.

"What do you mean?" I ask numbly as if all of my emotions were simply gone.

"I can't send you back the way you were. You are to be the new Messiah," he says looking up at me.

"What?"

"Please don't fight it," he says softly as he lays a hand on my head.

His thumb rests between my eyes and suddenly I'm seeing visions, memories of the events from the Bible. After what seems like ages, the memories end.

"You know what you have to do?" He asks, removing his hand from my head.

I simply nod trying to comprehend all I just saw.

"Then go," he says as he sends me to bring about the events from Revelations and to bring the Church to its knees.

I bowed my head as I sat down on the wooden bench of this beautiful church. Empty, it was the perfect place to find silence. I sat thinking about god, who was God to me? What was religion to me? I was so unsure it frustrated me immensely. I had a sinking feeling in my gut whenever this thought came up in my mind. I hated it. It was the precise feeling that prevented me from thinking about God at all! Yet… here I was. Pondering.

The light shun through the colourful glass windows reflecting a lighter shade and shadow onto the ground. In all my years, I never thought to look at the stained glass with more intent. I never gave the effort to try and understand it. How strange it was now I finally saw it. I started from the left side, assuming I’d read them as though reading a book (in English I guess or more precisely not in Arabic).

A birth. Simple enough really. However, scanning slowly across the stained glass I noticed something bizarre. After scenes of a young boy being pushed to the ground, the stained glass showed a boy in school. When was Jesus, or any saint in a school with a TV!? I squinted, assuming that I’d seen wrong but I hadn’t! Slowly I started to realise… this was my life! My first girlfriend in college. Studying at University and posing with a cigarette whilst holding my certificate. Even the car accident I had when I was twenty three, I’m lucky I even survived that! Surely this was no coincidence.

I needed answers.

I got up from the bench and wandered around the big crowded space occupying the church. There were no doors leading to anywhere but outside and no one was around.

“What kind of…” I muttered to myself.

I was out walking one day and I saw a church. Unusually the door was opened and I walked right in. There was a lovely piece of stained glass behind one of the side altars.

I made my way over to it. At first it looked like it was telling the story of a life gone by. Then I looked a little closer. The young child looked very familiar. As I looked further on, I realised why. This wasn't just any child. It was me.

As I kept looking, there were more and more events that meant something to me. From getting all A's in my exams to the sudden loss of my grandpa. The loss of my Grandpa hurt so much. He was a mentor to me and taught me the essence of living. ‘Live in the day and the future will come.’ They were all executed in beautiful stained glass.

I then moved to my present life. There was the starting of my business, the struggles to keep it going and the feeling of success that it's still going.

Then there was the depiction of me meeting my boyfriend all the way up to his proposal. We were in Hawaii. The beach was deserted. He got down on one knee and asked me so shyly. It was sweet! He is everything I’ve ever wanted and more. A sweet nerd in specs. Next was me preparing for the wedding. It was an amazing thing to see.

I turned and walked out with a huge grin on my face. It wasn't what i saw that made me smile. It was what I didn't see. The thing was that at the bottom there was a huge amount of plain glass.

As I kept walking I thought "While I may not know what lies ahead, at least it looks like I've got a long time to find out."

I walked in to the old abandoned church in the middle of nowhere. I wanted to sing like a siren, but I was too busy admiring the stained glass. Suddenly, I looked a bit closer. I saw flashes of me going to prom and getting married. The weird thing was that I could see me. It told my past as well as my future.

Every small town has that one area nobody wants to go into. Usually old and dilapidated possibly abandoned for a century. I was always interested in these places, the stories left behind from people years ago excited me. Late one evening I decided to wander let my mind be free and ready to piece together stories of the past. I wandered around the old town looking at houses and banks but nothing struck my interest more than the old church that sat at the end of the street. It looked like the center piece of a perfect picture standing tall yet thin. It was made of wood yet now it looks like tar from being burned almost to the ground. There were trees on either side of the church very large oak trees that still stood tall against the church. As I got closer it almost seemed to get cooler. I walk inside and my head falls all the way back trying to look up to the point of the church. As I walk down the aisle looking at old bibles slightly torched and flipped open I feel a chill go up my spine and my name whispered in the background. I jumped and turned quickly to see nobody there I even walk back out to the steps leading into the church and there’s nobody in the area. Slightly startled I fight the urge to run away and never come back but something is drawing me to the altar to see what I can find. My legs feel frozen trying to decide which part of my brain it wants to listen too. I stop the bickering in my brain and take a deep breath and I feel a breeze almost carry me forward to the altar once I’m there I am stunned to see a book listed with names I look through the names and find my name has been written in there. “How could that be? Nothing here is new so who knew my name?” I see that the list has people’s names crossed out except for mine… “This makes no sense why was i led here” I look around for clues until I catch a glimpse of what looks like my face in the stain glass windows. Not only is it my face it’s my family, where I grew up and things I haven’t yet seen but almost appears to be me getting married in the future. I stumble backwards and fall into a pew I’m thrilled yet terrified as to why my life events are plastered on these glass panes in a church. I run out and run back to the main part of town and tell my family and the sheriff about the glass panes of my future we all take a trip back down to the old church. As we walk in me leading the pack to the phenomenon I have uncovered I hear giggles and snickers among my family and friends. The sheriff asks why I wasted his time coming all the way down to this mess. I am horrified as the glass panes have been shattered and lay all across the ground. I stand towards the altar and realize the book is gone too! Everything was gone. “I promise it was all here I don’t know what could’ve happened. Please believe me” I exclaimed. I felt like I was in a horrible nightmare of embarrassment. Once the crowd left with my dignity I sat in a pew and held my head in my hands trying to make sense of what could’ve happened to me. As I start to cry I feel the cold breeze come again, colder than ever before. I feel this breeze surround me and although it feels cold it makes me feel warm inside. I look up and my mouth drops open as I appear in front of the panes now back in place with the book on the ground in front of me with my name crossed out. I watch as the last bit of sunlight makes a ray onto a pane I haven’t seen yet it shows a car accident my family talks about when I was a baby but I also notice a young boy sitting next to me in the back seat of the car and in the next pane it shows him holding me… “Did I have a brother?!” I was always the only sibling how did my family not tell me about this boy who appears to be my brother. I start spiraling with thoughts and emotions about this boy until I take a seat thinking I’m going to puke. “I came here to piece together other people’s life’s not my own” I sobbed. I put my head down and wished it would all go away. Until I hear a faint whisper next to me “Times up”

The storm outside was ravenous, splintering the thatched roofs and beating heavy on the backs of those who dared to brave her.

Luella, one of the few people still outside at this hour, didn’t bother with outrunning the storm; no, she had far worse things to outrun.

Her scuffed black shoes splashed in puddles as she ran blindly through the night. She only stopped when necessary, glancing over her shoulder to see if her captors were still following her. Though she couldn’t see them, she could hear their booming footsteps skittering down alleyways towards her.

After a while, Luella paused to catch her breath. She bent over, blinking away the drops of water that slid into her eyes. She couldn’t outrun them. She needed to hide. But where?

Luella glanced around quickly, looking for any place that would offer her cover. She couldn’t go into any one’s home. They’d take one look at her dark skin and unnatural red hair and shut the door. No, she needed someplace else.

Then, as if materialized from water and fog, the church stood up ahead. The dark wooden building with the single large wooden cross sitting erect at its steeple beckoned her forward, promising shelter and warmth.

Luella hiked up her skirts, though they were already soaked through with muddy water, and ran towards the church. It took all her strength to yank open the heavy wooden doors, but when she did, she shut them quickly behind her and leaned against the frame.

Luella breathed deeply, resting her back against the solid wooden door in relief as the musky scent of incense wafted through the air, familiar and warm. Her grandmother had been a devout Christian her entire life, and Luella and her mother had followed closely in her footsteps. Now, looking at the rows of abandoned pews and the white stone altar at the front of the room, Luella wished for the scene to rekindle the same comfort that it did before. But she no longer felt it, not since the villagers had used that very same religion to turn against her and brand her the epitome of anti- Christianity. Her family and their healing traditions were labelled as ‘witchcraft’ and were seen as acts of the devil. Even worse, the unnatural circumstances that befell her in her youth made her seem even stranger, even more fearful.

Luella lifted her skirts and wrung them dry, watching the water soak into the wooden floors beneath her.

When she got most of it dry, she walked along the aisles, admiring the handiwork it took to craft this place. If there was one thing she had to admit, it’s that Christian’s were the worlds most beautiful architects. Each image depicted in wood and statue were beautifully done, as though the maker were granted with the divine ability to create beauty.

A ripple of thunder clamoured outside and Luella gritted her teeth as the church shook ever so slightly. The storm out there was brutal, but at least it would slow her captors. A strike of lightning accompanied the sound and Luella watched in awe as the vibrant streak lit up the stained glass windows that lined the vaulted ceilings above the altar. There were five detailed panels of stained glass shining down on the altar, coloured in the most ethereal hues imaginable.

The first panel showed a woman with thick dark coils holding a wrapped bundle in her arms. The woman’s face was lifted to the heavens in plea and tears spilled down her cheeks. With the rain beading the glass from the outside, the tears almost looked real.

The baby in her arms was unnaturally purple, it’s flaming locks a stark contrast to its lack lustre skin.

The second panel showed the child at an older age, her hair piled high on her head. She was kneeling beside a figure laying on a hospital bed, her palms laying flat on the persons chest. From beneath her palms sprouted flowers and leaves, their vivacity coiling around her hands.

The third panel showed the girl drowning, her body floating frozen in sheets of vivid sapphire and azure glass. A halo of golden light was wrapped around her head and her palms were upturned, holding that same light at their centres.

The forth panel had the girl tied to a stake, her bright red hair a stark contrast against the sooty black glass that surrounded her. Slivers of orange and gold curled along the lower edge of the panel, wrapping around the girls ankles and engulfing her in flames. Her face was frozen in agony as hoards of people watched her burn.

The final panel was a sunrise, the strips of red and yellow brilliant and intense against the bright blue of the sky.

Luella allowed her eyes to scan the pictures again, in an attempt to understand why they both fascinated and unnerved her. Then it dawned on her.

The images depicted on the windows were of her own experiences, each picture a perfect representation of key moments in her life.

The first was her mother clutching her lifeless body after childbirth. Luella had been born a stillborn, blue and breathless. Her mother swore that it was only through prayer and promises to the gods that life entered her body and she took her first breath.

The second was when she was only a child visiting the hospital. When she placed her hands on a dying woman, praying to heal her and bring her back to life, the woman’s body began to change. The disease seemingly vanished after Luella placed her hands on her and within moments, she was fully healed and taking her first steps in years since the illness befell her.

The third was the day she had slipped in the creek while picking berries and drowned in the currents that took her. That was the second time she died and the second time she was once again, reborn. A second miracle granted from the gods for a longer life.

The fourth and fifth picture she didn’t understand yet. Were they showing her future? Would the villagers going to catch her anyway and burn her at the stake?

Non of this even made sense. Why was her life pictured on three stained glass windows anyway?

Luella examined the last two images, trying to decide what they meant, when a loud banging reverberated throughout the chapel.

Luella whipped her head to the entrance , eyes wide, only to see the doors rattling at its hinges. Someone- or many someone’s- were banging at the door, using their strength to force it open. Luella panicked, trying to find a place to hide but finding non in the empty chapel.

Suddenly, the door sprung open and the group surged in, filling the entrance with their fierce hatred and violence. She had nowhere to run and though she tried to protest and escape, their hands found her and wrapped around her body like a vice. Some of them relit their torches that had gone out from the rain and bound her with rope. Others even started praying silently.

Luella cast her eyes back to the last portrait and like that vibrant light spilling through the windows after a lightning strike, she finally understood. She let her body grow limp and allowed them to carry her away into the dark, stormy night.

Tonight she would die for the third time in her life, this time by fire. However, unlike the last two times, she wouldn’t be reborn in the same ways as she had before.

This time she’d come back as something else entirely, something that they had no choice but to fear.

The storm hit in ‘94. Truth is, if I had known about the rain, I would have planned ahead. I was never privy to churches. At some point in the beginning it was decided for me that the “Truth” would never be part of my path. By the time I was 10, I had caught on that my life wasn’t like every one else’s. “Don’t ask so many questions, hon, it’s just so unbecoming,” she’d say each time the pitchfork was put into my hands. So I didn’t. That’s not to say I wasn’t curious, but I knew enough to keep my mouth shut. It was a pretty lonely upbringing for the most part. Sometimes when I was really good, I’d get to play with the others. Mainly though, I was left to my own devices until they needed me. I didn’t mind helping them; just wish they would’ve let me take some of the credit more often and keep some of the cash. I’ve been told I was helpful for 15 years. I was never good at time telling, but I’d say that’s a pretty good run. Matter of fact, the day the storm cleared, that’s exactly what I was doing. Running. Fast. I could feel the icy air stab my lungs as I heaved with every step. My bare feet burned against the freezing ground. “If they ever come don’t believe anything they say, you’ll never be safe anywhere else.” Her words echoed in my mind as I looked for a safe haven. Anywhere, to hide from the destroyers who couldn’t understand. I looked back and forth across the empty road. Dawn was near and daylight would soon ruin my hopes of slipping away. Then there it was. I had seen buildings like this in the books I loved. A church I thought they called it. Its harsh pointed roof was offset by smooth arches that somehow drew me in. I knew I was never to step foot into one, but I was desperate. My heaving dissipated and I felt my feet carrying my body through the heavy wooden doors. Silence engulfed every bit of my being as a smell, so captivating took over my senses. Was this really the “Truth” I had been told to steer clear of? As I moved into the vastness of the building magnificent glass windows caught my eye. At first, all I saw were lifeless people, pieced together by nothing more than tints and shades. But then, something shifted. A story suddenly unfolded. For some reason, it seemed so familiar I knew how it went. In the first scene there was a small child, not the boy I heard so many call the “messiah,” but a girl, with brown hair and freckles, riding a tricycle. Two people, a man and a woman stood over her, clapping and smiling, as if they had a connection that no one else could understand. The next scene though, was not so uplifting. The same man and woman seemed distraught. People were surrounding them, holding candles, bouquets of flowers, and folding their hands as if they were begging. And finally there was the third scene. The storm. A lighting bolt was etched into the glass and the same little girl, whose brown curls had vanished, was no longer riding her tricycle. She was in a tiny room painted with scenes from every little girls’ picture book, sealed with a lock, never to return to the man and woman from the first mosaic. I stood staring, dumbfounded by the feeling that this story was my own. I suddenly realized. The path that I traveled for 15 years had never been mine. It was stolen. As the “destroyers” rushed in to claim my new path I no longer resisted. A moment of clarity encompassed me. While I didn’t know what would happen next, I knew I was meant to discover the truth. Whichever path they chose for me now didn’t matter. A ray of sunlight reflected off of the first window and I closed my eyes to take it in. As I was slowly accompanied out of the church into the abyss, one thing was clear. The storm had finally subsided.

Usually people walk into Church to reflect and try and piece things together in their lives that seem to be out of order. To try and create a balance from chaos within the confines of a beautifully constructed and adorned four walls. Churches breed tranquility, they exude calmness and induce thought. One walks in and sees the statues, the stained glass windows and begin to feel history and realize that their problems aren’t new to the world. They can see the struggles of those that came before them reflected in the art, spoken of in the Bible and felt in the statues. Sometimes, people relate to the images on the windows of saints and martyrs, they see the persecution and begin to understand why they are being persecuted against in their own lives. They see pain in the eyes of the characters in the painting and relate to the artists interpretation and angst. It’s no longer a saying that “Art reflects life” it’s a feeling that resonates deep in their souls. Crisis is inherent to the human condition. It’s timeless and knows no limit or holds itself back from anyone person or group of people. We as a group take comfort in knowing that are struggles are not our own, that someone, somewhere, at sometime has gone through the same things we are going through in our lives. We sleep a little better knowing that we are not alone in our experiences of the world. We can sit and look at a stained glass window in a place of reverence and appreciate the art for what it is while we revere the message it represents.