Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar.
Faith.
That is what he first believed. That single and precious word stood strong in him since he was a child.
Now this.
The sky, now covered with bulging, explosive like clouds, seemed as conflicted as he was. It was a Friday night, and his friends were all inside, vaguely wondering where their host went. They’d like to thank him, for such a wonderful party.
He squinted far beyond the ocean and the sky, now as one, for a sign. He pleaded for a sign to appear, a sign that would reassure him that faith, still belonged to the world.
Then, he remembered.
There he went, striding into the church on a bright Sunday morning, looking forward to conducting a sermon, in honour of The Lord. He looked forward to the awe that would struck each and everyone’s face in the devouted, single minded crowd who also, like him, seeked solice in the high temples of the Cathedral.
Slowly pushing the front doors, polished with a gold sheen, the twenty pound door seemed lightweight to him.
He turns expectedly, thought he heard childrens’ angelic voices, chiming outside. What stood before him was a vast empty plain instead. He was slightly taken aback, but still kept hope that the audience will soon come.
Hope.
He scoffed. He had lost all hope. Hope for his people, hope for his dear country, and hope for himself. The Sky now turned a darker hue; a storm was about to unleash itself upon the tiny coastal town.
It was that cool, sunny Sunday morning where he found the signs of disappearance. As usual, he headed towards his pedestal, resting the Holy Bible on the erected structure with a Holy cross, carved out of pure gold, which had been a gift from the architects who carefully built the magnificent Cathedral of Westminster. There, he stood, basking in the glory as priest without taking a slight notice to the unusually empty benches. Instead, there was a stranger who sat quietly in the pews. When he made eye contact with the man, neither one of them spoke. The man had a smirk on his face.
Ignoring the mrik completely, thinking that the man was casually admiring the beauteous structure, the Priest asked the Man politely about his visit.
“Hello. Have you come to attend the service this morning? You don’t seem like one of the regulars… Have you been recently baptized?”
“No, I’m just here. Though, I’m surprised there is only one person here. Why is that?” The Man smiled.
“Oh.”
The Priest, finding the Man’s smile odd and somewhat rude, decided to be a little bit more straightforward. The Man knew something he didn’t.
“Do…you happen to know why there’s no one here?” The Priest was hesitant, but only this came out of his mouth.
“How would I know? Why don’t you ask The Lord himself?” The Man said mockingly.
“Perhaps…perhaps The Lord has sent his people on some sort of mission…yes, yes…that’s it…”
How can I be so easily persuaded by this strange man? Do I have doubt?
“I never thought Priests would be so thick. Haven’t you been aware of anything lately?” The Man was finished with the Priest; he couldn’t resist lashing out.
“A never-ending revolution has begun! Haven’t you even heard of Darwin’s Origin of species?”
“No.”
“We are not God’s creatures. None of us are…apparently we are descendants of monkeys. Isn’t that magnificent? A science discovery so profound…” The Man, caught in his own world now, began to ramble while the Priest, now in utter shock, tuned everything out.
Are we? What are we?
Out of the many times The Priest prayed, none of it seemed superficial until then. None of it.
“Damn it!” The Priest roared.
At a loss of words, The Priest only wanted to isolate himself completely, and shun the rest of society. He felt useless, and powerless against the dark forces of faith-destroying discoveries.
She looks around trying to gather her vision, searching for her husband, at long last finding him standing on the beach with his right hand stretched out into the open ocean.
Trying to comprehend the absurd behaviour her husband is displaying, she automatcially proceeded to greet him like she normally did: gently slip her fingers and hand, finally resting on his.
Dressed in a summer gown, it was uncomfortable to be in the sun, rays stinging and bouncing about her skin like little devils poking their pitch forks at her skin. And yet, she still walked with grace and poise, as she had been taught.
Now almost beside him, she could see the sadness that lay in his eyes. Numb to her presence, the now cold Priest felt himself freeze. His spirit is leaving.
Oh. But wait.
Warm flutters now tingled along his fingers. Still numb, he just wanted to be left alone, his hand almost following signal to slap whoever was disturbing his leaving. Sensing his agitation, she quickly grasps his hand, and clenches tightly with what little might her small hands had.
The weather, The Priest, drenched and left over by the rain and storm, faced the bright colour of red.
Red for death? The Priest wondered. Or is it…
His spirit falls back, slowly landing, closely melting back into his heart; he closes his eyes. The sun blinked, the waters climbed to get to their feet. In caress and in solice, The Priest once again found faith.
The Sea of Faith. The Sea of love.
