Pray // h.s.

✝prologue✝

✝

I told him simply to pray and have faith that God would forgive and cleanse away his sins.

He told me he couldn't wash away what's inked into dead skin.

✝

The unfortunate day I turned eighteen was the unfortunate day I was reluctantly sent to St. Belina's convent to begin my journey of what I was told would be an enriching way to cement my faith in the Lord.

You may say that Lady Fortune rolled her wheel in my favour but I honestly did not wish to embark on something that simply limited my being and prevented me from actually experiencing life.

Growing up, I lived an almost puritan lifestyle, sheltered from the norm of my generation. No dances, no socialising and especially no boyfriends. My parents strictly made sure I stayed safely inside the lines of a metaphorical colouring book and they ensured that I didn't dare explore past the boundary with daring colours of all sorts; vibrant reds and electrifying blues.

Life for me has always been a monotonous tapestry of grey.

My parents are the reason I was sent to the convent, locked away in the confinement of a bland, small cell. The dank reality of the horrendous conditions camouflaged themselves beneath a gloriously over-proclaimed institution that, in my humble assumptions, is based on hypocritical phonies as well as misunderstood interpretations.

But for the sake of pleasing my parents, I try to conceal my unwanted opinions.

Day one at the convent; I arrived, I was handed some basic attire, I was given a room and I was briefed on the fundamental schedule in which I would have to stand by.

I was told that as long as I was conforming to the endless list of rules, I wouldn't have to worry about being literally shunned out of the sisterhood and left to face the disappointed wrath of my parents, for it would have been simply unacceptable for me to shame the family name in such an unforgiveable way.

Day Two followed the same schedule, similarly to day three and day four, five, six and seven. Each day felt the same as the previous, a continual cycle that I reluctantly stayed committed too despite my secret inner wishes to break free of the chains of obligation to a sham as I see it.

I felt alone in all honesty, there was no one to talk to but God and yet he seemingly served me with a lack of response.

I felt like I had not a single ounce of self left, I was simply a clone. A puppet dangling helplessly on strings, swaying lifelessly in sync with a draft filtering in unwelcomed to a cold cell.

I did feel lifeless, and alone and lost and God, the fundamental reason the very convent exists, didn't even offer me a sense of guidance.

However, remedies come in all shapes and various formats.

And for some, it's sometimes best to look not in a detailed rational mind-set but one of colour and passion and abstract.

Little did I know that when I was sent to the local prison to help offer simplistic guidance and to help enlighten at least a few seeds of faith, I would face the smouldering glare of an emerald-eyed murderer.

He in himself was cardinally abstract and for the first time in my life I decided to blur the lines too.

✝

This story is under copyright.

✝

All cover credit goes to strawberrymuke - she is amazing and makes the best covers!

✝

Throughout my story, there are indeed views on religion which challenges the faith of my characters, etc. Please recognise that this is a work of fiction and all theories, thoughts and discussion on religion is not meant to be offensive or degrading to anyone. If you do not wish to read because of this reason then I most certainly understand. Thank you.

✝