Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Mea Culpa (Through My Fault) by Patrick Sean Lee (best management books of all time txt) 📖
- Author: Patrick Sean Lee
Book online «Mea Culpa (Through My Fault) by Patrick Sean Lee (best management books of all time txt) 📖». Author Patrick Sean Lee
The Vicar
Her skin was the color of sweet August wheat. Scarlet rivulets trickled from the corners of her mouth. I beheld her blasphemous beauty in December, at midnight, standing in the church cemetery. A black cat sat in white snow at her feet, peering at me with its penetrating amber eyes. Without moving her lips, Lydia Belgrasse called to me. She smiled, offering glistening white death—or life eternal—in her un-holy bed. Lust entices, and then consumes the foolhardy entirely
, I recalled.
Today, one hundred years hence, I kneel asking God’s forgiveness beneath a crucifix that sears my ageless face.
The Woman
I am no hideous winged bat, no Transylvanian comic book ghoul. I am merely Lydia from Chippenham, in the south of England. Eighteen years passed until my birth; a hundred more, with nights of dining midst sweet blood and cries for mercy.
Philip of Canterbury, my first love, has gone. They killed him. I did not think it possible. He waits for me in Hades, but he shall wait forever.
He is lovely, this man, one foot lingering on the church steps. The cat stares at him. I smile and call with silent words, knowing he will come to me.
I Am
These sons and daughters of Satan, haters of my children, scourges upon the earth! I am bound by laws written by my hand to stay my fury in all things mortal.
This priest, shepherd of Chippenham’s congregation, is lost.
He kneels, a piteous hollow shell, bleating, “Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.” She lurks in the shadows, mocking.
I am the desert wind. I am the cataract of stars. I am the fierce sun that blinds men. I am who am. Thus—violating no law—I show my face to this abomination. Lydia curses as he turns to ash.
Editing: Self
Publication Date: 06-27-2012
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