WEN: 44E2AF
Exhibitor Name: Riley Sutton
Division: Creative Writing--
Class: 04 Short Stories (
FORGIVEN By Riley Sutton
I stand in front of the building, the towering mass rising up only a few feet away. It was a small church, narrow but still extremely tall with a large wooden door at the entrance. The green glass windows are on either side of the building. I take a step towards it. It’s completely deserted on a Wednesday at 2:57 PM, but I know I have to do this. I walk up the steep, rubble path taking deep breaths. Fear seeps into my every breath, every heartbeat, every step. Memories flash before my eyes: our car speeding down the highway, my mother’s screams, my little sister gripping my hand so tightly that I thought I might pass out. I stumble backwards. I have to do this. I know they would want me to. I open the doors, blessing myself with holy water from the brass bowl sitting on the entrance table. Multi-colored pamphlets tell me about church events and dinners, but I walk pass, walking down the center aisle past the pews. The church is beautiful with stained glass windows on opposite sides, oak beams supporting the ceiling, floral arrangements on every table and surface they can put them on. The church is very narrow so they fit three very small pews into each row. I walk to the front into a small room. A divider prevents me from seeing the priest on the other side but I already know he’s there. I sit down, breathing deeply. It feels like thorns have wrapped themselves around my lungs and every single breath is pain. I look up at the glass ceiling, at the world beyond where I will eventually have to return to. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been almost three years since my last confession.” “What is troubling you?” “My parents and my younger sister died in a car accident almost a year ago. Eventually, the pain I felt every day faded, but then I felt guilty. How could I be allowed to recover? Why was I allowed to feel fine and go to my high school football games and hang out with my friends when my family was dead. I am forgetting them.” “It is not a sin to recover. Your family is not upset or hurt that you are finding peace. They are happy that you are recovering. Everyone experiences loss some time in their life. Our Lord deemed it time to bring them home, they are in a good place.” I start sobbing, “Why couldn’t they bring me with them? Did they not want me to go with them? Why did they leave me?” My priest sighs, “Reagan, you are strong. It is not your time, the amount of good you will do in this world. Remember they are looking down on you. Do you think they would be upset that you are happy?” I look down at my hands, my fingernails chewed down to the quick. I remember waking up in the hospital, barely being able to think. I remember my grandmothers crying, my aunt having to run out of my room because I reminded her too much of my mother. I remember my cousin, Noah, sitting in a chair by my side every day. He would walk in every day as soon as visiting hours started and
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