100-Word Challenge, Day 142


I am silent for a couple of minutes, uncertain where to begin or even how. I remember the words of an old priest who I had been watching over nearly a thousand years earlier. He said, “God does not care how beautiful your words are. He only cares that you speak.” It sounded better in old French, but the words were strong and true, or at least I had seemed so to me. The priest had died days later from smallpox. Few of his parishioners had been upset. I suppose that their own, personal, losses had been hard enough to bare.

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