Flash Fiction Friday: Ave Maria

Courtesy of travelspot @ pixabay.com

Why does God give us gifts that we are too afraid to use?

Why, down to the very last freckle, the very last allergy, the very billionth nerve, are we made if we are going to fear what He wants us to have? Is He trying to teach us something? Was she?

Clara asks herself these questions frequently — as she eats, as she tries to sleep, as she showers, as she tries to navigate summer camp and hormones. She stares at the stained-glass savior, the four angels that surround him.

And she sings.

Her voice wavers and wobbles like a top on a table, but she sings.

Her childhood bronchitis keeps her left lung inaccessible to air, but she sings.

Her mother and father tell her to study chemistry, English — anything but music, but she sings.

Her tongue curls and bunches around the Latin phrases; her eyes wet with tears, but she sings.

Her life is her own, and yet it is not her own — it is His.

And she sings.

And she sings.

And she sings.

With no one but herself to listen to.

Hey, everybody. Again, this Flash Fiction piece is a strange one. It reads more like a poem than a piece of fiction, and it’s not what I’m used to. It’s more driven on emotion than plot. But I’ll let it be.

If you liked this piece or found it meaningful, please consider giving what you can so that I can write more stories like this.

That’s it from me. See you next post.


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