Categories > Original > Drama
Spades
0 ReviewsAnother snippet. Ellen questions her faith and a woman's choice of accessories.
The vicar had a clear, resounding voice, one that commanded respect, yet Ellen found herself strangely detached. The church was suddenly just another building, the pulpit merely decorated wood. And, for once in her life, Ellen found herself willing the voice to stop. Stop talking about God's will so she could think. That young man died at his own hands, but was He standing on the platform, ready to push when the train approached? Later, when she had time to clear her head, Ellen would concede that the answer was no, it was not God's doing. But there, in that church there seemed little other explanation.
As the congregation finally filtered out of the church Ellen lingered at the doors. The vicar was shuffling his notes at the pulpit, before sighing and checking his watch. The simple action seemed so human, so mundane, it seemed unfitting in the house of God. With a dejected demeanour she turned and, shielding her eyes from the bright midday sun, passed through the open doors. A few parishioners remained on the grounds, turning to greet her as she walked by. They too seemed wearisome, compared to the ardent worshippers she remembered, though their faces remained the same.
It wasn't until the church grounds ended, and the public footpath began that her attention was ensnared. On the left, a mere hundred yards away from where Ellen stood, was a woman walking, a spade casually slung over her shoulder. Her nonchalant yet upbeat attitude was surprising as she had obviously been working hard. Her brow was damp with sweat and the end of her spade caked with mud and grass. For a few brief seconds Ellen debated questioning her as she passed, but the woman flashed her a smile, big and bold and genuine, and it seemed rude to ask.
As the congregation finally filtered out of the church Ellen lingered at the doors. The vicar was shuffling his notes at the pulpit, before sighing and checking his watch. The simple action seemed so human, so mundane, it seemed unfitting in the house of God. With a dejected demeanour she turned and, shielding her eyes from the bright midday sun, passed through the open doors. A few parishioners remained on the grounds, turning to greet her as she walked by. They too seemed wearisome, compared to the ardent worshippers she remembered, though their faces remained the same.
It wasn't until the church grounds ended, and the public footpath began that her attention was ensnared. On the left, a mere hundred yards away from where Ellen stood, was a woman walking, a spade casually slung over her shoulder. Her nonchalant yet upbeat attitude was surprising as she had obviously been working hard. Her brow was damp with sweat and the end of her spade caked with mud and grass. For a few brief seconds Ellen debated questioning her as she passed, but the woman flashed her a smile, big and bold and genuine, and it seemed rude to ask.
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