Written for OLWG# 229
These days, when Father Malachi prayed, it was only because it was a necessary part of the ritual. He no longer believed in the power of prayer, but he would never admit it. Long ago, he had determined that God didn’t listen, or maybe she couldn’t listen; he didn’t know which.
He still believed though. How could he not?
How could he not believe when he looked up at the evening sky. When he absorbed the colours of the breaking dawn or watched the myriad ways that light can filter through heavy grey clouds at midday?
This week’s prompts were:
- almost never prayed
- she can’t hear you anymore
- notice the light