Small flash fics dedicated to the characters and relationships of the Midnight Mass miniseries, written with the help of the special words of Writober 2021 ♥
A longing for a lost place - or a person - to which one cannot return
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(Father Paul Hill) •••
He has lost count of the days he has spent away from Crockett Island, and the only thought in his head as that boat almost reaches shore is that he has a time bomb in his heart ready to go off and that he doesn't know. when it will happen. It could be now, like never, like soon or at the end. John - no, that's not his name anymore; now he is Paul, the apostle to the Gentiles, the missionary of the Gospel, the one who had had the task of announcing the death and rebirth of Jesus. And hadn't the same happened to him? Maybe Paul wasn't the right name, but something inside - maybe God - had told him he didn't have to doubt and so, John, had decided never to look back, and embrace that new life, even though he was returning exactly to where he had passed. the last seventy years, if not more, with a new identity, a new name and a new mission.
A wooden trunk dragged by force from Jerusalem, where he had left his reason and his old self, jealously guarded next to him, on the prow of the ship, waiting to touch land and know - to return again to his home, to his church. . He had not seen the inhabitants of Crockett for a long time and, perhaps, his senile dementia had not given him the opportunity to recognize them even more, before the pilgrimage almost imposed by the local curia. From Bev? Was it she who insisted so much? John has this vague memory: he rests a hand on his forehead, trying to remember and, at the same time, not to return to pollute the mind with those ancient thoughts, which belonged to a different man.
He doesn't know them, he doesn't know who they are, he'll have to show up again.
JI am Father Paul Hill, I am replacing Monsignor Pruitt for a while, as he is ill,» he repeats in a low voice. He holds a rosary in his fingers. A hand firmly on the handle of the trunk, which creaks for a moment. Maybe it's too old the wood, maybe it's the angel who is tired of limiting its size to such a small space.
«Patient, messenger of the Father. Patient », Paul smiles, but he still feels inside that feeling of self-destruction and fear, the same one he felt when that divine being showed himself to his eyes.
Paul. Paul. Paul. Paul. This is his name, and the angel is the only reason he returned to that island. He is a new man, with more faith, more awareness, more love to give. He will not look back, Monsignor Pruitt died in that cave and will never return.
That life is part of another time.
He stands up when the ship touches land. A man he has never seen approaches: he has a red beard and a fisherman's hat. He will be the son of someone he knows who is now too old to remember.
He smiles at him. «I know I'm not exactly who you've been waiting for. My name is Paul Hill, and I will be replacing Monsignor Pruitt for a while. I hope you don't mind.»
He will do anything as long as no one is disappointed with the grand plans he has for that island. He'll save them, it's his only mission, and then on the seventh day he'll rest, just like God did when He created that beautiful world that He set foot on again.
He is not home again, he just arrived in a new one.
He feels like a child discovering the whole world, and he wishes he could feel that feeling on him forever.
This city will look out when it sees us coming, my Angel, and it will bow to us.
