A Man Of Losing Faith.

Chapter 1 - Tears and Rosary

It was cold. The winter unforgiving. The wind rattled the windows. Trees lined the street bending and swaying under the strain of the forceful gusts. It was dark, the only proper light being the dim streetlamps which lined the road. Shadows flickered across the windows, dark figures dancing along sprawled out under the moonlight.

A man of losing faith, he knelt there on the carpeted floor in the middle of the room. his knees ached as they pressed into the carpet. the safehouse was deserted his fellow comrades had not yet came back from their mission. the young man was left alone with not only his thoughts but his feelings. the internal struggle between faith and himself was ever present in his looks.

his hands were clasped in prayer. long delicate fingers clasped the rosary beads as they snaked their way around his hands and wrists. a delicate silver cross hung of a chain around his neck, the dimmed light making it gleam ominously as he continued to pray. he wore his camo shirt and cargos. his eyes were closed as he continued to pray fervently, a bible rested in his free hand the delicate pages open on a prayer.

he longed desperately for the faith he had exuded during his adolescence before he grew up, before his enlistment, before the sinful thoughts had started. he prayed for god to send him a sign that he was there, a sign that he was listening and this wasnt all pointless and imaginary. he prayed for the thoughts to stop, prayed for a relationship he didnt see as sinful. he tried to make sense of his feeling, would he still be a devout catholic if he accepted his feelings and acted upon them?

illuminated by the dim light, tears could be seen running down his face soft, salty and quiet. he wanted nothing more than to be good, to be devout, to love women. the tears were a physical testement to his broken psyche, to his troubles. but for now he was lost in prayer.The tears, the rosary beads, the open bible... it all spoke of a deeper struggle, one that went beyond the physical dangers of their missions but one that went deeper than his very mind itself.

After a while an older gentlemen came in dressed in his robes. a priest. he was a kind man maybe in his mid to late fifties, he knelt infront of the young man as he confessed everything. after he had gotten everything out the man before him bowed his head acknologing but not judging. he absolved him though this seemed to hold little comfort to the young soldier.

after a while he left, leaving the young man still kneeling there still praying fervently, his eyes were closed though the tears hadnt stopped yet. his cheeks were flushed, his lips parted in prayer. there was a slight tremble in his hands as he continued to hold the rosary. his breathing however did not follow this, it was slow and steady almost calm as he partook in the holy worship.