Stained Glass Souls (Wattys 2014, Collector's Dream Award Winner)

Charliegh: Drowning Lessons

(Charliegh: unedited)

The glass shattered first.

She was ascending the basements steps, arms free for the first time all morning. The church kitchen was located upstairs, and she had been carrying tray after tray of dirty teacups, crumbled biscuits, and stale Danishes back and forth.

It was quiet as she entered the sanctuary. Peaceful, and slightly sober. Chatter floated towards her, pulling back as it reached the base of the steps. The kitchen door was half-propped open, room conspicuously empty. Careworn velvet carpet cushioned her footfalls, making her a silent intruder upon a sleeping room.

She had paused, as usual, to cast a fleeting glance at the windows of the sanctuary. They were a presence so large and beautiful that they commanded attention, magnetized it by the sheer tenacity of the history captured within their frames.

The air was still. Almost too still, as if everything in life had been holding its breath for that one, small, finite moment. It happened as she was tilting her head, catching the yellow light upon her cheekbones. Suddenly and violently, a large black object came hurtling straight through the face of Jesus, sending shards of 18th century stained glass flying across the bowed pulpit.

There was laughter. Laughter, and jeering, and frantic shouting. Shocked, Charliegh moved across the room, avoiding the largest chunks of glass. In the gap between an eye and a jawbone, she saw the hurried silhouettes of a few teenagers mounting their bicycles.

It wasn't until the tallest one - a boy in a camouflage cap - gestured towards the window that she realized he was sending something else through.

A lighter. An open lighter, warm white flame catching the breeze and catching upon the ancient velvet curtains. There were more lighters, all at once, clanging metallic and smoking upon the floor. Amidst the laughter, the acrid smell of smoke pervaded her senses.

Dizzy, she could only stand among the metal and stare at the curtains. The hem of one was more orange the yellow, now, flames licking up the sides. There were so many lighters, a multitude that crunched beneath her feet and tugged at the soles of her sneakers as she turned to flee.

She should have stamped them out. Taken off her shoes and flattened the corruption of every single one of them, until only shattered glass and singed velvet remained.

Instead, she turned and fled.

It was Nolan. Nolan was coming for her, and this time - this time, this time, this time - he would finish what he had started.

***

It was ridiculous, and unfathomable, and so incredibly stupid, what she was doing, that the audacity of it rushed all the way to her toes, propelling her forward.

Yet no matter how fast she ran, legs burning and chest heaving, leaving her responsibilities behind, she couldn't shake the daunting sensation that fate was something she could not escape. She could evade Nolan, but she could not evade the inevitable; whatever that may be.

That alone made the adrenaline swirl through her bloodstream, making her light-headed and deliriously empowered at once.

The latticework of abandoned train tracks stretched out before her, weaving through the woods behind the church. She wasn't quite sure where the path ended and the farms on the outskirts of town began, but anywhere was better than going back to the church. Facing a crowd of scared, crying children, all of whom were probably trapped inside that basement. Screaming.

Her chest tightened. Her ribs were cracking, closing in on her panic, her desperation. Sweat felt cold on her skin as it seeped from her pores, drying upon her shirt and elbows.