His hands gripped the edge of the stained counter. Blinking eyes covered in a fog by the steam settled on the mirror. Messy, wet hair. Carmel skin. Broken heart and tortured mind.
He glanced over his shoulder, through the door he opened to let the steam out. A long bump under sketchy sheets. Long, inked arms laying over a sickly face. Luckily still sleeping despite his absence.
One of his hands left the counter edge, fumbling its way to grasp a little gold cross still damp with water.
"Dear Heavenly Father," It was quiet to make sure the body in the connecting room stayed in peaceful slumber, "Please give us guidance on the journey we are on today. Give us the strength to sit side by side with our brethren in mourning for a figure that had an impact on everyone."
He paused when the body stirred. Not breathing, he waited until a content sigh entered the air and the body stilled again.
"Please make sure we can make it through the day. Please give us strength to survive under the disapproval of community members, family, and old friends. Please give him relief of the trauma and torture he will expense or relive today. Please guide him to peace and acceptance. And guide Mr. Locke to heaven to reside among his family."
The body curled up a bit, like it was circling it's body heat to stay in a warm haven longer.
He dropped the cross to his skin, not taking his eyes off the bed.
"Amen."
YOU ARE READING
Praying Under Pressure
Teen FictionElliot Fernandez is a man who has only ever done whatever expects of him. So when he hits his wit's end, he gathers all his courage and moved across the country for his Masters degree. But mostly to take control of his passive position. A move he al...
