RuneScape Forum Archive | *~The Origins of The Doormat~*

Leela Feliz

Posts: 1,902 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Contest Winner 09

I sat in a pew, pinioned beneath waves of the droning, drowning sermon that emanated from the new Priest. Many preferred him to Father Lawrence because his sermons left the parishioners in a state of hebetude that verged on meditation, but I would always miss Father Lawrence.

Father Lawrence could be counted on for an ecumenical array of sermons. I believed that was why he remained so popular with the church elders. He always managed to inculcate the need to pay alms each week, giving the money to charity to drag the poor up from the gutters. His verisimilitude was also very convincing. He really brought his sermons home to the people. Most gave more than they really should have.

During a sermon, Father Lawrence’s nares would flare out with his words, as though he were on the verge of turning into some prophetic daemon. His passion would course through his arms, the unrepentant masses that he saw spread before him directing his motions into asperous, marionette gestures; but those who spent time with him in confession also knew how kind and comforting he could be.

As Father Lawrence would read from the incunabulum, he made you feel like a spectator to a much larger tale. When he spoke with his larger-than-life approach, you could sense the delicate linguistic bridges, the crystalline gaps in and between the words that had been bound into that hallowed text so long ago.

He was such a dynamic person that I could not believe it when I overheard his confession.

“How can I explain it?” These words came hurriedly and hushed through the partition in the confession box. I had entered quietly and thought perhaps Father Lawrence had not heard me, but before I could say anything, he was continuing: “There, my hands held tightly around her neck, and she was pleading to be let go. No one could see the nearly invisible, but binding, fishing string around her neck, and it was only getting tighter.” He paused to draw a ragged breath. “Damned,” he muttered.

22-Sep-2009 00:39:32 - Last edited on 10-Dec-2009 22:21:04 by Leela Feliz

Leela Feliz

Posts: 1,902 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Caught in this imbroglio, I froze. What should I do? Announce myself? Leave? I opted for the latter. I do not know if he heard my exit, but his side of the box remained closed as I walked out through the vestibule.

It was like a dream. The sky outside stretched around me like a stained glass window: solferino clouds fracturing a fiery sunset. The earth seemed to shimmer from the heat.

The next day at church, Father Lawrence was not himself. Sunlight trickled down through the depiction of the holy mother in her ornate aigrette, dappling both Father Lawrence and the podium in sickly speckles. He looked sallow and solemn, as though leading an obsequy rather than a sermon. He scanned the crowd, his eyes briefly met mine and suddenly I was sure that he knew. He had heard me leave. The truth was out.

The church elders stood behind him in a dark line, and amongst them I could see the new priest. The man had a custom of slowly rubbing the backs of his hands while he stood, as though he were constantly washing them. He was doing so now, his gaze focused intently on Father Lawrence.

“No -” I almost spoke it aloud, as Father Lawrence prepared himself. He wore the mask of a martyr as he began, “I want to tell you a story. A confession. It’s something that happened several days ago - a large thing.” The rigidity in his speech – in his posture – held the audience’s attention. They had never seen Father Lawrence unanimated before.

22-Sep-2009 00:39:43 - Last edited on 10-Dec-2009 22:23:00 by Leela Feliz

Leela Feliz

Posts: 1,902 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

“Sometimes it is hard to distinguish dream from reality, truth from fiction, false memories from the real. We all struggle with it. And this still seems like a dream to me, although I have touched the evidence, felt its coarse fabric beneath my fingers.” His hand moved through the air as though he were drawing it down the surface of a curtain. “On free days I often go fishing south of Taverly. This season has been especially great for the trout. Some days the lake swarms with them, their bodies rippling beneath the surface like muscle. There are so many they rock the boat.”

Several days ago I was fishing, standing on the portside of my scow, line stretched taut, when suddenly the mother herself appeared before me. No one is ready for an epiphany and – and –”

“And he killed her!” The new priest shouted, stepping forward. I had watched him throughout the tale, watched the smile slowly spreading across his face.

“I did not!* Father Lawrence shouted, swiveling towards his interlocutor. “The line caught, and somehow it got tangled around –”

“I was there! On the shore! He strangled her! With his line!”

At this point one of the elders intervened, stepping between the pair and raising his arms. “Quiet!” He bellowed and an immediate hush fell. “In this church we comply only with the laws of the Gods and the Holy Book, and I think their rules are quite clear in this case. Father Lawrence killed our Holy mother. Perhaps by accident, perhaps not – we shall find out. We have a challenger here. The holy book states they must (a dramatic pause) fight til death.”

I stood up to complain that this was absurd, surely the death of the holy mother negated some of what the Book said, but just then I felt a tug on my shoulder from someone in the pew behind me.

There was a sense of tipping and then I was opening my eyes to an old man in a turban.

“Madam Scorsby, you fell asleep,” he said.

22-Sep-2009 00:41:10 - Last edited on 10-Dec-2009 22:24:44 by Leela Feliz

Leela Feliz

Posts: 1,902 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

I looked around to find the church empty. Garnik, the new priest, had finished his sermon and left. When I looked back, the old man was hobbling towards the door. Something about his asperous movements reminded me of a dream that was already fading from my memory.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

These last four posts were the combine efforts of Wet Rainbow and myself that ultimately brought about my winning the competition. You can see most of our work in progress on page 6 of this thread. It was fun to work with a partner! Cheers to you, Wet Rainbow.

Feliz

22-Sep-2009 00:41:18 - Last edited on 10-Dec-2009 22:31:14 by Leela Feliz

Leela Feliz

Posts: 1,902 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Small is Beautiful

She, Black Heather, fearsome bandit.
He, Neil, hard working merchant.
Briefly secluded in a corner of camp.

The beauty of that electric moment…

The twinkle of her eyes in the moonlight.
The sparkle of the gloss on her lips.
The shimmer of her flowing hair.

The flickering spark between them.

The intelligence of his vision.
The integrity of his word.
The masculinity of his form.

The flaming spark between them.

The passion in the air.
The sweetness of the first kiss.
The beauty of two souls melding as one.

The incalescence of that electric moment…

Together, forever after.
Apart, never again.
Bonded, two as one, by all the little things.

**Considering swapping incalescence for sultriness...what do you think?

22-Sep-2009 00:41:27 - Last edited on 10-Jan-2010 17:50:02 by Leela Feliz