Ash Wednesday

The night air was filled with blazing stars in the sky and there was a light breeze of cold bitter air. The elderly woman held onto her small beret and clenched her glossy red purse as she scurried across the road with her slow pace. She was heading to the church that was near her to celebrate the start of Lent. The elderly woman was wearing a black dress along with black dress shoes to match, but they were dulled with time. The church doors seemed colder than usual and when the woman went to open the door, she quickly pulled her hands away. The cold took the woman by surprise, until she heard a familiar voice from behind.

“Need some help Mrs. Witherly?” said the priest with a pleasant demeanor.

Mrs.Witherly smiled and nodded her head with an obvious yes. The priest clenched the bitter cold doors and thrust them open with little struggle. The elderly woman quickly found her seat in the back row, for that was her favorite spot. There were little to no distractions when sitting in the back, which allowed Mrs. Witherly to focus on her prayers. The priest looked stunning in the light. His white gown seemed to have a glow, like God had chosen him for the job himself. People slowly began to enter the church, a few minutes after Mrs.Witherly.

Mrs.Witherly felt terribly uncomfortable with how cold it was inside the church and began to shiver. Why was she so cold? Was the church’s AC on the highest setting? She struggled to open her purse due to her hands shaking from the cold. After a few moments, she opened her purse to find two silk gloves. The feeling of her wrinkly face began to start motioning a smile.

The white silk gloves were a gift her husband had given to her for their 40th anniversary. She remembers his warm loving smile and the gentle kisses he placed on her cheek that day. She slowly pulled them on, the warmth of his love, made her feel like she could start to withstand the cold in the church. The church suddenly grew very silent. The priest began to walk down the aisle, holding an emerald colored bible in his hand. As the priest walked down the aisle, everyone sang the song verse:

“Glory to God in the highest! Bring us peace and guidance! Let us rest assured in your hands! Let us meet you one day in peace! Let us be protected by you in our lives!”

Mrs.Witherly always enjoyed hearing the beautiful young voices, but among those voices, something sounded wrong. Something like a scream, a scream that everyone seemed to ignore. Was it the scream of an angel? Mrs.Witherly discarded this thought and continued to listen to the voices that sang. The priest sat upon his pearl colored chair, putting both of his arms on the rest.

Mrs.Witherly suddenly froze with fear. The priest’s usual pleasant demeanor seemed to rapidly disappear. The priest suddenly had a pair of freighting eyes and his face seemed emotionless. His black eyes stared out at the huge audience before him and he motioned everyone to stop singing with a flick of his hand. The audience abruptly sat, the shuffling of shoes and the dropping of church newsletters filled the unexpected silence. Mrs.Witherly grew concerned of the priest’s sudden strange behavior. The priest lifted his body from the pearl colored chair and slowly walked down to his anticipating audience.

“Everyone from the parish, I have fallen ill. It appears I am just catching a common cold, but I feel very light headed. Tonight, I will have the deacon carry out the mass.”

The priest gave the deacon a cold stare, it almost seemed like the deacon was shaken. Once the priest left, the atmosphere almost seemed brighter. Mrs. Witherly however, still seemed curious as to what had happened to the priest and was quite concerned about him getting suddenly ill. The mass was always the same; the deacon had a sermon with a lesson relating to Jesus and his sacrifices, told some light hearted jokes and we continued to sing songs from the bible.

Only this time, it was Ash Wednesday and mass ended a bit early. The deacon walked up closer to the altar with his ruby red robe. Holding a silver bowl, cupping it in his hands carefully. In the bowl were ashes; the ashes were as dark as the night. Everyone walked up to the deacon to have their ashes placed on their forehead before they left, to be blessed for the lent season. Mrs.Witherly was the last to get ashes; the deacon dug into the bowl with his thumb and rubbed the ashes gently on Mrs.Witherly’s old wrinkly forehead.

“May God bless you Mrs.Witherly.” said the deacon in a sincere voice.

“Deacon, may I see the priest, I want to be sure he’s alright.” Mrs. Witherly said in her gentle grandma like comforting voice.

The deacon suddenly grew pale in the face. Something in his eyes was screaming a message, a dreaded message. The deacon couldn’t utter a single word, but pointed with his pale, boney finger to a back entrance of the altar. Mrs.Witherly made her way to the back entrance and when she opened the door, the room had a very unwelcoming blast of heat awaiting her. Every step down the stairs became harder and harder for Mrs.Witherly. Sweat protruded from her face, her hands started to become clammy and she almost felt like going back up these dreaded stairs.

The last step let out a loud creaking sound and it took Mrs.Witherly by surprise. The heat seemed to intensify as she entered the dusty and somewhat cluttered room. The room was filled with old books and ashes that covered every inch of the area. Mrs.Witherly found herself collapsing on the floor due the intense heat and her sweat dripped onto the ground where it met with the ash. The ash engulfed the bit of sweat from Mrs.Witherly’s head and the droplet slowly disappeared.

Mrs.Witherly heard the clacking of a familiar pair of shoes. The shoes’ noise seemed to echo throughout the room and began pounding in Mrs.Witherly’s head. The shoes met with Mrs.Witherly’s face and she slowly tilted her head upward. What shocked Mrs.Whiterly the most was not only being met by the priest, but his arms were infested with ashes. The priest shook his head slowly and it almost seemed like his eyes grew cloudy.

The priest lifted Mrs.Witherly and brought her further in the room. The room grew too hot for Mrs.Witherly to bear and her eyes closed slowly. The priest placed Mrs.Witherly in a cremator and he stared at her for an uncomfortably long time. The priest removed her hat and her silk white gloves and placed them on a shelf that seemed to have other victims belongings. Then he finally closed the top and began to push buttons. Tears poured from the priest’s eyes and he looked at his disgusting ash covered arms.

“Well Mrs.Witherly, you lived up to your name alright. You shall wither away into ash and become someone’s guardian. You can become a true spirit of God.”