Sanctuary

by Anne Dwyer
(Second place winner in our 2011 Short SHORT story competition)

Shards of glass rained from the shattered pane onto the mosaic floor, the sound of the crash reverberating off ancient sandstone walls.

Father O’Malley, kneeling at the altar, crossed himself and prayed fervently to his God. As he knelt, hands clasped, head bowed, in the dim, dusty confines of the church, he was a frightened old man. The furore of the mob was increasing, hence the broken window, but what had caused their anger, the priest could not fathom.

He struggled to rise, grabbing at the altar cloth to pull himself up. Another rock hurtled through the medieval window, ruining forever the Virgin’s beautiful blue glass robe.

Painfully, Father shuffled his way up the darkened aisle in his tattered, old slippers. As he passed by the Confessional, he became aware of sound emanating from the interior. Quickly he opened the door. Slumped on the floor was the body of a boy, blood trickling down his face.

“Mother Mary and all the Saints! What have we here?“

The priest stepped forward and pulled at the youth, causing him to moan.

“My apologies, son, but I’ll have to get you out, so I will.”

Extricating the unconscious lad was a huge struggle for an eighty five year old, but eventually he had him out and lying in the aisle. Crouching down, he examined the lad for injuries.

“Merciful God! What have they done to you, boy?”

The right leg was oozing blood from a shattered kneecap.

“The bastards! Knee-capped! Oh. My God!” The priest clasped the boy to his breast, tears of rage and despair coursing down his face. As he held the limp body, Father O’Malley realized his arm was wet. Blood was seeping, through the boy’s jacket, from a gunshot wound to the chest. He was dying.

The priest looked to the heavens, screaming, “Why, God? Why? He’s just a child.”

He gazed on the waxy face and resolved they wouldn’t get him. He would protect this child. Struggling to lift the body, he felt a sudden, sharp pain under his ribs. It took his breath away for a moment and then was gone. Little by little, he manoeuvred the boy down the aisle, to where he knew he could hide him in the secret priest-hole, under the altar. As he opened trapdoor and heaved the boy in, the pain in his chest intensified and the salty taste of blood flooded his mouth. Waves of agonizing, nauseous pain washed over him. His arms closed round the boy, as he slipped mercifully into unconsciousness.

The rabble outside the church were out of control. A petrol bomb, thrown by a boy no older than the injured youth, crashed through the window, setting alight the richly embroidered altar cloth. As it burned, smouldering pieces fell onto the concealed entrance to the priest-hole. Inside their sanctuary, life-giving air gradually turned to suffocating smoke.

Firemen found the bodies two days later, the Protestant boy in the arms of a Catholic priest.



ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born near Manchester, England, at start of WW2, bombing forced Anne to move to the village of Worsley, where she lived until moving to Sheffield after marrying Tom Payne in 1962. Immigrated to Wollongong, Australia, in 1965. After twenty-four married years, during which time they produced three sons, Tom and Anne divorced. She married John Dwyer1993 and moved to the coastal village of Thirroul.

I am creative and enjoy writing. As a child I wrote poetry. Even letters to friends and family were descriptive prose. In 2009, I wrote a novel based on my Mother’s life. Getting a novel published is an exercise in futility, so I started to compose short-stories and discovered a new love.

The inspiration for ‘Sanctuary’, came from memories of ‘The Troubles’, in Ireland, reports of which made newspaper headlines whilst I was still a schoolgirl. I am non-religious, but have friends in all denominations and love visiting their beautiful places of worship.

May 2011 - Won HC and publishing in Stringeybark anthology, ‘Between Heaven and Hell’.
June 2011 - Won Active over 60s Prize in City of Rockingham Awards.
November 2011 - Commended in F.A.W. N. S/S Memoir.

I also paint, working in oils and watercolours. No time for boredom.