photo by Ingrid Sashenosky

The Prompt

Birds sang outside while my lighter, worn and scratched, switched off and slid silently into the front pocket of my jeans. Inhale, exhale. The smoke swirled around me as I took a seat in the back pew. Inhale, exhale.
Lazily pulling down the kneelers and resting my feet where people prayed, reverently continuing to nurture my cigarette, I stared ahead. It was one of those late summer days that was warm even with the cool spray from the docks sneaking its way into the old structure, swaying the ships overhead that were thought to protect the men on the seas’ all those years ago. Not that it had helped much. The real problems had nothing to do with the ice cold water.
An older couple, late 70s by the sound of it, slid through the heavy wooden door that moaned its waking. The shuffling stopped as the two quickly colluded on what to do about my smoking. I smiled and continued my vice as the two spoke in rapid fire Danish, unaware that the gentleman smoking the cigarette may very well know he wasn’t meant to smoke in a two-hundred-year-old building or the possibility of knowing the native language himself. The smoke swirled under the bow of the suspended ships and the woman slid confidently passed her husband to where I was resting.
“Sir” Assuming I could only speak English, her tone rang through my ears.
“Yes?” a roll of smoke.
“You ah not allowed to smoke in here.”
“I apologize. I didn’t know.” I faked an English accent and snuffed out the cigarette.
The two looked at each other and continued further into the church, moving towards the simple effigy and taking a seat side by side in the front row. A smile slid onto my face watching the two pray together ever the perfect showing of what love and humility should be. Arms spread over the back of the pew and head rolled back, my eyes locked onto a ship.
If memory served correctly it was the very same ship that I had boarded, preparing for a battle. Or was it a shipping job? Regardless, excitement to explore the new world coursed through me and making coin was my top priority. I hadn’t known that sea sickness would get the better of me. Much of the journey was mixed between duty and hurling over the ship. The last few days would keep me below deck, tattered beams and mould replacing billowing white sails and sea spray.
My head slowly rose from the back of the worn and carved pews. My eyes locked onto the old couple. Pushing up from the bench my body moved to make sure the doors were closed and no one was looking to see the old structure.
That journey wouldn’t be my last. Another crewman was left down with me to make sure I didn’t contract anything worth throwing me overboard for. Unfortunately for them, he gave me the disease he had. The whole crew passed. Just as the two hundred years in between then and this very moment. Thankfully, I figured out hallowed ground didn’t keep me from my own religious needs.

Ingrid Sashenosky: With a Bachelors in English, Ingrid lives at 7000 feet working full time as a sign designer. When not at work, she can be found typing away at her computer and annoying her cat at home.