Slain

One hundred and twenty-six choirboys voices rose in unison, in
loving unison above the wooden pews, and I cannot tell you how much I
wanted to die. Not because I didn't want to live but because I wanted
to ascend through the homage, through the perfection and immeasurable
sorrow of agnus dei and become part of the unknown that is desired with
a sickening longing. I could have layed my body at the altar of the
perfect evening, where the dust drifted, like fragments of heaven in
the twilight hours, my spirit already slain by the passion of our
mourning and the tragedy of this trampled Eden.

The scent of insence wrapped itself around my anguish, and rubber soles
sqeaked up the polished aisle. I paused, then my brimming eyes rose to
fix a grieving gaze on the swinging wooden light shades. Father
Jonathan approaches me, dressed in his alb fastened at the waist with a
white cincture. In his left hand he carries a bible - probably a
Jerusalem, although I am still a slave to the Protestant Knock
translation, for the sake of poetic purity. His eyes are filled with
years, yet shine like the untouched clartity of boyhood's rockpool. His
arm, stiff, with inexperience in human contact, extended, drew me
tenderly towards his heart which I know bled for me.

I knew not what to say nor where to look, and my eyes ran from his
polished black shoes and up his shin until his spotless back trousers
disappeared beneath the white linen and he broke the still air by
saying "Things will be alright. Things will be different, but things
WILL be alright" and I am so glad he didn't say he was sorry because
there was no place for sorrow then and there.

"Jon, I?" then I stopped. I seem to have sent all my words up with my
sighs. "Jonathan," I tried again as a cool tear I felt should be warm
ran down the side of my nose, "I am so glad"

"Why are you glad?" he tried to pull an answer from me without making
it hurt, and I was about to tell him that I don't know until I realised
that I did.

"He is so handsome, I am glad he is here with me now" And I was so
glad, beyond those bruised and lifeless hands, beyond the pain that
ceased. His soft hair, fair and falling into his closed eyes, that
would never smile at me again. I was and am being torn apart not by
grief but by the way I will always adore him, without condition.

Jonathan took my hand. His was warm, so warm for me and I noticed his
hair was thining, but he looked at me the same way he always did, and
led me down the aisle to say goodbye to my friend for the last time.
But I couldn't say goodbye. I couldn't do anything but touch his cold
skin in the hope that it would seep up the warmth of affection, but he
didn't move and no colour spread across his pale cheeks. I ran my hair
through his hair and left but I kept coming back. I couldn't accept
that this was the last time I would see him.

I was sitting in a pew when the last stands of evening light filtered
into the past. The electric lights were on now, bathing the ruined
world in orange light, and the men looked across at me and paused
before closing the coffin, putting a lid on my cosmos forever.