We couldn't get on to the tracks to help. They had to keep us back. That’s okay, I understand. Seems like the whole town was down there that day. Some never managed to get properly back up again. They’re still down there in a way, mourning the mangled. At the memorial service, Father Justin said he had never seen so many injured before. So many maimed. So much destruction. So many dead. He cupped my elbow and wanted us to pray for peace. I almost joined him, out of habit. But this was something else, this was something else entirely. Any solace I might find could only fill a tea cup. That stuff’s not for me anymore, if it ever was. This kind of belief is usually passed on like supporting a particular football team, isn’t it? I’m sure even Father Justin would know that about me now. Not that we’ve talked too much about such stuff. He’s tried a few times but left it at that. He’s an old family friend. He values more highly the lofty climes of love than my sorry ass on a pew. We have an understanding. After what happened, they offered me counseling. I don’t know if they offered Father Justin any. The church probably have their own people who see to that. Justin saw people with their arms hanging off too. He saw the blood, he saw the pouring blood too.
Posts
Comments
