A certain level of fear began developing in my brain, as my stomach began to growl at me for not having breakfast.
Not that it was a 'fast', per se, just something Roman Catholics did before 'Mass'.
God, I hate Sundays, the inconvenience, the fear, that was something created from dealing with her.
What if she notices the stain on my shirt, asks for some homework that was due six months ago or found some other obscure reason for 'clobbering the crap' out of me?
Yeah, fear could really screw me up as I approached her, "Sister Mary Miracle", the one with the senses of a hawk!
I fixed them up as well as I could with cardboard slipped inside and colored with a black pen, I felt as though I were a convict being led to the gas chamber, as I approached the altar knowing I would have to kneel down and expose to all, my very sole.
No comments:
Post a Comment