these cells than sleep. I suppose she believes in the old adage that guilt is punishment enough if we don’t spend this time actually praying. Guilt is only punishment for me though when I hurt people I care about. What a terrible person I am. Only Deus knows. Mother Aurelia will never have to know, so on the outside I can appear like the best nun in the world, when on the inside I’m far from it.
#
A few restless hours pass, both my body and mind screaming to be set free from the confines of this cell. I’m pacing the few feet in front of the prie dieu, though this is not enough room to fully stretch. Pressure weighs my bladder down with uncomfortable pinpricks that shoot through me each time I take a step. Soon I’ll have to urinate, though I don’t know where I could.
Colette, on the other hand, has managed what I consider to be impossible for me. I believe she is in prayer, assuming she has decided to keep all thoughts in her head this time instead of saying them out loud like she usually does. To further pass time, I press my ear against the wall for any other sounds besides my own. I only hear murmurs of what sound like prayer. There must be someone in at least one of these cells that wishes to go as mad as me. The rhythm of Theosodore’s plodding steps indicates otherwise. I suppose no one has cracked yet, and I’m even wondering what this trial is designed to do for us: make us pray all day or lose our sanity? I sit down next to Colette and lay my head on the prie dieu, willing for sleep to come.
Colette shifts next to me. She opens her eyes, staring down at her rosary beads. She opens her mouth to speak. “Do you know what I’ve been praying about?”
I sit up straighter, elated Colette has finally come out of her stupor. Whatever she prayed about should keep me captivated until we’re released from these cells. She’s prayed enough, after all, so she must have a lot to say. “What? Tell me everything.”
I expect her to smile, for her eyes to brighten, for her to look at me, but her voice comes out bland. “To not die.”
Losing my composure, I grab Colette by the shoulders. “What is wrong with you? Colette, please tell me why you’re suddenly feeling this way? What happened last night? I demand to know!”
She starts shuddering in my hold. Her voice comes out between small sobs and hiccups. “P-promise me that when I-I’m gone, you’ll keep t-trying to be p-professed.” The tears come, and she hides her face with her hands. Her voice now comes out controlled, though subdued. “I mean it, Amelia. No matter what happens to me, you can’t stop for my sake. You have to keep going.”
Only silence comes from my open mouth. I don’t know what to say. Colette insists on speaking as though she’s going to die within the hour. I loosen my hold on her, my hands remaining on her shoulders. “You’re not going to die Colette, so stop speaking like you’re going to…unless you have some chronic illness you’ve never told me about, some fatal disease you were born with that’s just been ticking your life away each day.”
Colette shudders once more, and what she does next sends the world spiraling away into darkness beneath my feet. She heaves blood all over the front of my dress, and falls in my arms, her eyes rolling up to the ceiling. My mouth opens in a scream, but the cell wavers and folds in on me in accordion pleats. The space around me pushes inward, crushing the breath from my lungs until I’m gasping for air, holding out my arm while the other clings to Colette, whose breathing comes out raspy. An intense heat swarms through my body and seems to travel under every edge of me. Smoke rises from beneath the hand that holds on to Colette. To my horror, I know what is going to happen next--even worse, I don’t have time to pull away.
Sister Colette bursts into flames.
I pull away too late, plastering myself against the wall. She falls against the wall opposite of me, her
Learning to Kill: Stories