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Weekly Contest #42
She sits in the unfamiliar pew, shifting on the hard wooden seat, fidgeting with the hem of her new black dress. She has never had to buy a dress like this before. Not for something like this. Her vision becomes hazy, staring blankly at the cold stained-glass windows which seemed to do anything but let sunlight in. But there was no sun in the sky today, just a humid scattering of grey clouds. Tough luck, the nun had said. Her mother grasps her hand, firmly, sharply. But her hand remains limp. She had never been able to match her m...
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