05-08-2022, 08:39 PM
(This post was last modified: 05-10-2022, 07:54 PM by Malachi Brennan.)
Three days. It had only been three days since he had arrived in Whitby, and yet Malachi already felt suffocated in the barren space that was his bedroom.
It was not the smallest room he had stayed in over the course of the last fifteen years, nor was it particularly offensive in any way. In fact it had quite the edge over some of the churches he’d stayed in where, upon arrival, he had learned of the shared room with his fellow priests – St. Hilda’s was not that small, and Father Richards was not so unpleasant that he’d have minded much in the first place.
He had pushed the extra furniture into the guest room to allow for more space. Set a few things out on the desk to make it feel homey. His bag remained unpacked, but not for any lack of trust in the presbytery’s (admittedly nonexistent) security measures. He’d even started carrying an old pouch of lavender in one of the pockets of his robes again, in an effort to lull himself into some manner of sleep once he reached his bed.
No, it was not the room’s fault that Malachi felt stifled within it.
Fortunately, the late hours of the night saw less people on the streets, and so the sleepless priest decided he would wander. There were hardly enough daylight hours to explore the little town the way he wanted to, what with all the things that kept him occupied in the church, but the nights? The nights he spent alone.
That was a change, for him. An intentional one. Whitby would be different, and he would be better for it.
The previous day had been almost unbearably hot, wrapped in layers of black as he was. The night air proved much cooler, blowing in a refreshing, salty breeze from off the sea, and Malachi whispered a quiet prayer that it would cool off the next few days. It wouldn’t, of course, but then it wasn’t any different from any of his other prayers.
He left the presbytery, still dressed in black vestments that could have faded into the dark without the light’s reflection off his white collar. Without any clear idea of where he even wanted to go… he started with away from the church and set out, shoes tapping a light sound against cobblestone and dirt.
It was not the smallest room he had stayed in over the course of the last fifteen years, nor was it particularly offensive in any way. In fact it had quite the edge over some of the churches he’d stayed in where, upon arrival, he had learned of the shared room with his fellow priests – St. Hilda’s was not that small, and Father Richards was not so unpleasant that he’d have minded much in the first place.
He had pushed the extra furniture into the guest room to allow for more space. Set a few things out on the desk to make it feel homey. His bag remained unpacked, but not for any lack of trust in the presbytery’s (admittedly nonexistent) security measures. He’d even started carrying an old pouch of lavender in one of the pockets of his robes again, in an effort to lull himself into some manner of sleep once he reached his bed.
No, it was not the room’s fault that Malachi felt stifled within it.
Fortunately, the late hours of the night saw less people on the streets, and so the sleepless priest decided he would wander. There were hardly enough daylight hours to explore the little town the way he wanted to, what with all the things that kept him occupied in the church, but the nights? The nights he spent alone.
That was a change, for him. An intentional one. Whitby would be different, and he would be better for it.
The previous day had been almost unbearably hot, wrapped in layers of black as he was. The night air proved much cooler, blowing in a refreshing, salty breeze from off the sea, and Malachi whispered a quiet prayer that it would cool off the next few days. It wouldn’t, of course, but then it wasn’t any different from any of his other prayers.
He left the presbytery, still dressed in black vestments that could have faded into the dark without the light’s reflection off his white collar. Without any clear idea of where he even wanted to go… he started with away from the church and set out, shoes tapping a light sound against cobblestone and dirt.
