PILGRIM 13 - AL LOWRIE
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Chapter Nine: Confession

​Rainy stood silently at the rear of the gathering, her thoughts swirling like leaves caught in a sudden gust. She had always loved these people—their laughter, their traditions, their way of weaving themselves into each other’s lives. Yet tonight, the familiar warmth of the village felt distant, like the faint glow of a fire she could no longer reach. Something had shifted, something profound and irreversible. She saw the world differently now, and that vision had become a wall between her and the people she had once called her own.

The village council sat in a semicircle at the front of the hall, their faces carved with the weight of countless decisions. Hesitantly, Rainy walked forward, her plain dress brushing the floor, her palms slick with nervous energy. She’d chosen simplicity on purpose; no amount of adornment could soften what she had come to say.

​The council members watched her approach, their expressions a blend of curiosity and unease. They had heard the whispers—something had happened on the bridge, something none of them could explain. Rainy had crossed a line, and now she stood before them, a puzzle they did not want to solve. She walked with head bowed to the front, and stood before the seated elders.

At the back of the hall, the old Teller leaned against a pillar, her eyes glinting with mischief. She’d seen many like Rainy over the years—young, restless souls who couldn’t keep their feet on the well-worn paths of tradition. The Teller had no intention of intervening; she preferred to watch the drama unfold, like a spider enjoying the vibrations on its web. Rainy’s journey was a story worth observing, even if it was doomed to end in tragedy.

Rainy stood before the council, her voice trembling but determined. “I’ve spent my life trying to make sense of this world,” she began. “And now, at nineteen, I’ve come to understand something that changes everything. Our lives, our choices, our beliefs—they’re all threads in a tapestry we cannot see. And yet, I’ve glimpsed it. For better or worse, I’ve seen the patterns that bind us, and it’s made me a stranger among you.”

The elders exchanged uneasy glances. Rainy’s words were bold, her tone edged with something they couldn’t quite name. She pressed on, her voice growing steadier.

“I know you’ve already judged me,” she said, her gaze sweeping the room. “You’ve decided that what I’ve seen, what I’ve felt, is too dangerous. But let me tell you what’s truly dangerous: silence. Ignoring the questions that stir in our hearts. Pretending that the stories we tell are enough to keep the darkness at bay. I’ve wrestled with that darkness, and it’s taught me something that I can’t ignore.”

Her hands trembled at her sides, but her voice remained firm. “I am not perfect. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve been selfish, scared, and small. But those flaws don’t define me. What defines me is my choice to face them, to seek the light even when it feels unreachable.”

The council’s silence was heavy, oppressive. Rainy took a step closer, her eyes locking with each elder in turn. “You’re afraid of me because I don’t fit into the stories you’ve told yourselves. You think that by casting me out, you can preserve the order of things. But let me ask you this: what if the order you’re clinging to is what’s holding us back? What if the questions I’m asking are the ones we need to face?”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Rainy’s words were a spark in a dry forest, threatening to ignite something uncontrollable. The old Teller chuckled softly to herself, delighted by the tension. Now, the girl would say too much. It was wonderful.

Rainy’s voice softened, taking on an almost pleading tone. “Do you remember the story of the two condemned men?” she asked. “The one who, in his final moments, called out, ‘Please, remember me.’ And the Maker—the source of all life—heard him. Not because he was worthy, but because he asked. Because he believed. That’s the hope I hold on to: that no one is ever beyond reach, no matter how far they’ve fallen. I am still your family even now.”

Speaking of the Great Father was never done. It was not a thing to be known or discussed, nor even mentioned. Rainy continued carefully, not using the same word to describe him more than once.

There was only silence, so she continued. “I don’t know why the Eternal acts as He does, or why certain people are chosen for certain purposes. But today, I felt something so vast and incomprehensible that trying to put it into words left me shaken. I see the unease in your faces, and I wonder if it mirrors the unease in my own heart as I try to hold onto truths too great to bear alone.

How do I explain what it is to wrestle with the unbearable? I write, I cry, and still, I feel adrift in the enormity of what I’ve glimpsed. Perhaps you turn away because it is easier not to see what I see, and I cannot fault you for that. We are all so small, so insignificant, as though we are nothing in the face of something so vast.

How far is the farthest a soul can feel from the One? I have been there; only because my eyes could perceive his presence did I realize where we stand. The only greater distance, I believe, would be not recognizing His presence at all.”

She scanned over the faces before her. “Tonight, I am only distant from you. I feel like a lone fragment, drifting in an endless void. Somewhere far beyond my comprehension is the Glorious—brilliant, boundless, and perfect. To imagine such vastness feels like both a blessing and a burden. Here, in this remote corner of infinity, I can only dream of being fully seen and understood.”

“Elders, beyond time and space, beyond all voids, there exists something greater than any of us. And here I stand, a mere particle, imagining that I might matter. Yet even now, I hold onto the memory of what I cannot fully understand—a memory of something eternal and infinite.”

“I believe the Father knows me. But I feel so small, so distant. Still, the vastness that surrounds me is everything I can imagine, everything I can dream, and all I can hope for.”

“So I stand before you, speaking what I know to be true, even if it is difficult to hear. Creator, please remember me. Elders, please remember me as well. See me. I am listening.”

“I am only a set of eyes trying to perceive something greater. My worth lies in the gift of seeing, remembering, and hoping. Let that be enough.”

Her words hung in the air, a fragile bridge stretched across the divide between her and the council. For a moment, it seemed as though someone might speak, might reach out to her. But the moment passed, and the silence returned, colder than before.

She stood in silence for a long moment, eyes fixed on the floor. No one would try to stop her or restrain her, because her words were too big, and they made them all afraid. They all just starred at her, mouths agape, with fearful and anxious eyes.

Rainy straightened her shoulders, her resolve hardening. “You’ve made your decision,” she said. “You’ve chosen to protect the stories you know, even if it means losing the truth here in the dark. So be it. I will go. But know this: the light I’ve found cannot be extinguished. It will guide me, even as I walk away from the only home I’ve ever known. I love you.” Her eyes swept the room.

She turned and walked toward the door, her steps steady despite the weight in her chest. At the threshold, she paused and looked back, her eyes meeting those of the old Teller. The old woman gave her a sly smile, as if to say, “Go on, then. Make your story.”

Several children which had accompanied their parents tonight, starred at her with eyes which seemed to plead, "don't go."

Rainy stepped into the night, the cool air wrapping around her like a cloak. The path ahead was uncertain, filled with shadows and unknowns. But the flicker of light within her was enough to push her forward. She didn’t know where it would lead, but she knew this much: her story was just beginning.

The moon hung high, casting long shadows that danced with every rustle of the wind. Rainy clutched the small bundle she had packed—enough to sustain her for a few days while she foraged for more. As she neared the old the bridge, her thoughts went back to that moment when everything had changed.

She had stood there, suspended between two worlds—the familiar safety of the village and the vast unknown that beckoned beyond the river. The bridge was old, its wooden planks creaked under her weight, but it always held firm. As she crossed it tonight, she felt something shift within her, a strange energy that seemed to hum in her bones. It was as if the air itself was whispering to her, filling her mind with images and insights she couldn’t fully grasp. When she reached the other side, she understood that she could never go back.

Rainy’s steps faltered as the memory washed over her. The vision she had seen on the bridge was still vivid in her mind—a tapestry of light and shadow, threads weaving together in intricate patterns. She had seen herself in that tapestry, a single thread among countless others. The realization had been both humbling and exhilarating. She wasn’t alone; her story was part of something far greater than she could comprehend.

But the villagers couldn’t see it. They clung to their traditions, their stories, their small, safe lives. Rainy didn’t blame them; she had been the same once. But now, the light within her burned too brightly to be contained. She had to follow it, wherever it might lead. She walked on, leaving her world behind.

As dawn broke, Rainy emerged from the woods into a clearing. The air was crisp and filled with the scent of wildflowers. In the distance, she saw a small cottage, smoke curling from its chimney. Her heart lifted at the sight. Perhaps she wasn’t as alone as she had feared.

The door opened as she drew near, and an old man stepped out, his eyes sharp and knowing. He watched her approach, his expression unreadable. Rainy hesitated, uncertainty gripping her. But then the man smiled a warm, welcoming smile that reached his eyes.

“Welcome, traveler,” he said, his voice deep and resonant. “You look like someone with a story to tell.”
​
Rainy smiled back considering the irony of the comment, a glimmer of hope sparking within her. Perhaps this was the next thread in her tapestry, the next step in her journey. And so, with the light of a new day warming her back, she took her first step toward the unknown, ready to embrace whatever lay ahead.
Chapter 10: Leaving the Hand
​Back to Beginning
  • Home
  • Rainy's Song
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