Page 33 of Eyes Like Angel
I spotted a pair of void-like eyes ogling me, seeing his face yet again.
He has been doing this since he tried to approach me yesterday as I was doing my holy duties, and while I was admiring the blooming blue orchids at someone’s front yard, which it had caught his eye, trying to forget our second encounter, as much as the first while I was distributing fliers and a spread of word for Divine Miracles Church, hoping to gain new followers for Father Divine, and inviting the ones who haven’t been attending into the church.
My assignment for today at the Divine Miracles Church was report to Sister Edith regarding on the door-to-door canvassing, promoting for people to come—newcomers and locals—at the Divine Miracles Church. I knew it’d be impossible to promote, especially at a busy-body town, where prying eyes and ears lurked at every corner, unrelated to holy gospels.
But in an alternate plan, I settled on polishing the statues to appear shiny and new, which was a change of pace.
Finally getting my wish of a tremendous break at a secluded area, the work is finished. Back there at the town square, everyone’s stares rested onto me the moment I walked in, I never knew if they’re muttering to each other, but their gazes gave it away, but I was gladdened when I stepped into the church, no more prying eyes for me to be so self-conscious.
To be self-conscious is to sin. Self-conscious meant to carry guilt. The Lord Himself created the best soldiers to not be weakened by someone’s idle stare or opinion.
He’s here at the church again, sprawling at the light-brown pew seat apart from the youth bible study in circled formation in their seats, who were playing a mini-quiz game, regarding a new lesson—after a long session of prayers that lasted fifteen minutes, crying out to the Lord, and prayed for their sins to be forgiven.
Meanwhile Father Divine was attending to the little boys and stayed longer, his gaze lingered at the little boys than he should have.
Today is not Sunday,I thought to myself.I passed those flyers out for a reason, for everyone—the newcomers—to attend as a reminder.If he’s not here for the bible study or signing up for a volunteer, or to confess his sins by talking to the priest,what could he possibly be here for?
Amused, he watched their cries closer and inaudibly snickered to himself.
Exhausted, I resumed back to polishing the tall statue, but my chore couldn’t seem to get me concentrated and watched the scene unfold, anticipating how the events will go for today.
Out of everyone, he came in sudden movement, chased and snuck in—as if he was cut in line like the elders but behaved acceptably, blended himself smoothly as if he’s one of the Christ’s devoted followers. Was he bored, wanting to give a good time to the Holy Church?
Every weekday is rehearsals week and group bible week.
Today, while the Rivers families weren’t happy about attending to a Sunday Mass like last time, something about the young man has piqued me to curiosity, as if he liked stayed in his spot here at the church. Only then it diminished by him. He showed up randomly, not that he’s not included in the church community, but he was out of place, like he was better off without God. But anyone who was better off without God might be lost or confused. Most who were lost and confused are theyounger folks. As for the old, not so much; they had guidance stemmed from birth.
While I was dusting off the statues, I felt his pitch-black eyes pierced at the back of my head.
The girls were on the sidelines, gossiping about how the mysterious man dawdling by one of the pew chairs and leered at something. Or at someone.
And that said someone is me.
I heavily puffed my chest from an unbearable constriction. Just when I was gaining a little serenity, a little sanctuary, this happens.
I want my work to be fully—and positively—noise-free, aside from the bible. When I turned back around, behind several nuns who were reading and reciting their lines from the bible, he flicked his pitch-black eyes back onto me from looking at his new phone device. Tucking his device back in, he gave me a shot of smirk curled up on his cornered lip, his hues twinkled at my observation at him.
The girls giddied at him at his smug emotion he expressed.
Close to being furious, I swallowed my harsh words in and polished the statue of Mary Magdalene, the towel was almost dry, but the problem was the bucket of soapy water was below me. Trying not to look down, my footsteps took caution on descending. But the time when I got into the fifth step, the ladder shook; I accidentally looked down.
Accidentally, I shifted a wrong movement, and the ladder tipped. I caught myself but the ladder was still wobbling. Shaken in terror, I held on tight, balancing the ladder; hands quaking at a slight movement, afraid of fall and had my head splat and implode, or a gain a broken bone.
My concentration on getting back on track wasn’t there. Therefore, I screamed, holding onto my dear life. My screamsechoed from the church hall. Some people were shocked, gasping in trepidation, one of them screaming, “Somebody help that nun to get down! Hurry!”
Some people were frantic at the sight of me, as I was praying my hand won’t be sweaty to have it slip from a metal ladder. Then I prayed in my heart, a wounded soul speaking to the creator.
Lord, please help me. Send me a guardian angel to keep my grip tight and never fall.
Little by little, my hand slipped. Some people gasped in horror, screeching.
“Ah, somebody do something,” the little girl screeched, clinging onto a young lady’s skirt, who I assumed is her sister. Recognizing the older sister with a Neapolitan highlights on her brown hair.
My fingers couldn’t withstand my attempt. And so, I fell. The crowd gasped, screaming at my fall. I was expecting a hard land on the floor, but instead, I suddenly got tangled, landed in a safety net into somebody’s arms, a man’s arms that belonged to none other than him, scrutinizing his long, white shade of blond hair locks rested on his collarbone and pitch-black hues stared at me back. A soft curl on his smirk tugged upwards.
A nightly creature, no less.
Did God send him?
