digital pen, digital paper.

Articles of Confession

I am dreaming.

I am walking into church amongst a crowd of faceless people. The ceilings are low and the room is small. A family friend has brought me, along with her three sons. They are friends from my childhood. We are now older, but we are children’s height. This is the way it has always been.

I am dreaming.

I am walking into church amongst a crowd of faceless people. In my hands, I cradle a long loaf of bread. It is half eaten and I am embarrassed because it is all I have to offer. Herded to the front of the church room, I set the bread upon a large, dark-stained table. Low, ambient light reflects from its polished surface. The table holds many colorful dishes, all wrapped in protective plastic. Each one is distinguishable from the next, yet none are recognizable.

I am dreaming.

I am in church. The ceilings are low and the room is small. I am sitting in the pews. A faceless crowd sings incomprehensibly toward a figure in the front. To the figure’s flank, a table of food. The voices are loud, though do not sound as if they originate in the church room. The voices are damp. Muffled.

I am dreaming.

I am standing at a table. I have been here before. Much of the food has been torn open and taken. Half of the faceless are milling about, eating. The other half lurks close behind me. My mother’s friend urges me to take something from the table. Others are waiting. I choose the bread so no one else will.

I am dreaming.

I am in church. I am sitting in the pews and eating over a table. It is the same table, but it is cleared of all food. The table is large and I cannot see to its edges. I only see where I sit. Reoccurring table. Dark and polished. Loaf of bread. Half eaten. I pick at it. Crestfallen.

I hear a voice. It belongs to my friend’s mother. She sits next to me in the pews. Her tone is encouraging. Her words are unclear, but I know what she says. You can choose something else.

I am awake.