Prompt. Painting of Joan of arc with Archangel Michael behind her whispering. Aim 150 – 160 words.
Fire and stake.
I avoid the fire, with its dancing flames, instead choose to sit in the chair furthest away from the grate.
What will he make of that?
I watch as he carefully unwraps his lunch of thick sliced bread, and steak sandwich, then pours himself a glass of deep red wine.
He toys with the sandwich and watches me.
‘You know why you’re here?’
‘Close your eyes.’
He drones on and on, in tone less speech he takes me back to a year I remember well. I don’t listen to his instructions. I don’t need to. I have revisited this ground before, over and over, in my dreams, in my waking hours, in heaven..
I fulfilled my purpose, did as I was asked, but was recalled to fight a different battle.
‘Tell me what you experienced.’
I rise from the chair to leave, and nod to his lunch.
‘You want to give me communion after my confessions?’