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Notes08/25/2018
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RossiFee
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RossiFee
The Choir of Angels?
Iris holds the prayer book in her hand.
She resolutely opens the requested page in praise of God.
To her great joy.
The community rises like a quake. A divine song follows.
Actually, Iris isn't very religious.
She only likes to sing melancholic melodies in this old place with its splendid holy observers, who apparently know so much and then reveal nothing.
She hears the voices of the others.
The Choir of Angels?
Today she dares!
She'll drown them all!
Full throat, all her strength she will need, all will look to her!
It tingles all over her body, soft knees, her hands trembling and wet, she presses the black book even harder on herself.
Her heart's beating faster and faster, heavy breathing. Iris takes a deep breath...
Silence.
The crowd of believers settles down on the creaky old wooden benches, and folds their hands.
Here and there a slightly suppressed cough and coughing.
The singing impregnated air is purified by thick incense swaths until the last note has faded away.
The expectant silence and the request of a recurring prayer forces Iris again into the depths of the unfriendly hard eternal pew.
She missed her bet.
She resolutely opens the requested page in praise of God.
To her great joy.
The community rises like a quake. A divine song follows.
Actually, Iris isn't very religious.
She only likes to sing melancholic melodies in this old place with its splendid holy observers, who apparently know so much and then reveal nothing.
She hears the voices of the others.
The Choir of Angels?
Today she dares!
She'll drown them all!
Full throat, all her strength she will need, all will look to her!
It tingles all over her body, soft knees, her hands trembling and wet, she presses the black book even harder on herself.
Her heart's beating faster and faster, heavy breathing. Iris takes a deep breath...
Silence.
The crowd of believers settles down on the creaky old wooden benches, and folds their hands.
Here and there a slightly suppressed cough and coughing.
The singing impregnated air is purified by thick incense swaths until the last note has faded away.
The expectant silence and the request of a recurring prayer forces Iris again into the depths of the unfriendly hard eternal pew.
She missed her bet.
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