Short of Daybreak

Bane stood in the churchyard and gazed upwards at the steeple that reached towards the gray sky with loyalty.

I wish I was loyal to You.

The church's wide, stained-glass eyes stared down on Bane's tired head as he stood at the temple's feet, like his heart had been shattered by his own disbelief.

If I walk inside those doors, I'll carry with me nothing but a burden of shame.

He lifted his chin and stared back at the smoky colored windows, like gazing into the eyes of fate.

Mother never liked church much.

He dug his toes into the dewy grass and drew in a deep breath of the wet air, letting it soak into his lungs. He could see the warmth of the church's innards shining through the cracks of the double doors, and it clashed with the cold outside.

Mother has never held love in the palms over her hands.

Bane gazed at the doors and his heart pushed against his chest with yearning, as if it could drag the rest of the body with it.

I want to see You.

His heart begged and pleaded with him to step forward, to step through the entrance and to bask in the glow he so longed to be a part of.

I don't want to be like Mother.

Pebbles crunched under the sole of his sneaker as he walked a few feet onto the sidewalk, yielding when he saw one of the doors opening slowly. A familiar, round face appeared in the light of pure warmth and welcome. "You came,"

I want to love You.

Bane waited. His friend held out a hand as a light rain began to fall. Bane crossed the sidewalk as his heart pulled him, and grabbed the palm of his friend. Like the wings of a bird caught in a strong draft, he was lifted inside.