I have been under the weather for a few days and still managed to attend mass at the request of my family.

My skin was burning from fever. I was under a massive leather coat that barely kept me warm. The rosary burned into my palm. It seemed hotter than a fire - like it was going to melt into my skin. I expected its impression to remain once it was removed.

I could hear the hiss of the candles that were being lit, their wicks sizzling and popping as they ignited under the flame from another candle. Sweat beaded on my brow. A soft chant echoed in the large hall. My throat jerked and I coughed once - a loud bark of sound that drowned out the rhymic words of the priest.

I closed my eyes and willed my body back into my control. It was a matter of will power.

I coughed again. They handed me a handkerchief. It had yellow flowers on it. I felt wrong for taking it, but still crushed it in my fist.

I coughed once more, this time it seemed to rise out of my body as it God himself had willed it. Blood burst from between my lips and the rosary fell unheeded to the floor. I wiped my lips and chin across the cloth. The white cloth was stained with my blood.

I looked and caught the worried gazes of those around me. It was too much.

I left.

The fever…the illness…the blood? It may just be a virus, but…
It will be a while before I venture into His house again.