It was the time Donal found most peaceful in St Brendan’s. Those first few hours after midnight when the air was still, only disturbed at that moment by the distant wail of a siren, way across town, that subsided almost as quickly as it had begun. It restarted a few moments later, somewhat closer, then fell away again.
He wondered momentarily whether it was coming anywhere nearby, then looked up into those familiar eyes atop the altar cross. Eyes that had looked down on him thirty years earlier when he had first beheld them as an altar boy, eyes that he had never been able to dismiss from his mind throughout those years. They had lovingly welcomed him every time he had returned to stand before them, yet in this flickering light from the many candle flames licking around the feet of the figure, they now seemed empty and sad. Continue Reading
