-I should tell him.-
Stepping outside she snuggly wraps the scarf around her, feeling the brisk air of early autumn nipping at the town. She inhales and begins walking down the street- opening two jars, one empty and one full of rose petals. Grabbing a few petals she then places them into her mouth.
-Should I tell him?-
She chews the petals slowly and nods at those nearby. After passing Florence then holds up the empty jar and allows the tinted liquid to leave her mouth, swallowing the rest of the flower. As she continues her journey she would replace the petals and repeat the process, filling the jar with the rosey color. It is around this time of year she finds herself with less to do. The season of growth fading.
-I should tell him.-
Florence stops at the doors of a church and swallows the last bit of petals. She takes hold of the handle and walks inside. The room is warm and silent- few people are seated or kneeling in prayer. She quietly takes a seat on one of the empty pews and closes her eyes-mimicking those around her.
“Excuse me.”
Florence stirs from her thoughts as a hand is placed on her shoulder, a priest stands before her. His tone is hushed as to not disrupt the prayers of others.
“Are you alright?”
He gestures a finger towards the corner of his mouth tracing down his chin. She lets out a quiet, “Oh” and scrubs her chin with her scarf.
“Yes,” she whispers back at him, “a little bit of dye.” she points to the jar of liquid in her basket for him to see her truth. His gaze follows and he briefly nods, releasing her shoulder.
-Tell him.-
“Wait.” her voice is less of a whisper as the priest had already begun to move away. He halts and returns, “Yes?”
“Confessions are private?”
His eyes close as he bobs his head.
“I, uh, would like to make a confession.”
She stands from the pew and follows the priest towards the back room. Her hands clasped together- clutching hard at the handles of her basket. Knowing whatever she says will only alleviate some of her stresses but will never help her wicked guilt.
