The Fallen Light (Part 3 – final)

The Fallen Light

It has been a month since the last time I have confessed.

It may be impossible but I hear his faint breathing stop, as if surprised by the time difference of my confession. Even I was surprised though — realizing I have turned my back against the Lord that long. Sweat beads on my forehead are starting to form again and this time I wipe it with my clammy hand. But despite all these, I must continue.

I know it has been a while now but I’ve been trying to organize and recollect my thoughts…


I didn’t pursue the vow I made. No, no… Not only did I not pursue but I disobeyed. Completely reckless of my decisions as a…

A faint sob escaped through my throat. I can no longer help it, can no longer keep it in my restless human body. I feel weak and helpless. Trapped in a blissful world that could possibly offer me more than stars and moon but I refused to it. Trapped in my own bubble of selfishness. I thought I was not afraid enough but I now know I am. There’s no point in shading my misdeeds but how could I still possibly not tell directly at this moment?

I look up, trying not to let the tears fall any further. This is ridiculous. I am ridiculous.

I should be the one who’s helping women like me. I should be the one giving them light. I should be the one acting so strong. I should be the one who could they rely to and… and… but instead I turned out to be a fallacy of who should I be.

I couldn’t hear my own voice. I couldn’t even fathom the depths and shallowness of my words. They come out as a rattle as if some mechanical instrument is pushing them out of me.

Perhaps the priest understood what I was trying to say. Perhaps he could understand me better than I do. Perhaps. Or not. He could also be tired of hearing scattered confessions like what I just told him.

God, the father of mercies,

Words or mumblings coming from him, I cannot completely hear loud and clear. This lattice standing between us is blocking his soul. Then finally, tears stop from falling.

Through the death and resurrection of his Son,

I close my eyes and feel myself float joining the tiniest dust against the faint wind circulating inside the box.

Has reconciled the world to himself and sent the holy spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins.

I have visions. Blurry visions of different lively colors like those of auroras in the North Pole where they dance above me, breaking through the crisp of cold, perpetual winter air. The voice of the priest is now coming off as faint, as if some melancholic harp is playing from afar, sound drifting and scattering through the wind as it goes until I could no longer hear it.

I slowly open my eyes and see a completely different painting of the last place I saw myself in. I no longer kneel in the gloomy box. Instead, I now stand in the midst of grassland where flowers bloom and birds fly their own harmony. Breathing in the luminous aura of everything, I look further around and see a long stream of river carrying crystal clear water. Hills on the far side of it. The sky’s at its bluest shade and the sun flashing its huge smile. The air no longer taste bitter and salty, it is now as freshest as it can be.

I have never seen such place as beautiful and peaceful as this — as promising as the dawn breaks.

There is an evident absence of another soul in here, but I do not feel alone as I put my hands on my womb and feel the littlest bump under my religious habit.

(Click here to read part two)


Author: Danica Aquino

Tied the knot with performing arts since fourth grade; is an amateur writer (currently on her quest to writing her first novel); book and animal lover; always entranced by nature.

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