I Have A Confession, Father I

THE late afternoon sun slanted through the stained-glass windows, flooding the old church with gold and violet beams that shimmered across the pews. Dust drifted in the quiet air like tiny spirits. The smell of incense hung heavy, almost sweet, almost intoxicating.

Father Gabriel knelt at the altar, his lips moving in prayer, his hands clasped so tightly, his knuckles were white.

He had prayed for strength every day for the last seven months.

Because temptation ...