Vincent Awakening (COMPLETE) Who: Vincent (fathervincent) (closed post, just one-person narrative) What: Awakening in Silent Hill Where: Balkan Church Rating: PG (only not G for mention of violence)
Dying, Vincent mused, felt a little something like being born. Of course, he couldn't quite recall the feeling, but the sensation of being securely wrapped up in warmth was something he thought infants must experience, too, just moments before coming into the world for the very first time.
How interesting that life would begin and end the same way.
And what would be beyond the warmth? It would end soon; fade away -- just as Claudia and Heather's voices had faded away, until Vincent couldn't hear anything -- not even the soft ringing sound of silence. It was as if every one of his senses had, one-by-one, shut down.
Religion spoke of an afterlife and a God to bring him there. A God that would lead souls to salvation and bring them into Paradise. Vincent wondered, just what kind of Paradise would that be? The stories of Heaven (Christian or otherwise), always sounded so lackluster and boring to him. A "perfect" Paradise where nothing could go wrong, where everyone would spend forever in eternity in worship? Even as a priest, the very thought bored him. God was wondrous, and Vincent loved Her, but couldn't he love Her from afar, on his own schedule?
...Maybe he really was meant for Hell.
As the warmth slowly began to fade, Vincent felt his heart quicken for only a moment. The fear of what was beyond was so natural, so human. Anyone would have this anxiety, wouldn't they?
And then it stopped.
It felt like hours, days, years before Vincent opened his eyes again.
He lie against the cool, uncomfortable wood of a church pew. For a moment, Vincent thought he was in his own chapel, the chapel he'd spent so much time, energy, and, most importantly, money on. With that much investment in the place, though, it didn't take long for familiarity to kick in, and Vincent realized before he'd even had to move that he was in a different church entirely. The heavy scent of incense that permeated the air in the Order's chapel was not present here -- instead, a cold, crisp scent filled him.
He sat up, slowly, stiffly, his body aching as he moved. He stared forward, past the rows and rows of pews before him, towards the altar, raised up a couple steps in the front of the church. It was a simple wood pulpit, and, hanging on the wall behind it, a large, wooden crucifix.
Vincent stared towards Jesus' prone form as if he expected the figure to stir or speak. The statue did neither of those things.
Still, he recognized this sight: Balkan Church.
Slowly, Vincent touched a hand to his chest. His clothes lie unripped and clean, his skin whole and untouched by Claudia's sacrificial knife.
Had he fallen asleep? Had the end, with Claudia, with Heather, had that been a dream?
Somehow, he knew better. He'd faced death himself and Vincent knew he hadn't lived to tell the tale. It was a sort of instinctive bit of knowledge -- like how to walk, or chew, or fight. Vincent was dead as sure as the sky was blue, as sure as ice was cold, as sure as God forgave one for one's sins if one only would bother to ask.
He stood, slowly, his legs shaking slightly as he did (how long had he been lying there?), and approached the pulpit. He had plenty of experience behind one of those.
Stopping short of the steps leading up to the altar, Vincent's gaze turned up towards the prone figure on the cross. He stared up at him for a moment before bowing his head, and, almost mockingly, making a cross over his body, with fingertips from forehead to chest to the right shoulder to left.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," he said, and then, after a pause, "And will surely continue to do so."
And then, without hesitation, the man turned, heading down the aisle, past the pews, and out the doors. He paused on the threshold of the doorway, staring out into the murky, foggy streets, and then, slowly, he smiled.