Darkness falls outside. My wife spins
the face of her watch from the inside of her wrist and settles it on
knobby bone. "It's time."
I stand and plant a kiss on her bald
"Don't forget your net."
I give it a shake and force a smile.
"Yep." I pat my pocket to
show her. "Will you be OK?"
She nods and rubs her forehead. "Be
"I will. See you later?" I
hear the hope in my voice.
"Yes," she says.
Six years ago, the boss installed the
elevator in my living room. My commute is a breeze: Three thousand
feet up and into the clouds.
I am the prayer catcher.
Every night I gather the prayers of the
world. From the night sky, I scoop up hopes and dreams and wishes,
for what are prayers but wishes folded over and slid into an envelope
addressed to God?
I pour my harvest into my hopper. I
grind the prayers fine as sand and scatter them over the earth so
that the hopeless have hope and those who have forgotten how to pray
can remember, if only in their dreams.
I field the usual stuff: Wishes
unspoken; To sell a house; To cure a child...or a wife.
The job pays well enough. The hours are
steady, except during disasters when I'm required to work an extra
shift. Prayers get more fervent then. More intense and more frequent.
They threaten to tear my net.
Praying on the job is against the
rules. It's hard sorting out everyone else's prayers without having
to wade through your own. But tonight, I break the rules.
Tonight I release my prayers to the
clouds and snag them in my net.
Tonight I pray for my wife. I pray that
she's true to her word and that I will see her soon, after descending
three thousand feet from the clouds.
The doctor gives her three more months.
I think we'll be lucky to have one.
Kelly Garriott Waite on Google+
Labels: fiction Trifecta Writing Challenge