I woke up again, my screams reverberate through the halls.
Sister Ella was the first to come to me, that poor woman has been with me through all my terrors.
I can’t let them know where I came from.
She takes out a rosary and we begin to pray, and in that moment, calm washes through me like a gentle wave.
I can’t thank them enough for taking me in. Not many would trust a stranger that washed up on their shores, but to the sisters it didn’t matter.
I was a soul that needed saving.
The next day was like any other, I would help do chores around the convent, do my daily meditation and try to adjust to my new life.
Reading scripture was my favorite part, even before stepping foot in the convent books were my escape. They were the only things that mattered to me in the end.
The sisters told me I would find solace in prayer. They didn’t see what I saw, how human failings would drown out even the best of people.
I shake my head and try to forget the past.
This is my life now.
Or so I thought.
There were times when we would read and discuss scripture and philosophy together. That day we discussed the seven sins. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking at the mere thought of them.
Sister Adeline saw my discomfort and called for a break. She sat next to me and asked me if I was alright.
The warm heat from my tears was all the answer she needed.
She and I excused ourselves and went to a quieter place.
She asked me if I had considered confession, that maybe that catharsis would make me feel better.
I calmly shook my head and told her she wouldn’t understand. Not with what I had been through.
She nodded her head and smiled. She wouldn’t presume to know that, but she asked me to put my feelings into words. I agreed.
It was the wind.
We were ignorant.
We didn’t listen.
Until the blackness rolled through the land.
Until…..
I paused for a moment to let my tears out.
In the silence, sister asked me, what did I mean by “we”?
I stood up and left. Stupid. I almost told her about where I came from.
In the weeks that followed the night terrors subsided, I could get through some days without screaming at all.
The days spent in the convent were some of the best of my life.
But I know it wouldn’t last.
The dreams were there even without the terrors.
To go back to the island of my birth, and make amends.
Were the dreams my penance?
I needed to go back to my old home.
I gathered what meager belongings I had and left a note with only one word.
Polobulac
I took a boat and saw for myself what happened to the island of flowers.
7 black rocks stood testament to a fallen people.
As I go closer, I can hear their mixed murmurs.
Torment. Devouring.
Warning. Condemnation.
Desire. Avoidance.
Death.
I stepped on what remained of the island, the last daughter of ash and sin.
The memories came back, harsh and jagged.
The seven voices.
The seven pillars of flame.
The day the sun was hidden behind a curtain of blackness.
The tempest.
I fall on my knees and let myself be consumed by the remnants of their power.
No matter where I was, they would find me.
But now it would be on my own terms.
Thank you, sisters.
I shall now find my rest.
=———————————————————————=
Story inspired by:
THE FALL OF POLOBULAC. http://www.sacred-texts.com/asia/pfs/pfs13.htm
*This is a tale from Panay. It probably originated with the Spanish fathers, who wished to impress the doctrine of the Seven Deadly Sins on the natives. The islands are just off Iloilo.
Written by Karl Gaverza
Copyright © Karl Gaverz
The Seven Sins Illustration by Abe Joncel Guevarra
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