The following is an excerpt from my very first piece of published fiction.
By Rebekah Lee Mays
In the 14th arrondissement of Paris, I once discovered a nineteenth-century church standing at the split of a road. Organ music was wafting through the front doors out onto the street below. I walked in to candles burning at the back of the sanctuary, flickering with prayers for great-uncles and grandmothers. I took my seat, signed the cross over my chest, and surveyed the happy young faces in the pews.
The cantor took his place at the stand. He was serious and wide-eyed, his scarf wrapped tightly around his neck so that it appeared he might faint at any moment. When the hymn began, the organist struggled to keep his partner’s tempo, and he raced up and down the keys with all the spirit of a startled mustang.
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Featured image: Daniel Mennerich / flickr