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Poisoned Chalice

by stephanieE 

Posted: 21 May 2003
Word Count: 502
Summary: A short, short story. I was given the title and took it from there...


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The abbey church of St Jude was illuminated by a single candle on the altar, which shivered in the ice-edged March wind that penetrated the twisted oak of the doors. The wavering light filled the hollows of the altar steps with pools of shadow, spilling over the rough limestone floor. The lofty heights of the nave were darker than the snow-filled night outside, the ancient timbers creaking in counterpoint to the low moaning of the wind.

A voice, as cracked and aged as the silenced bell in the church tower, began a familiar chant, as a line of monks emerged into the flickering range of the single flame. The prayer drifted on, fourteen humble heads bowed in reverence, fourteen voices flowing over the pebbles of confession, the rhythmic cadences rippling through the chill musty gloom. The monks knelt, faces pinched and lined, hands knotted and gnarled with arthritis, shoulders sharp under the heavy robes. The order's full complement was twenty-four, but the long winter had taken its toll. Set upon its holy island site, remote from the support and charity of the faithful, supplies had dwindled and stores had not been replenished. Then came the sickness like a thief, which had stolen first vigour and then life. Nine brothers had been consigned to the care of the Lord, although their plundered bodies lay, stiffly waiting and partially covered by a snowdrift, under the east wall of the church. Brother Edmund was not expected to survive the night.

Brother Bernard, the youngest member of the order, took his place at the end of the altar rail and accepted the tiny morsel of stale bread that was proffered. He waited, quiescent, as the communion cup was presented to each monk in turn.. When the goblet was offered to him, he raised his glance to stare into the pain-fringed eyes of the elderly abbot, removing the chased silver from his surprised and nerveless fingers. A whisper and rustle amongst his black-robed brethren conveyed their puzzled astonishment at this unforeseen event. Slowly, Brother Bernard stood and raised the chalice towards his lips, paused momentarily, then drained the contents. The wine, such a familiar taste, held a hint of sweetness, as though the cup had once held honey. He watched the faces of his beloved colleagues, saw the puzzlement turn to anxiety, as one by one, they felt the first touch of the poison on their body. The abbot sank to his knees, reaching a hand, as cold and fragile as an icicle, to touch him, before closing his eyes with a sigh. Like a settling of crows, the other brethren followed, their robes billowing out into untidy puddles on the yellow stone.

'Forgive me father, for I have sinned.' The familiar words slid from his lips reluctantly, like the last drops of wine from the chalice, clinging to the beaten rim, as it slipped from his dying hand to strike the flagged floor with a chime sweet and true enough to reach the ear of God.






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Comments by other Members



tweed at 19:06 on 21 May 2003  Report this post
Revenge is mine...no only joking. I like a story that swarms all over you the moment you begin to read and PC certainly does that.
(Please forgive any spelling mistakes or the like that I may have made during the construction of this short paragraph)
Why isn't this in the short story group?

stephanieE at 09:16 on 22 May 2003  Report this post
Thanks for that Ian! I didn't post it in the short story group because I've only just worked out how this site works and I thought you had to be a member of a group to post something...

All of life is a learning experience is it not?


roger at 12:19 on 22 May 2003  Report this post
Hi Steph,

A good, chilling story, but what really reached me was the quality of the prose. I really do admire literary writing, perhaps because I can't do it, and this is a super example of that. You really do know how to do it, and for that, I hate you!

Seriously, a really beautiful piece of writing of the type that I don't think can be learned...you've either got it or you haven't, and you have.

GC at 17:51 on 25 May 2003  Report this post
Hi Steph,

A good innovative piece of writing. My only problem with it is that in the first 3 & 1/4 lines you have used this word 14 times - THE.

If you could remove some of them, and dive straight into your sentences, I think it would flow a lot easier.

You seem to have a natural talent for descriptive prose. Keep it up.

Sarah at 14:00 on 03 June 2003  Report this post
Steph,

chilling.... the group suicide thing is very interesting. The pace of this is its strength; it reads really smoothly. You've picked a great thing to tell a story about.

I've read it twice and I'm still a little unclear as to exactly why this is happening. Thought you should know that -- in the interest of clarity for the general reader.

Sarah

stephanieE at 16:01 on 03 June 2003  Report this post
Thanks for your constructive comments folks - this is just the sort of reason that I joined this forum. I have no idea where this piece could go, but it was quite a challenge to write starting simply from the title.

Cheers for your encouragement

Nell at 08:10 on 29 June 2003  Report this post
Stephanie,

I didn't notice the 14 instances of 'the'.

The writing is atmospheric and beautiful, and I'd have liked it to go on for longer. Lovely visual imagery transported me there. And reading the last paragraph caused a weird sensation like creeping goosebumps all over!

Best, Nell.


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