Flash Fiction (4)

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“What’s all this about?” I asked, trying not to sound too obviously like a tourist.

Maybe this was some strange Lent-based tradition I didn’t know about. 

We entered the modern white studio that Paolo rented. The townspeople were progressing in, with Tupperware boxes, biscuit tins, shoe boxes… boxes upon boxes.

“This town is one of the premier producers of coloured glass in Italy.” Paolo explained.

“So I see…” I said, looking at the multicoloured rows.”But why are they bringing in all these beautiful shot-glasses?”

Since the church was bombed on Tuesday, we need to use whatever glass we can find, to repair the windows.”

“Blimey… And what if this isn’t enough?”

“We’ll have to get people drinking and send them to confession directly afterwards.”

I nodded, imagining the townspeople filing in to be absolved for doing their apparent pious duty. A duty which, (for once) seemed bizarrely compatible with modern life. Throughout, they would be bathed in a righteous light, pouring in through the redeemed stained glass.

From one spirit to another. 

“So you’re on a mission from God?”

“Exactly.”

 

(© Copyright Pola Negri, 06/01/2017.)

 

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