RAIN OF SANCTIFIED ASH: By Loretta Sylvestre

The first time it happened I didn’t know what I was doing. I’ve always liked fires and I was simply setting one. The old house with its caving porch and blinking windows would nicely frame a blaze. The weather gods smiled; grey drizzle reflects a flame’s color, grounds it in dark so that the burn itself brightens. The wind, the empty streets, the dry shingles and beams—it all in harmony prayed for fluid and a match.

I couldn’t have known she was inside. If I had, how would I have divined her importance? I had seen her in town, to be sure: support-hosed feet stuck in thick black shoes, legs protruding from polyester skirts, eyebrows arching and jowls drooping. No different from a hundred other old nags in the supermarket every Tuesday. Where would I have spied a hint that she was Zoroaster’s Virgin, Purest of the Pure?
I watched from the Saints’ Cove Bridge, so the dusky bay became my backdrop. A fine burn it was, the kind of blaze that satisfies, full of shapes and arabesques. Sweetly, a gull swooped into the flame and flew out blazing. “Such,” I said, “is Zoroaster’s love.”

Suddenly—due conditions I didn’t understand then but have since systemized and would love to patent—a glorious ball of flame, full spectrum and spinning, whooshed skyward from the center of the blaze. Miss Franklin lay atop, levitated on the flames, perfect in fiery repose with hands folded upon her breast.

I dropped to my knees, knowing instantly that here was a being sanctified indeed.

I have consecrated my life to finding her successor. It has not been easy. At times I’ve hungered and slept in the cold, kept from employment by the demands of my calling. Still, I counted myself blessed.

I have been thorough. I researched, spied, quizzed, tempted, and tried. Most candidates I excluded in minutes. Twenty-one, counting you, I engaged as possibilities. Six times, before now, I set the blaze. Twice, so far, I achieved the fireball. But the Good God Ormuzd did not agree to either virgin, and so deliverance did not come.

I am certain that you are the one. My Lord Ormuzd—for whom all sacred fires burn—spoke in my ear that it was so. Lie down, Ms. Jackson, in peace. When you rise, you will paint the sky with Zoroaster’s passion. Your heart, so flawless, will burn indigo; your eyes will blaze blue. Bless me now, O Holy One, and again when you are consumed. I, Zoroaster’s child, will bathe in the rain of your sanctified ash.

______________________________

 ©2011 Loretta Sylvestre 

Lori Titus and Tonia Brown will interview Loretta Sylvestre on Flashes in the Dark Radio on Sunday, January 23rd.

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2 Responses to “RAIN OF SANCTIFIED ASH: By Loretta Sylvestre”

  1. “Rain of Sanctified Ash” at Flashes in the Dark | Worlds Well Written Says:

    [...] happy to report my flash fiction piece “Rain of Sanctified Ash” has made an appearance on Flashes in the Dark, a great fiction spot managed by editor Lori Titus. [...]

  2. Jason Rolfe Says:

    Another wonderful story, LS! Please keep them coming!

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