3 Min. Fiction - Round 8 - draft

She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door. Judith’s conversations with God had become fewer and fewer until they had ceased altogether. And she was tired. Tired of the routine, of the monotonous drone of the other sisters' voices during mass, and of the smell of mothballs that seemed to linger in every nook and cranny of her room, no matter how many lavender sachets she hung.

The routine had saved her life when she'd joined the order those many years ago. She'd been young and alone with nowhere to turn and an illegitimate child to bear. The sisters had accepted Judith with no questions, hovering around her like ten doting mothers. Giving her a new rosary, the best seat at the table, and an extra blanket for the spartan room in which she now resided. And when the time came, those same sisters held her hands, dabbed at her sweat soaked face, and finally cleaned off a squirming newborn that was bundled off before it even gave out its first cry.

Judith had been miserable those first days after the baby. Weak, lost. But every day at 5 am, Sister Camilla would come to collect her for mattins. And after mattins was silent prayer. And after silent prayer there were brisk circuits around the convent. And after walking, there was Lauds. And after Lauds, there was breakfast and so on and so on. Each day unfolding in a calm and cleansing routine that gave Judith back her strength and courage. Until one day she could picture no other way of living, no group of women she’d rather share the rest of her life with in silent contemplation of God’s will.

Those same sisters she now caught herself watching with revulsion at mealtimes as they chewed with their mouths open, chunks of food being squished to oblivion in their gummy mouths. Sometimes Judith imagined the other sisters in awful accidents. It was usually when she caught herself trying to remember the old days, and in particular the one day she almost saw her baby before it was taken away …It was time. In her growing estrangement from her sisters and in the lapse of God’s voice, Judith felt a call to somewhere outside of the convent.

She stood up from the rocker in which she’d sat many times to read, study, or pray. She crossed the few feet to the dresser where she removed her wimple and set it on its pedestal as she did every night after Evening prayer. Gently, Judith lifted over her head the rosary beads the sisters had given her so long ago. She caressed them lovingly as she laid them beside the wimple, enjoying the beads’ smooth round perfection one last time. Judith lifted her hand to her gray hair, patting it smooth. She looked down at her simple black dress - it would have to do for now. She took one more look at the rosary before she turned to the door and gripped the knob. One turn and the door was open. Judith slipped out and shut the door softly behind her.