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Cotton

Chapter I

Written by Aindrea

My fists are banging the table furiously over and over again until the pain becomes numbness. White knuckles, visible veins.

I don't seem to breathe fast enough. The oxygen is not getting to my lungs.

"Why?!" the ire arousing from the core of my being. Like gale-force winds violently gathering the darkest clouds on the high seas.

My arms shaking when I bring my cold hands to my face to examine them. For some cruel reason, power always escapes my grasp. Foolish attempts. Futile. All of them.

It has been like trying to take hold of boiling water.

Who am I trying to deceive?

A merciless guffaw fills the room, echoing in my head. It tortures my soul.

Was that my omnipotent father? Or I?

If my father knew he would certainly remind me of the astonishing magnitude of my incompetence.

He relishes every single opportunity he gets; glorifying his unquestionable perfection. I, on the other hand, am the scaevitas personified. Feebleness.

"I am sorry!" the sharp word severely injures my throat so I start coughing uncontrollably. I quickly place my left hand on the table for support, the other one clutching at my chest.

I slump down in the chair, throwing my head back and squeezing my eyes shut. Is this how it feels to have a brutally fractured soul?

I do my best, but I'm never good enough. I never will.

I smile bitterly, almost savoring the acrid failure.

'A hopeless disaster', he would say.

He loves to put me to rout.

Yes.

I bring all misfortune.

Yes.

I am the living disappointment.

Yes.

I am everything my father dislikes.

No...

Everything he loathes.

Tears of anger stinging my eyes. I glance around, in desperate need of it. My beloved whiskey.

My trembling hand reaches out for the bottle. I hold it as if it were my last resort.

I'm far from being strong; I'm even farther from being what he wants me to be.

I feel broken. I have the toughest time putting all of the tiny pieces of my shattered soul together. He needs no more than five seconds to crush it again.

I guzzle the burning alcohol but find it repulsive. I let the bottle drop to the floor and lunge forward to grab the windowsill. I choke for what seems an eternity.

I was hoping to wash the nauseating guilt down. It ironically has an intensified flavor, stronger than I remembered.

I close my eyes; the soothing breeze of the evening gently hits my face. The tears finally make their way down my cheeks.

A prayer. I need it.

With trembling voice I start. "Gloria Patri, et Filio… et Spiritui Sancto. Sicut erat in principio… et nunc, et semper, e-"I fall silent when I hear people walking nearby. I open my eyes and look down. I spot three ladies. They are chatting and laughing.

"Aren't you afraid of witches?" one of them asks in a playful tone; the skinny. I swallow hard.

The thick girl looks around and says quieter than the first one. "I am. I don't know if our newly arrived Reverend can help us." I frown slightly, the air catching in my throat.

"Reverend Mather?" the redhead replies and smiles. "He is a good man, he will save us. I trust him."

I watch the women go, wishing I could follow them.

Unexpectedly, her kind words make it easier to cope with the current suffocating emotions.

She trusts me.

I slowly straighten up. If that girl sees in me the tool that God is using to protect Salem, then I must be it.

I've seen her at the church. Miss Embry.

I know where she lives. I know what she is.

I drag my gaze up at the sky with begging eyes.

Peccata Mortalia.

"God, if she sees hope in me, it means she is carrying your message."

Luxuria.

"I must listen to it…"

Carnem.

"…even if in her arms."

Mulier.

"She is your tool."

My father would never take notice of divine messages coming from a prostitute. He is too blind to see that Our Lord is discreet.

I am not that pathetic after all. I am capable of deciphering what he simply denies.

I must visit her at once.

Soon, after throwing on my coat and taking my gloves and my Holy Bible, I'm on my way.

The Divining Rod.

I avoid looking at people but do answer their greetings. For a moment I wish I was invisible.

Two or three minutes later I'm there.

I stop before the reddish house.

What if she's not here?

I'd wait for her.

I force myself to calm down.

I jump a little when a drunken man stumbles out into the street, leaving the door wide open for me. I summon up the courage to step in but it gets quite disturbing when everyone stops their activities to look at me.

Indifference is my safe bet. 'Pitiful sinners'. That's what Increase Mather has taught me. I am an intellectual man. The one sent to save them.

Where is she?

This isn't right. I should leave. I am a stranger. I want to feel sorry for them all, especially for her.

God! Where are you?! Give me a sign!

But I am weak after all. I can't exit this awful place.

I hold my breath, look down at the Bible in my hands and raise my eyes from it to gaze around. No words escaping my mouth yet.

Should I pray?

No one says anything whatsoever. I can almost touch the latent barrier between them and me. Their world of nastiness and my world of glory. I'm not supposed to be here.

Or am I? God? Are you listening to me?

They are staring at me. They are waiting for me to lead them to the path of enlightenment.

These fragile seconds are taking too long to pass. Time is deliberately slowing down to make me doubt. It is mocking me.

I hear footsteps so I turn around. Miss Embry. She has such a warm, magnetic smile.

I look into her eyes. She is God's tool.

She is meant to give me not only a message, but also comfort. How can I remain distant? Impossible.

I smile back.

I have found her.

I still need God's approval though, a gesture from Him. I look up, pleading one more time, muttering.

"Please, God… Prove my father wrong…"

I look at her when she speaks.

"Welcome, Reverend Mather."

I can do nothing but clear my bruised throat, seduced by her presence. I try to nod to show respect to this beautiful lady but my body is not responding.

"W-What is your name?" If I could I would take a step back, just to regain control of my actions.

"Gloriana." a soft whisper escaping her full lips. My heart is pounding.

What a better sign than her own name?

Glory.

Music to my ears.

Now I can aspire to nothing less but Heaven itself.

God works in mysterious yet miraculous ways. I, in no way, intend to question Him nor His reasons. He is wise. Almighty.

And I, as a faithful servant, shall follow His lead.

This lady here is glorious.

Gloriana.

Hi everyone! :)

This is one version. I do think that Gloriana fell for Cotton before he did.

I believe one of the reasons for him to visit her is lust but I guess he would somehow try to justify that.

I hope you like this chapter. Let's see what else is in store...

Thank you!

Aindrea