Saturday's Storyteller: Communion
Communion by Belinda Roddie I followed my directions my whole life, dressed in pastels for Easter and noble reds on Christmas. But now, my knees still ache from the lack of cushions in the pews, and I still taste the sacrament every time I have a glass of wine. I didn't want to fight back, but I did. The bruises are permanent now. Tattoos without a needle. Symbols without the beautiful symbolism. I am not a work of art. I am blood on a canvas that can't be scrubbed out. I taste the wafers. I taste the body. And so I taste death.
