Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Promises Are Made

He'd promised his mother. 

She lay dying that day, her body wasted, worn away by her countless worries and imagined transgressions. She had gripped his hand tightly, her face a rictus of anguish, her voice strong in resolve.

"Promise me! Now!" she hissed, and her son felt that he had had no choice.  As her life faded, Curtis promised.  He would join the priesthood, he vowed, and spend the rest of his life praying for the soul of his dear mother.  Those prayers, and the sacrifice of her only son, would ensure that she might rest comfortably in the arms of the saints in a way that had escaped her in life.

Curtis felt safe making that promise, secure in his resistance to the lure of feminine wiles.  In the twenty-eight years he had lived, he had never even felt a twinge of interest toward women. Or men, for that matter.  No sexual attraction ever seemed to infect him.  Over time, Curtis had begun to feel immune, vaccinated somehow against sexual urges.

After the funeral, Curtis sold the house and most of his possessions, intending the money to go to the Church.  It was only by chance that he passed the travel agency and spotted the poster.  A cruise of the Mediterranean, including a side trip to Rome. Curtis couldn't resist a visit to the Vatican, not with the priesthood awaiting him.

Yet as he stood in St. Peter's Square, admiring the Basilica, his gaze was arrested by a woman's legs, golden and glistening, as they passed him.  Curtis could not look away, mesmerized by their motion. His stomach fluttered, his breath caught in his chest, and he began following blindly, working up the courage to speak to her.   His mother would never forgive him, but God likely would. 




The prompt is the the third definition of the word "infect". 



Speaking of legs… we’re offering you a photo and a song this week. (I refuse to post the song, because I might lose my Headbanger mosh pit cred. Yes, that's a thing.)  Happy writing!
The photograph:
image courtesy of Dean McCoy Photography
image courtesy of Dean McCoy Photography

16 comments:

  1. Seamless use of the prompts!

    I loved the irony of being in the holiest of places only to be led to distraction. I did wonder if the last line could have ended with just: His mother would never forgive him. Only because you see his mother demanding that promise in the beginning.

    Great read!

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  2. Lovely story - poignant and compelling - and a great use of the prompts.

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  3. This is great. Excellent. Well done. I really enjoyed this story here. My favorite so far. :)

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  4. LOVE. This is definitely my favorite thus far. Your last paragraph was flawless, absolutely divine. Thank you for sharing.

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  5. Ha! That last line is great (: I'm glad he's not going to devote his whole life to his mother even after her death.

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  6. Nicely done; some torment ahead for him, I think.

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  7. Great stuff! Thank goodness Curtis saw the light or rather the women's legs before he commited himself to a life of celibacy.

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  8. Beautifully done! The last line is so flip, yet isn't that how some decisions fall away in just an instant? (And of course his mother would forgive him... don't mothers always?)

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  9. Aww,such a surprisingly sweet end,holding out a lot of promises for an interesting future,am sure;-)Loved it:-)

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  10. I love the ending! Just hope mother doesn't come back you haunt him. Good job!

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  11. Oh, that old devil temptation! And those legs!

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  12. I love this story. What great writing.

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