By Seamus Ludendorff
The Reverend Botkin’s cathedral catches fire. Buttresses collapse, spires tumble. So much rises to her, standing among congregants. Memories float like smoke. Reciting creeds. Exchanging the Peace. Squabbles over Communion wine, liturgies. Things that seemed superfluous then. She used to think congregants were too wedded to detail. Flames rise, stained-glass windows bursting in paroxysms.
She wants to embrace the vast building, holy Gothic body, save it all, wooden altar, organ. She lunges, buttresses collapsing left and right. Firefighters pull her back. Utter platitudes. All she can do is reach for memories. Resurrect them, even as the fires expand, expand, expand. Rise.
Love the end. Sometimes fire is a good thing, even if it never seems so at the time
Unfortunately, I found it pretentious.
David found it pretentious and chose to tell us, rather than explaining his feelings. I don’t think this is the kind of feedback authors need. My feeling was that there was lots being described and it was too much to take in, words I didn’t know, my brain couldn’t process all the imagery and it went over my head a bit.
Personally, I found this piece to be incredibly well written! I think part of the reason that I enjoyed it so much is because of the beautiful language and imagery. I would never be able to write a story in this way and truly admire your talent!