Sunday, January 31, 2010

People who live in Glass Houses

I found out all about her. She had grown up in this village. Left in disgrace after being impregnated by an infidel. She returned with her gypsy lover– she flaunted him.
She was everything I hated. I denounced her from the pulpit. Predicted eternal hell for her offspring.
She said love was not a sin, hate was. She remained unrepentant; she continued to attend my church.

She asked for me before she died.
"Father", she confessed. "You are my first-born child."
She died. I have to go on living. How?

People who live in glass houses... should not throw stones.

Drabble(n) - an extremely short work of fiction exactly one hundred words in length.


Anonymous said...


dipali said...

Poor chap.
It is so easy to condemn.

Rayna M. Iyer said...

@ Fiona - thanks. I had just finished reading Joanne Harris when I wrote this over a year ago- didn't notice it then, but the influence is very apparent.

@ Dipali - It is, isn't it? Why can't people judge less and love more? So much nicer for everyone.


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