70
Booked
3rd Place | Short Story
volume 10
The Portrait of Jesus on the Wall by John Marck Sanico
I've always been stuck in the same place. Sometimes, on a long and old mahogany altar but it's quite rare. Most of the time, I've been displayed on a small varnished high chair covered with embroidered textile. I can say that I'm old. Five generations of the same clan have passed before me together with the other antique ivory statues that have been forgotten by time. People recite prayers to honor me. Sometimes, they put flowers and light a candle beside me. I am always dressed with a fancy and detailed linen cloth. They even make sure to clean me two or three times a week. I've been treated like a very important and valuable thing. People worship me for I don't know the reason why. Now, I was sent as a gift to another family. It also means that I will be displayed on another altar. Hoping that other saints and virgins are also residing in that place. In that way, I could share the boredom and lucidity that I always felt. Gradual beams of light swallowed the darkness as they slowly opened the box. The box kept me safe during the unsteady journey. I knew that I was sent far. Far from the previous house. Too far from the previous altar. A man with glasses recovered my delicate ivory body from the box. He held me tight like an infant. I can barely feel the rush of air coming from his nostrils. He embraced me closer to his chest. The wild beating of his heart made me conclude that he was excited. The man with the glasses placed my fragile form on a special altar. I thought it was a special altar because it was located in the center part of the room. There was also another altar in every corner. Each altar has its religious statue. Yet, something was odd about these statues. They were different from the fellow statues that I met before. On the first altar was a grieving woman with some sort of halo above her head. Adjacent to her altar was an angel pointing his sword towards my location. The other altar was a man holding a staff with a halo on his head and chest. On the last altar was a man crucified on a cross. I was very anxious. This place was far different from the usual places that I stayed in. I could feel that my crooked vessel was heating up. The atmosphere inside that torture room makes me melt.
