Willow Tree Monologue

Forgive me Father for I have sinned. I was told in Sunday school that we are all God’s creatures, but if so then some are slithering snakes who engulf the timid skeletons of the meek mice in this world. You see, a swallowed mouse appears no different than a snake. Their hearts beat together, the mouse’s growing fainter with every gargled breath. I swear to you Father, I am a mouse, a simple mouse whose soul has been swallowed by the most gnarling of demons. If this partition were to drop you would see the facade of a snake, but I must insist you have never listened to the sins of a mousier patron. If I purge myself of my sins with an all holy Ipecac of sorts, perhaps the snake will retch the mouse forth, and I can again be whole. A tremor courses through my form as I mentally prepare my reconciliation. The stairs to the ancient steeple are faded and rickety, but I race up them swiftly. Never have I been so pumped full of sin, the demonic sludge bursting my skin and oozing onto my dark, wool dress. Relief of this maddening poison is all I seek, so I take no care in walking politely. I dodge the tendrils of the rotten weeping willow tree which creep over the entrance of the church. The familiarity of the

My mind drifts from my worship, as the tentacles of my dark concerns refuse to be pried free. How foolish I was as a girl to think a prayer could repair any disgrace! How foolish I was as a grown woman to believe the same! My trembling, skeletal fingers trace the lettering on my leather-bound Bible as I recall my countless pleas to the Lord to rid me of its evil relative. All through the night, my sallow frame knelt at my bedside in endless prayer. It was my first defense, as a soldier of God. Still, I had to resort to fire and water to dispel the horrid text. If God is all powerful, and he did not help me, is he truly all-loving? If he does not love his children, is he truly a