Father Anthony: A Fictional Narrative

“J.D., don't listen to this guy. He doesn't know how hard you've fought, how hard you're still fighting. Winners don't quit and quitters don't win, remember?”

He tried forcing a simper of confidence, before the Priest interrupted.

“You need not worry Rodrick.” Father Anthony's voice was steady and calm.
“You're not fooling anyone padre.” Rod responded without turning to face the old preacher.
“And who would I try to fool?”

I was confused, both of these people were figments of my imagination, but at this very moment I had no idea what was motivating them. I had no clue what they were talking about or why they were at odds with one another. A feeling of unease began to wash over me.

“Rod, bro, we were just talking.”
“No, you weren't.” His voice shock with disappointment.
No more were the colors of the stained glass windows projected on the cobblestone floor. The warmth of the Frankincense had waned and a small chill lingered in the air in its place.

Father Anthony approached and placed his hand on my sibling's shoulder.

“You know not of what you speak, my child.” That familiar tranquil tone called out to my brother.
“Hands off, old man.” Rod turned his crestfallen glare to the priest.
“I only wish to help your younger brother Rodrick.”
“Help him?”
“Yes, help him to accept his fate.” Father Anthony smiled at me, his demeanor subdued and