Photo by Marco Ceschi on Unsplash

I had once thought it pretty

I had my own rosary.

A string of prayer beads with a simple cross.

I thought it pretty.

Something to wear to a special event maybe.

A treasure to bring comfort and peace.

But this was no peaceful time.

My hands trembled.

The sweat dripped down the centre of my back.

I stumbled on my words,

“Holy Mary, Mother of God.”

No, no that’s not the way it starts.

I kept my eyes lowered.

I felt the heat rising to my cheeks.

“Hail Mary, Mother of God.”

No, no that’s not right.

Please ask someone else to continue the prayer.

But they all just waited.

“Hail Mary, Full of Grace.”

Yes, that’s it!

I raced through the rest of the prayer.

My cousins snickered.

Two more to go.

More stumbling.

Near tears.

“at the hour of our death.”

I peered up to see my uncle’s frown.

I didn’t find the rosary so pretty anymore.

First featured on Medium platform on April 14, 2021