The bed creaks and a head and torso appear from the sea of clothes. Evie breathes out before inhaling, air vibrating softly in her nose and upper throat. She rises slowly, her bare back catching a beam of light from the crack between the curtains to show the smooth column of her spine, the small bones that connect to it separating her back into individual fillets of skin and muscle.

The bed creaks again; springs compress complainingly as a body rolls over.
       "You’re going to be late."
       "I’m trying to hurry. I just need to find…" Her voice trails off as she toes aside piles of discarded shoes and baggy sweatshirts; a pink thong appears suddenly from under a storm of jeans and old socks.
       "You should really clean this mess up."
       "It only bothers you when you’re late."
       "I give up." She pulls on a discarded camisole and wriggles into a pair of jeans. Checking the clock, it is one minute to eleven. Quickly, she grabs a dark turtleneck, pulling it on before flicking her hair out onto her shoulders.
       "Don’t go today, you’re already late."
       "You know I always go. I’ll be back in an hour."

Turning her back, she reaches for a puffy coat, thrusting her arms into the over-sized sleeves. She wraps an old scarf, once white but now rather grey, around her neck, and, grabbing her keys from the desk, quietly opens the door.

Outside, the chill air steals her breath. The sun shines coldly, unable to cut through the winter day and touch her skin. She bows her head against the gusting wind and hurries down the hill. The church is only three blocks away.

The thin air makes her pant with the effort of drawing its unkind chill into her lungs. The cold settles inside, a heavy pressure within her chest that she cannot exhale. Her ineffective breaths blow into her face, puffs of moisture making her cheeks shy away from the cold wetness of each exhale. Hurrying, she quickens her step as she struggles against the thin air, desperately pulling its heavy weight into her chest.

On her left, she passes by the shell of an old building, peeling paint dangling from wooden slats in long curls. The two unbroken windows, like mirrors, briefly reflect light in winking streams at her eyes. A metal fence with strips of plastic twined through it separates her from the property.

There is the screech of metal unhappily scraping over concrete. A construction sign, dangling from the fence, had brushed against the sidewalk. Looking over at the house, she sees that there is a large hole in one of the side-walls. Once, the house had seen work, but now, it is as empty as the road before her.

Finally, the church appears before her, an imposing, angular structure. She hurries toward it. Pulling open the heavy door, she wriggles through. Inside, she pauses to genuflect before settling into a pew at the back of church. Her eyes sweep to the vaulted ceiling, exposed beams bowed like the ribs of an overturned boat.

Looking forward, she sees the priest, head bent as he reads from the Gospel. Rising and falling, the waves of his voice wash over her thinly. She concentrates on his words, attempting to draw them to her from their place above her head. Lightly, they settle in her ears for a precious second before retreating back into a cacophony.

It is hot in the church yet the heavy weight of the cold does not melt from within her. Uncomfortably, Evie unzips her coat, hunching her shoulders to allow it to slip down her arms. The voice of the priest continues, filling up the space inside the arc of the church. She shifts in the seat, fiddling with her scarf as she rearranges it about her neck. Suddenly, the congregation is standing; belatedly, she too rises. They are singing once more, and mumbling indistinct replies to the prompts of the priest, now at the altar.

Evie shuffles forward in line, dragged towards the slight white wafer. Placing it in her mouth, she teases the fragment as it slowly disintegrates, traveling down her throat and lodging in her stomach with unexpected weight. Lightly, she tilts the cup toward her, the wine just touching her lips as she swallows, her throat muscles contracting. Turning away, her hand travels to her forehead, her heavy stomach and then each shoulder with little flicks of her fingers. As she shuffles back toward her seat, the sound rises around her. Faintly the waves of music catch her ears, the words dangling before her, hooking into her mind, echoing…