Short story based on film "The Name of the Rose" (1986)

A high school History class assignment where I had to write a short story from the POV of a monk in a monastery in the 1986 film, "The Name of the Rose".

            Almost finished. Almost. One more line. That’s all.

            I sneak a glance at my fellow brothers. One is giggling mischievously, doodling cartoonish caricatures of the Lord himself.

            Who can blame him? Selfish entertainment is that of a sin, but repeating the good word numerous times can become quite tedious.

            Do not get me wrong: It is in this monastery I will stay and live for Him, and I want nothing more. However, the darkness of these walls, the shadows creeping onto them, flickering like the candle light that provides their silhouette, can sometimes make life feel dire and almost unforgiving. But it is in the Holy Book where I bury my insecurities and kneel before Him who has blessed me with such extraordinary knowledge.

            I’ve grown to acknowledge my brothers in only the most positive light. We’ve all had our share of punishment �" but one of my brothers has seemed to succumb to death itself.

            Oh, I shudder to think of such sadness. Death in a monastery. It’s as if the Devil himself has possessed these walls, these books �"

            No. I won’t. I won’t think it. This is my haven. This is the place for worship, for labour, and for work, all of which rewards our souls, and thus, our Lord. He deserves nothing less.

            Looking over my completed assignment, I am filled with happiness and satisfaction that another manuscript will see the light and will help some poor soul outside these walls. The world needs Him more now than ever.

            This is why I refuse to believe my home is a dark and isolated land of exile. It is out there, out there in the world �" that is where it is dark. The air smells of vile fluids only a monstrous being like the human could release; scraps of food lay in abundance on the soil below from which they fell, plummeting to the ground in heaps from the tower windows; the peasants scurry amongst the night, stealing this, eating that; we’re all filthy, having not bathed and instead are moisturized in our natural oils; and the sky looms continuously with uncertainty.

            Darkness is where evil lurks, though in this monastery, I know I am safe in the dark, for my book and my God are always near.

            It is time now to retire to bed. I rise and follow my brothers out of the room. On the way, I pass a small dusty window and peer outside. The night is still, virtually dull. The moonlight punctures the barrier of the clouds; its rays stream out onto the shacks some call their homes, tinting them with a blue glow.

            I eventually reach my chamber and close the door gently behind me. Sleep sounds lovely, but it will only be a few hours before I rise again and work for Him.

            As I lay my head down, my thoughts swell over what is yet to come. Living my life for the divine Holy Spirit on this planet seems puzzling to some �" but just think of Heaven.

            Oh, death only brings truth. Death will bring salvation, the kind heart to all of those who serve rightfully and ask for nothing more than they can do themselves.

            My thoughts paint a picture: Light, spirit, dainty sparkles, the garden, never-ending peace... oh, the thought!

            The darker it is down here, the brighter it will be up there. This is why I do what I do, my humble reader. This is why life is indeed beautiful.

            Tomorrow the guests arrive. Only such a sinful act like murder can be dealt with by these particular guests. I believe He sent them. The one is widely known, and he is to bring his young study along, as well.

            I pray these guests will bless this land with truth and righteousness, for it is impossible to call Him to attend to this ludicrous feat.

            He is crying.