The Green Cathedral

I based this story off of a song that is of the same title. It follows the story of a building through the years.

'Cathedral,' they said. 'It used to be a cathedral.'

'No,' would come the answer. 'This run-down building never could have been a cathedral.'

True, this slightly tilted structure with holes blown in the ancient stones didn't look like it ever could have ever been more than it was now. But the people had not always thought that. There was once a time when they thought the building was beautiful. 'Our Green Cathedral. What a sight!'

What had happened to this building? If it had been so loved, why did it now lay in ruins? If the building could talk, it would tell you.

It would tell of its builder. Of one man who had labored years to put together every stone. How his hands shook as he set the gems in place, turning them just so in order to catch the light at sunset. When the dying sun rays hit the stones, the whole cathedral would be bathed in an almost otherworldly glow of green, giving birth to the name The Green Cathedral. 

It would tell of the day it opened to the public, how people came from miles to attend the late afternoon mass, each desperate to catch a glimpse of the fantastic show at sunset. How music echoed from the rafters and people joined together to pray. Of years of blissful happiness, of peace.

It would tell of the days when the pews were empty of young men. Of the years where women would sit side-by-side clothed in black, handkerchiefs pressed beneath their eyes. How children no longer appeared as innocent and elders wept for days gone past.

It would tell of the days when the young men came home. Howe they were numbered far fewer than when they left. That some came missing pieces; limbs, innocence, or a part of their soul. Of the times the young men would break down in its pews and weep. Of all the times the building bore witness to strong young men breaking down. 

It would tell of the days when peace and happiness were tentatively restored. How people gave small smiles, as though one too big would frighten the happiness away. Of when peace was accepted again and people shouted it from the rooftops, determined to make their newfound joy outshine the recent darkness.

It would tell of the days when the darkness came again, but this time the young men didn't leave. Of times when neighbors, who used to share meals, wouldn't even share a glance within its walls. How the air was thick with tension and mistrust, poisoning the masses. And the days when the green seemed more eerie than divine. 

It would tell of the years that it was occupied by many different young men and their languages that had never been spoken inside its walls before. How these young men, though very different, seemed to carry themselves much like the men who had returned from years before. Of the haunted, too-old looks that were reflected in their eyes. 

It would tell of the day when blood was shed inside in anger. How the men with him had not cried, too scarred to grieve. Of the day the building was stained, never to be fully clean again.

It would tell of the day the young man had wandered in alone. How he had stumbled down the aisle and hit his knees before the altar. The young man's body shook with the force of his sobs, mumbling in his unfamiliar language. Of the first day in too many to count the building had been used for its correct purpose.

It would tell of that one fateful day. The day an explosion rocked the building. How that blast loosened some of the gems, causing them to fall and lay lifeless on the ground. Explosions continued falling, blowing holes in the weathered Green Cathedral. By the end of the day, the once regal Green Cathedral was reduced to another casualty.

It would tell of the years that followed. How the explosions stopped and the only language spoken around the building was its native one. Of all the time it sat in ruin, slowly decaying more, its once faithful attendees too busy rebuilding their own lives to concern themselves with a destroyed building. How, during the nights, people would come and steal the gems that had once glowed with such beauty. Of the parents who cautioned their children not to enter, how those words were more damaging than the explosions.

It would tell of the day the man came to see it.

'Cathedral,' they said. 'It used to be a cathedral.'

'Yes,' he smiled, 'and it will be again.'

Reviews

[Akash gaikwad]

I really don't have any feedback!!! I read the story found it wonderful and your vocab is on the point. The message of what is true gems of the cathedral is clear on the end of the story. Happy reading it.😊