“Oh, damn,” said Lizbeth as we passed the Basilica. “I’m reading on Sunday. Wait a second and I’ll grab my copy.”

She raced up the church steps as Carly and I looked at each other. We knew Lizbeth was Catholic of course - she couldn’t come out on Sunday mornings because of church - but somehow, her words had brought it home to us. Lizbeth was part of another, alien world that we had never seen.

We waited two or three minutes, Carly growing more impatient, me growing more curious. I’d only ever seen the Basilica from the outside, but I’d never really given it a second glance. It was just... there. Now I made a careful inspection. It didn’t look like much of anything. It was made of dirty whitestone, and the three domes were covered in lichen and bird droppings. The gardens and lawn on the steep slope outside were sterile and well-kept, though I’d seen the kids playing tag there on Sunday mornings. The steps were cracked and the rails on either side had probably been green once. Now the paint was peeling, tiny slivers waiting to jab the hand unwary or unobservant enough to use them for support. It was huge, imposing, but in a pathetic sort of way. Once it had been a glorious monument to God - now, merely a sad reminder of days long gone. The one new-looking thing was the high, black cast-iron fence separating the Basilica from the rest of the town. This place is for the chosen, it seemed to say. Unbelievers - outside. “And keep off the grass, you heathens,” I muttered resentfully.

“What?” Carly asked impatiently. Without waiting for a reply, she carried on. Carly’s like that sometimes. “You’d better go in and get her.” More often than not, she’s like that too. Normally that little order would have prompted an argument. But today, I meekly consented and started for the steps. Her eyebrows lifted, and she opened her mouth - but she didn’t say anything. Lucky, too. Whatever it was, I’m sure it wasn’t going to be pleasant. Actually, she seemed a little on edge. Carly doesn’t put a lot of faith in things she can’t see or touch or work out as absolute truths for herself. Faith in a divine being is definitely out of her belief range, so I’m sure being outside a reminder that many other people seemed to manage it on a daily basis was making her... well, not nervous. Just edgy.

I put Carly firmly out of my mind, passed through the gates (suppressing a shiver) and began climbing the steps. I tripped once, but regained my balance without falling on my face, icily ignoring the muffled snort below. Lizbeth must have had long years of practice to leap up as agilely as she had.

I walked in through the huge dark doors, mouth open to call her name - then stopped, the shout arrested in my throat, my mouth still gaping. The Basilica was... beautiful. But not only that. Serene. Majestic. And somehow filled with an ageless joy. The same whitestone that was a dirty gray outside was a soft creamy white in here. Tall carved columns held up a roof of blue sculptured squares. High, patterned windows allowed streaks of sunlight to fall over the silent wooden pews, as if the sun worshipped here when the people were gone, as it had before there were any people. It was so quiet in here, the noise from the street outside muted by thick walls and doors, yet through the hushed stillness it seemed I could hear a hundred thousand heavenly voices singing songs of praise and joy. And at the altar, a small figure knelt.

I must have made some sound, or perhaps she just sensed my eyes on her, because she rose gracefully and turned to face me. She was standing in one of those shafts of sunlight, and her pale blonde hair had become a golden halo that framed her face, serene and smiling. Her dreamy pale blue dress fluttered and drifted as the door behind me opened, and the light in her eyes was tranquilty itself. She opened her mouth, and I held my breath - and then Carly crashed in, shattering both the silence and the spell, and for just a moment, I found myself hating her.

“Are you done, Lizbeth?” she asked - not exactly shouting, but not really quiet either. Truth be told, it’s about as reverential as Carly ever gets. “Yes,” Lizbeth replied - and it was just Lizbeth standing there, holding a sheet of paper as a shield against Carly’s annoyance. She walked back down the aisle, eyes on me. I hastily closed my mouth, suddenly conscious of how dry it was. I surely hadn’t had it open all that time, had I? How long had it been anyway? It seemed as if that moment had lasted forever, but it could only have been a few seconds - a minute at the most - before Carly had burst in.

Once we were back out in the early evening sun, Lizbeth apologized unapologetically, and Carly accepted her apology just as insincerely. Then we were off again, the Basilica quickly hidden behind rows of fashionable houses. Carly chattered on about the Economics test we’d just done - she’d probably aced it - and I half listened and half watched Lizbeth reading her piece of paper. Once she murmured “Yea, for though I speak with the tongues of men and angels...”

And I smiled, and we walked on into the twilight.

Nothing really to say about this story, but here's an answer to two things that people often say about my work. Sometimes I get criticised for only writing about girls. I am a girl, I go to an all girls' school, all my close friends are girls and my closest male friends would die of embarassment if they thought I was merely considering the idea of writing about them. SO I write about girls. I figure I'm qualified. Lack of male characters aside, I get occasionally mystical, as evidenced in a lot of my writing. I was brought up Catholic, but I see myself more as spiritual than religious. Alternatively, this could all be pompous mouthings by an adolescent would-be writer who takes herself far too seriously. You decide ^_^