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MidReal Story
God's Priest
Scenario:A sweet, comfortable story with an unique atmosphere about a girl who is eighteen years old and an catholic priest who is visiting an hospital in which that girl is because of hers incurable illness. The girls name is Natalia and the priest's name is Łukasz. The priest is visiting everyday everyone who is in the hospital with any sickness and wants to talk with him, confess or anything else. Natalia wants to create a special bond between him and her. Natalia is clase with God and wants to be even closer with Him, she listens with curiosity the masses that priest Łukasz is doing.
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Natalia
She is a girl with a terminal illness, spending her last days in a hospital. She is sweet, hopeful, and introspective. Natalia finds solace in her faith, often spending hours listening to Priest Łukasz's masses. She is drawn to him and desires to know more about his faith. Despite her condition, she is determined to make a meaningful connection with Priest Łukasz before he leaves the hospital.
Dr. Zara
She is a doctor treating Natalia's medical condition. She is compassionate, realistic, and empathetic. Dr. Zara informs Natalia about the severity of her illness and the limited time she has left. Despite the harsh reality, she provides emotional support to Natalia and respects her wish to spend time with Father Łukasz. Dr. Zara values open communication with her patients and prioritizes their emotional wellbeing alongside medical care.
Łukasz
He is a Catholic priest visiting patients at the hospital. He is compassionate, gentle, and reserved. Father Łukasz spends hours in the hospital room with Natalia, leading her in prayer and reading scripture. His presence brings her peace and hope. Although he shows little emotional expression, he is deeply invested in his ministry of comforting the sick and dying. His faith is evident in his actions and demeanor towards Natalia.
I was eighteen years old, and I was dying.
Not that I knew it at the time.
I just knew I was sick, very sick.
The doctors had told me it was incurable, whatever it was they found inside my body.
They didn’t tell me what it was, exactly, just that it was something they couldn’t fix.
That it would keep growing until it took over my body and killed me.
They didn’t tell me how long I had left, just that it wouldn’t be long.
They gave up on me before they even started trying to fix me.
I didn’t care.
I didn’t want to know when I would die.
I just wanted to be comfortable until then.
That’s why I was in the hospital, because they could give me drugs to make the pain easier.
It was a nice hospital, one of the best in the area, and they were good about giving me my drugs whenever I needed them.
They were also good about letting me have visitors whenever I wanted them.
Which is why I had a visitor every day at five o’clock in the afternoon.
It wasn’t family or friends.
It was a priest, Father Łukasz, and he came to visit everyone in the hospital who wanted a daily visit from him.
Some people wanted to confess, others just wanted someone to talk to.
I lay in my bed, my head turned to face the door.
The afternoon sun was shining through the window, casting long shadows on the floor.
The monitors beeped steadily, but I barely heard them.
My fingers played with the cross pendant hanging from my neck as I watched the clock tick closer and closer to five o’clock.
A nurse came in to check my vitals, but I barely noticed her.
I was too busy watching the hallway outside my room, waiting for Father Łukasz to come by.
I could hear his footsteps on the linoleum floor, and his soft greetings to the other patients.
He stopped at the room next door, and I could hear him talking softly to whoever was in there.
Then, as the clock struck five, he stepped into my room, and everything else faded away.
I watch him as he comes in, his black cassock rustling softly as he moves.
He pulls a chair over to the side of my bed and sits down, placing his worn Bible on the bedside table.
His eyes are kind and gentle as he looks at me, and I feel a sense of peace wash over me.
"Good afternoon," he says softly.
"Good afternoon, Father," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
"How are you feeling today?"
I shrug slightly, not wanting to talk about my illness.
"I’m okay," I say.
"Just enjoying the sunshine."
He nods, smiling slightly.
"Yes, it’s a beautiful day," he says.
"I was just at the brick church on Oak Street. It’s a lovely building."
I smile slightly, remembering the church I used to attend Mass at before I got sick.
"It is," I say.
"I used to go there all the time."
"Really?" he asks, his eyes lighting up with interest.
"Yes," I say.
"I loved it there. The stained glass windows were so beautiful."
He nods, smiling.
"Yes, they are," he says.
"Did you know that they were installed in 1892? They were made by volunteers from the congregation."
I shake my head, fascinated by the story.
"No, I didn’t know that," I say.
"That’s amazing."
He nods again, his eyes shining with enthusiasm.
"Yes, it is," he says.
"And did you know that they survived a fire in 1940? The church was badly damaged, but the windows were saved." "Wow," I say, amazed by the story.
"That’s incredible."
He nods again, smiling.
"Yes, it is," he says.
"The congregation worked hard to rebuild the church, and it’s still standing today."
I smile slightly, feeling a sense of connection to my old church family.
"That’s wonderful," I say.
"I’m glad they were able to save it."
He nods again, his smile fading slightly as he looks at me more seriously.
"Yes, it’s always sad when a church is lost," he says.
"But it’s wonderful when one can be saved."
I nod slightly, feeling a sense of peace wash over me again.
"Yes," I say softly.
"It is."
We sit in silence for a moment, and then Father Łukasz speaks again.
"You know, I’ve been thinking about something," he says, his voice gentle but firm.
"What’s that?" I ask, curious about the shift in his tone.
"I believe there’s a reason you’re still here, and it’s not just to wait for the end."
His weathered hands carefully turn the thin pages of his Bible, the paper crinkling softly against the steady hum of medical equipment.
I watch his fingers trace down the columns of text, searching for a specific verse.
The afternoon sun streams through the window, casting a warm glow over the room and illuminating dust motes that dance around his shoulders.
He pauses at a familiar passage, one that I recognize from my childhood.
Psalm 23.
I can almost recite it by heart, remembering the countless nights my mother read it to me before bed.
He clears his throat softly and begins to read, his voice steady and warm.
"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters."
I close my eyes, letting the words wash over me like a soothing balm.
"Do you think there's still hope for me, Father?" I ask, my voice trembling slightly.
He looks at me with unwavering conviction, "I believe hope is not just about healing the body, but also about finding peace in the soul."