The Holy Cross, *(Creative writing)*

Raindrops brunt the skin on my face, as I walked through a very watery substance lying on the ground, straight under my nose. It was half twelve and I was expected home soon.My family had no time for nonsense, they were beloved members of the catholic church.Ireland's only religion at the time, before people from other country's came in and shared their views. I never questioned Catholicism, I thought it the only "true" religion, only religion I knew about. And yet, if I had of thought of my believes, questioned them,would I be ready for the outcome? Ready for what my family and the entire race of humans may think of me? I thought softly to myself, "I"ll wait till I"m ready"..And wait I did.
The wind was really getting to me now, really annoying.. I began to wonder why my family was based in Ireland, the weather here was horribly cold, with daily amounts of rain. There was only one season, Winter.Why people lived here was something I had no idea of, probably the wonderfull people I guess.
I eventually arrived home, and realized the fire burning in the room was too much to take with my coat on me. I took my coat up, I ate my dinner and I stared at the cross of Jesus Christ staring back at me. I wondered.. Staring at the cross, I felt the warmth of the fire, droped my fork quietly beside the plate, felt my eye lids, slowly getting heavier ,
shutting them slowly, fading out the last image of the day, a cross