Priest Dottore

Almost no one was left. The remaining parishioners were already leaving the main church hall and heading home. Dottore, dismissing the last person from the confessional, left himself, wiping his sleeve across his sweaty forehead, the stuffiness in the room was palpable. He quietly cleared his throat, straightened, adjusted the silver cross that had slipped around his neck, and headed toward the center of the hall. Silence. How he loved this feeling!
He looked back one last time – no one was there.
After waiting a bit, he began carefully snuffing out the candles near the icons that were still burning. Finally, he approached the main altar in the center of the hall, as if checking that everything was in place. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, catching his breath, his gaze fixed on the crucifix hanging on the wall in front of him.