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Her friends—if they could be called that—were no different. They sat in the front pews, not out of reverence but to be seen. Together, they used religion as a veil for their selfish ambitions, exploiting the faith of others to satisfy their greed. Sister Margaret had become intoxicated with the life it brought—wealth, status, and the control she exerted over those beneath her. But with each sinful act, she slipped further from the woman she once was.
Now, lying in the sterile white of a hospital bed, none of that mattered. A coma had claimed her body, leaving her trapped in a silent world where her mind floated between memories and the muted voices of visitors who came and went as if standing over her grave.
She could hear them—her 'friends' from the church, the very people she had once trusted. At first, she had been eager for their visits, hoping they might pray for her or express genuine concern for her condition. But the words they spoke when they thought she couldn’t hear sent icy dread crawling up her spine.
"She’ll never wake up,” whispered the voice of a woman she had once dined with, a fellow conspirator in a dozen schemes. "And good riddance. She got too greedy. I always knew it would come back to bite her."
The others murmured in agreement, their voices dripping with casual cruelty.
"She thought she could have it all, but now look at her. Nothing left but a shell."
She could hear them—her 'friends' from the church, the very people she had once trusted. At first, she had been eager for their visits, hoping they might pray for her or express genuine concern for her condition. But the words they spoke when they thought she couldn’t hear sent icy dread crawling up her spine.
"She’ll never wake up,” whispered the voice of a woman she had once dined with, a fellow conspirator in a dozen schemes. "And good riddance. She got too greedy. I always knew it would come back to bite her."
The others murmured in agreement, their voices dripping with casual cruelty.
"She thought she could have it all, but now look at her. Nothing left but a shell."
Margaret tried to scream, to protest, to beg them to stop, but her body remained still. The voices blurred and twisted in her mind, each word slicing through her illusions like a razor. These people, the ones she had thought were her friends, didn’t care about her. They never had. They had only ever cared about what she could give them, and now that she lay comatose, she had nothing to offer.
The parade of visitors continued—doctors, nurses, and members of the church hierarchy who showed up for appearances but stayed no longer than necessary. Each time they left, Margaret was plunged deeper into the suffocating realisation of how alone she truly was. None of her acts of kindness, if there had been any, mattered. The wealth she had amassed was irrelevant. Her position, and her power, had all been stripped away in the face of death’s slow approach. All that remained was the bitter truth she could no longer avoid: she had lived a life without love, without genuine connection, and now she was paying the price.
One day, as she drifted in the dark between consciousness and oblivion, a different voice broke through. It wasn’t a visitor—it came from somewhere deeper, somewhere in the quiet corners of her mind that she had long ignored.
“Is this what you wanted, Margaret?” The voice asked, soft yet insistent.
Margaret’s thoughts swirled, trying to reject the question and cling to her past beliefs. But there was no escaping it. She could no longer hide behind her arrogance. Her heart, twisted by years of greed and deception, felt exposed, raw, and vulnerable for the first time.
The voice spoke again, more forcefully. “You lived for yourself, and now you are alone. Look at the world you created.”
And she did. In her mind’s eye, images of her life played out like a twisted film reel. She saw the faces of those she had wronged—the people who had come to her for spiritual guidance, whom she had betrayed for profit. She saw the poor and the desperate who had placed their faith in her, only to be exploited for their meagre offerings. She saw her fellow conspirators, the ones who had praised her to her face while plotting behind her back. She saw herself in the centre of it all, believing she was untouchable.
For the first time, Margaret felt something she hadn’t in years: regret. Deep, bone-crushing regret. She had wasted her life on the pursuit of hollow riches and fleeting power, and now, in the shadow of death, she realised none of it mattered.
“Is there any way back?” she asked the voice, her internal plea filled with desperation.
There was no immediate answer. Silence stretched on, thick and oppressive, as if the weight of her sins was too great to offer an easy redemption. But then, just when Margaret thought she would be swallowed by the darkness, the voice returned.
“Redemption is never easy, Margaret. You have to truly want it. You have to let go of everything you’ve clung to.”
“But I don’t know how,” she whispered into the void. “I don’t know how to undo all the wrong I’ve done.”
The voice softened. “You can’t undo the past, but you can face it. The only way out is through.”
In that moment, Margaret felt something shift within her. The arrogance and cruelty that had once defined her life began to peel away, layer by layer. She thought of the people she had hurt and the lives she had damaged. And for the first time, she felt true sorrow for what she had done.
As she lay in her coma, a flicker of hope stirred within her. She could not undo her deeds, but perhaps there was still a chance for her soul. Perhaps, in whatever came after this life, she could find a way to atone for her sins. She had spent so long being intoxicated by the world’s trappings that she had forgotten what it meant to truly live, to truly love, and to serve something greater than herself.
The visits from her so-called friends grew less frequent until they stopped altogether. Margaret was left alone in the sterile silence of the hospital room, but she was no longer afraid. In her heart, she had already begun the long, painful journey toward redemption.
And as the midnight train waited at the edge of her consciousness, its doors open and ready to carry her forward, Sister Margaret took one final breath, feeling the weight of her past slowly lift as she prepared to board, ready to face the reckoning that awaited her in the next realm.
The parade of visitors continued—doctors, nurses, and members of the church hierarchy who showed up for appearances but stayed no longer than necessary. Each time they left, Margaret was plunged deeper into the suffocating realisation of how alone she truly was. None of her acts of kindness, if there had been any, mattered. The wealth she had amassed was irrelevant. Her position, and her power, had all been stripped away in the face of death’s slow approach. All that remained was the bitter truth she could no longer avoid: she had lived a life without love, without genuine connection, and now she was paying the price.
One day, as she drifted in the dark between consciousness and oblivion, a different voice broke through. It wasn’t a visitor—it came from somewhere deeper, somewhere in the quiet corners of her mind that she had long ignored.
“Is this what you wanted, Margaret?” The voice asked, soft yet insistent.
Margaret’s thoughts swirled, trying to reject the question and cling to her past beliefs. But there was no escaping it. She could no longer hide behind her arrogance. Her heart, twisted by years of greed and deception, felt exposed, raw, and vulnerable for the first time.
The voice spoke again, more forcefully. “You lived for yourself, and now you are alone. Look at the world you created.”
And she did. In her mind’s eye, images of her life played out like a twisted film reel. She saw the faces of those she had wronged—the people who had come to her for spiritual guidance, whom she had betrayed for profit. She saw the poor and the desperate who had placed their faith in her, only to be exploited for their meagre offerings. She saw her fellow conspirators, the ones who had praised her to her face while plotting behind her back. She saw herself in the centre of it all, believing she was untouchable.
For the first time, Margaret felt something she hadn’t in years: regret. Deep, bone-crushing regret. She had wasted her life on the pursuit of hollow riches and fleeting power, and now, in the shadow of death, she realised none of it mattered.
“Is there any way back?” she asked the voice, her internal plea filled with desperation.
There was no immediate answer. Silence stretched on, thick and oppressive, as if the weight of her sins was too great to offer an easy redemption. But then, just when Margaret thought she would be swallowed by the darkness, the voice returned.
“Redemption is never easy, Margaret. You have to truly want it. You have to let go of everything you’ve clung to.”
“But I don’t know how,” she whispered into the void. “I don’t know how to undo all the wrong I’ve done.”
The voice softened. “You can’t undo the past, but you can face it. The only way out is through.”
In that moment, Margaret felt something shift within her. The arrogance and cruelty that had once defined her life began to peel away, layer by layer. She thought of the people she had hurt and the lives she had damaged. And for the first time, she felt true sorrow for what she had done.
As she lay in her coma, a flicker of hope stirred within her. She could not undo her deeds, but perhaps there was still a chance for her soul. Perhaps, in whatever came after this life, she could find a way to atone for her sins. She had spent so long being intoxicated by the world’s trappings that she had forgotten what it meant to truly live, to truly love, and to serve something greater than herself.
The visits from her so-called friends grew less frequent until they stopped altogether. Margaret was left alone in the sterile silence of the hospital room, but she was no longer afraid. In her heart, she had already begun the long, painful journey toward redemption.
And as the midnight train waited at the edge of her consciousness, its doors open and ready to carry her forward, Sister Margaret took one final breath, feeling the weight of her past slowly lift as she prepared to board, ready to face the reckoning that awaited her in the next realm.
