I have no excuse as to why I haven't posted recently. Forgive me for leaving you all in suspense?
I don't know if I've mentioned this before or not, but I practically feed off of comments, and the less hungry I am, the faster I'll update! You don't have to have a Blogger account to leave a comment. Please leave critique, suggestions, whatever…I promise I'll respond!
Life for me faded to no more than a blur, images and events zooming past too quickly for me to decipher, if I’d even had the mind to.
Once in a while, I’d become fed up with such a slow, depressed life, and try to pull myself out of it. But it always hurt my head to the point that I began to stoop to medicinal cures, taking sometimes twice as much as the doctor had prescribed. I knew that I was only messing myself up more, but I couldn’t find the strength to care.
My parents asked me to move back in with them. Since my house was to be foreclosed in a month or less(I had been ignoring my former “job” for the last month or so), I consented without a struggle. Each day was monotonous and without joy: get up, brush teeth, occasionally eat something, stare at the wall for fourteen hours, and crawl back in bed for another sleepless night.
One day, whilst I had been entertaining some particularly depressing thoughts, a sharp knock rapped at my door. Slowly swinging my line of view to the doorframe, I mumbled something meaningless and my mother’s head appeared.
“Shawn, honey? There’s someone here to see you.”
For the first time in a month, my heart rose from its reclusive hideaway at the bottom of my chest, hope flooding my spirit. Someone came to visit me? Is it Abbie? I refused to register that she was dead and would never visit me again. The laws of nature held no meaning for me.
But instead of a beautiful, cheery, slight-framed woman, a thickset, hairy man plodded into my bedroom, nodding at my mother politely as he did so. My little spark of hope vanished and left my heart to sink in my chest again.
“Mr. Winston? I’d like to have a word with you.”
I ignored the request, instead deciding to analyze his voice. In contrast to his heavy, burly features, his voice had a light, melodic tone to it that almost evoked a response from me. I managed to stamp down any emotion before it came loose, however.
When realizing that he’d get no reply, the man sighed and continued. “Mr. Winston, my name is Johnny. I’m the Pastor of Northside Baptist Church, just a few minutes away from here.”
I suddenly found myself inexplicably entranced with a spot on the carpet in front of me.
“Mr. Winston, I know that you’re suffering, but you need to find the strength to pull through. God has a bigger plan —”
I felt rage bubble inside my chest, and I was nearly alarmed at the new large amount of emotion. “God has a plan?” I snapped. “Does he now? Was it his plan to kill my innocent Abbie, who’d never hurt a fly, and just take her life because he felt like it? Was it part of his master plan to murder her? Huh? He took her life and ruined mine. Whatever his ‘plan’ is, I don’t want in on it.”
The pastor’s eyes were filled with shock, sadness, and, surprisingly, pity. “Mr. Winston, I know that it probably seems that way, but you have to —”
“I don’t have to do anything. I’m my own person, and no one can tell me otherwise. Especially some evil god’s mouthpiece.”
“Will you at least let me pray for you?”
I paused in my preparation for another rant. He wanted to pray for me? That was an unexpected request. “Uh, whatever. I don’t care. Just get the heck out of my room.”
He nodded and extended his hand to shake, not seeming offended when I flatly ignored it. Picking up the suitcase he’d brought in with him, he smiled faintly at me, and left.
I stared at the open door after him. My commitment to absolute silence had been completely shattered in little more than three minutes, but it was his fault, wasn’t it? Who did he think he was, strolling in here and telling me to get over my loss? Abbie was my entire world. How on earth did he expect me to just forget about her so quickly?
My legs ached, most likely from the hours I spent daily trying to escape reality by means of staring at the wall. In any case, I stood up and stretched, brushing off my pants gently.
Something shifted under my foot. I looked down, slightly surprised, to see a thick, leather-bound book. Tabs were sticking out of its many pages at all angles, and at least seven bookmarks marked where Johnny had left off his reading. At least, I supposed it belonged to Johnny. There was no other comprehensible way that it had made the trip to my room, considering Johnny was the first person, besides my parents, that I’d interacted with in a month. The book certainly hadn’t been there before; I spent three hours staring at a flaw in the carpeting in that spot once.
I leaned over, with some effort, and retrieved the book from the floor. It had a slight footprint where I’d stepped on it, and without thinking I rubbed the grime off of the cover.
There was no title, though it looked as if whatever word had been there had been rubbed off years ago by overuse. A red bookmark adorned with mini gold tassels caught my attention. I opened the book to that page and read the first sentence that caught my eye.
“Blessed be the LORD, for He has wondrously shown me His steadfast love to me…”
I snorted and flipped to a different page. God isn’t like that, I told myself. If He was capable of loving, Abbie wouldn’t be dead right now…
I skimmed through what I now knew was a Bible. I had seen Abbie reading hers as if her life depended on it, but look what good that did for her?
However much I told myself that I could care less about Christianity, though, I still felt an unnameable urge to read the book. Just one more page, I told myself.
The next verse that drew my eye was, ironically, also describing how loving God was.
“I will speak of the LORD’s unfailing love. I will praise the LORD for all the good He has done. I will rejoice in His great goodness to Israel, which He has granted according to His mercy and love.”
I looked away from the book lying open in my lap. I wish there actually was some all-powerful being who would love me unconditionally.
I pushed the Bible off my lap, sliding down the edge of my bed to lean against it. This book keeps describing how much love God has for us, but it doesn’t make sense. If God really loved us, He wouldn’t have let Abbie die, would He?
Maybe…I almost want to learn more about this faith, if only to understand it. After all, if Abbie put her faith into it, it couldn’t be that bad, right? I’m not saying that I want to trust this God. I don’t think I could if I tried. But…maybe I should just give it a shot.
I doubted I’d figure the solution out on my own anytime soon, so that left only one option. Hoisting myself to my feet, I charged out of my room, down the stairs, and out the front door.
Blinding sunlight nearly sizzled my eyes in my head. I howled and covered my face, realizing that, after nearly a month of no direct sunlight, it could take a while to readapt to the outdoors.
Once my eyes adjusted somewhat and my oncoming migraine faded slightly, I hesitantly removed my hands from over my face and blinked. I waited until I was positive that I wouldn’t fail to notice an oncoming semi-truck, then scanned the area.
The pastor, Johnny, was just getting into a black Sedan parked a short ways away. My heart rising hopefully, I yelled and waved my hands to catch his attention. It didn’t work. He got into the car and closed the door.
I ceased my hollering and ran after the pastor, reaching his car just before he began pulling away. When I thumped on the window, somewhat sheepishly, his brow lifted and he lowered the glass.
“Hi…umm…I’m sorry for yelling. I just needed to vent after all these weeks. I’d, erm, like to hear more about this faith of yours…Would you mind explaining a couple things?”
A pleased, somewhat surprised smile blossomed over Johnny’s angular features. Beaming, he asked, “What would you like to know?”
Once in a while, I’d become fed up with such a slow, depressed life, and try to pull myself out of it. But it always hurt my head to the point that I began to stoop to medicinal cures, taking sometimes twice as much as the doctor had prescribed. I knew that I was only messing myself up more, but I couldn’t find the strength to care.
My parents asked me to move back in with them. Since my house was to be foreclosed in a month or less(I had been ignoring my former “job” for the last month or so), I consented without a struggle. Each day was monotonous and without joy: get up, brush teeth, occasionally eat something, stare at the wall for fourteen hours, and crawl back in bed for another sleepless night.
One day, whilst I had been entertaining some particularly depressing thoughts, a sharp knock rapped at my door. Slowly swinging my line of view to the doorframe, I mumbled something meaningless and my mother’s head appeared.
“Shawn, honey? There’s someone here to see you.”
For the first time in a month, my heart rose from its reclusive hideaway at the bottom of my chest, hope flooding my spirit. Someone came to visit me? Is it Abbie? I refused to register that she was dead and would never visit me again. The laws of nature held no meaning for me.
But instead of a beautiful, cheery, slight-framed woman, a thickset, hairy man plodded into my bedroom, nodding at my mother politely as he did so. My little spark of hope vanished and left my heart to sink in my chest again.
“Mr. Winston? I’d like to have a word with you.”
I ignored the request, instead deciding to analyze his voice. In contrast to his heavy, burly features, his voice had a light, melodic tone to it that almost evoked a response from me. I managed to stamp down any emotion before it came loose, however.
When realizing that he’d get no reply, the man sighed and continued. “Mr. Winston, my name is Johnny. I’m the Pastor of Northside Baptist Church, just a few minutes away from here.”
I suddenly found myself inexplicably entranced with a spot on the carpet in front of me.
“Mr. Winston, I know that you’re suffering, but you need to find the strength to pull through. God has a bigger plan —”
I felt rage bubble inside my chest, and I was nearly alarmed at the new large amount of emotion. “God has a plan?” I snapped. “Does he now? Was it his plan to kill my innocent Abbie, who’d never hurt a fly, and just take her life because he felt like it? Was it part of his master plan to murder her? Huh? He took her life and ruined mine. Whatever his ‘plan’ is, I don’t want in on it.”
The pastor’s eyes were filled with shock, sadness, and, surprisingly, pity. “Mr. Winston, I know that it probably seems that way, but you have to —”
“I don’t have to do anything. I’m my own person, and no one can tell me otherwise. Especially some evil god’s mouthpiece.”
“Will you at least let me pray for you?”
I paused in my preparation for another rant. He wanted to pray for me? That was an unexpected request. “Uh, whatever. I don’t care. Just get the heck out of my room.”
He nodded and extended his hand to shake, not seeming offended when I flatly ignored it. Picking up the suitcase he’d brought in with him, he smiled faintly at me, and left.
I stared at the open door after him. My commitment to absolute silence had been completely shattered in little more than three minutes, but it was his fault, wasn’t it? Who did he think he was, strolling in here and telling me to get over my loss? Abbie was my entire world. How on earth did he expect me to just forget about her so quickly?
My legs ached, most likely from the hours I spent daily trying to escape reality by means of staring at the wall. In any case, I stood up and stretched, brushing off my pants gently.
Something shifted under my foot. I looked down, slightly surprised, to see a thick, leather-bound book. Tabs were sticking out of its many pages at all angles, and at least seven bookmarks marked where Johnny had left off his reading. At least, I supposed it belonged to Johnny. There was no other comprehensible way that it had made the trip to my room, considering Johnny was the first person, besides my parents, that I’d interacted with in a month. The book certainly hadn’t been there before; I spent three hours staring at a flaw in the carpeting in that spot once.
I leaned over, with some effort, and retrieved the book from the floor. It had a slight footprint where I’d stepped on it, and without thinking I rubbed the grime off of the cover.
There was no title, though it looked as if whatever word had been there had been rubbed off years ago by overuse. A red bookmark adorned with mini gold tassels caught my attention. I opened the book to that page and read the first sentence that caught my eye.
“Blessed be the LORD, for He has wondrously shown me His steadfast love to me…”
I snorted and flipped to a different page. God isn’t like that, I told myself. If He was capable of loving, Abbie wouldn’t be dead right now…
I skimmed through what I now knew was a Bible. I had seen Abbie reading hers as if her life depended on it, but look what good that did for her?
However much I told myself that I could care less about Christianity, though, I still felt an unnameable urge to read the book. Just one more page, I told myself.
The next verse that drew my eye was, ironically, also describing how loving God was.
“I will speak of the LORD’s unfailing love. I will praise the LORD for all the good He has done. I will rejoice in His great goodness to Israel, which He has granted according to His mercy and love.”
I looked away from the book lying open in my lap. I wish there actually was some all-powerful being who would love me unconditionally.
I pushed the Bible off my lap, sliding down the edge of my bed to lean against it. This book keeps describing how much love God has for us, but it doesn’t make sense. If God really loved us, He wouldn’t have let Abbie die, would He?
Maybe…I almost want to learn more about this faith, if only to understand it. After all, if Abbie put her faith into it, it couldn’t be that bad, right? I’m not saying that I want to trust this God. I don’t think I could if I tried. But…maybe I should just give it a shot.
I doubted I’d figure the solution out on my own anytime soon, so that left only one option. Hoisting myself to my feet, I charged out of my room, down the stairs, and out the front door.
Blinding sunlight nearly sizzled my eyes in my head. I howled and covered my face, realizing that, after nearly a month of no direct sunlight, it could take a while to readapt to the outdoors.
Once my eyes adjusted somewhat and my oncoming migraine faded slightly, I hesitantly removed my hands from over my face and blinked. I waited until I was positive that I wouldn’t fail to notice an oncoming semi-truck, then scanned the area.
The pastor, Johnny, was just getting into a black Sedan parked a short ways away. My heart rising hopefully, I yelled and waved my hands to catch his attention. It didn’t work. He got into the car and closed the door.
I ceased my hollering and ran after the pastor, reaching his car just before he began pulling away. When I thumped on the window, somewhat sheepishly, his brow lifted and he lowered the glass.
“Hi…umm…I’m sorry for yelling. I just needed to vent after all these weeks. I’d, erm, like to hear more about this faith of yours…Would you mind explaining a couple things?”
A pleased, somewhat surprised smile blossomed over Johnny’s angular features. Beaming, he asked, “What would you like to know?”
You are a really good writer Syd. Keep it up! :)
ReplyDeleteThanks so much! That's so sweet :) I think I'll write one more chapter after this one, and then maybe an epilogue.
DeleteYAAAAAAY! its not completely a tragety after all! ^^ hehe he sounds like Ben Feilding from Safely Home
ReplyDeleteYeah I know, and the weird thing is that I hadn't even read the book at the time I wrote this. Or paid much attention to stuff like that, anyway.
Delete