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Short story By: alhain


Submitted:Apr 18, 2009    Reads: 76    Comments: 2    Likes: 1   

She left school for she felt that they were made to become like machines, this she didn't like it all, but what would she do? She didn't hear the eternal truth. She referred to her not so beautiful physical body, yet in the inside she was all a man would ask for. Who would tell her about this? No one ever cared, the church cared much about Jesus on the cross, yet here was Jesus standing in church hoping to be given a chance to let shine forth the love of the father. If she knew who she was she would have known better. How abused would she become is a question to which the authors wouldn't give an answer, in the hell of her confusion angels wings would burn off easily and what more was there to do? God stood there crying at the sight of a beautiful flower being burned out for its beauty and might. Was it his fault? He felt like it…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

She was found in the cave of his hatred for the world, stained by his desire to be made king, there she was lying under the floor of his apartment with warmth coming out of her body hoping to send the signal of distress to anyone closer to her. She was not found for a while; she was distrust at home for her incessant anger at a world at war with everyone. In my words she was the messiah rejected by her nation. Poor water in a glass filled with dirt and no one will drink it was my way of explaining to her parents her desire to leave home and become the young lady standing at the street corner when the rest of the girls where trying on their new skirts. Harsh words it might have been, but love is all it can be, we do not choose how one will receive it but as long as we know it is love we can be sure we are acting for the benefits of the whole. I felt a connection with her from afar, I can recollection the stories I told in my younger age about finding myself in a room with no doors and windows, the only way out was trough a little window in my heart. I remember the old lady telling me this: Deny your own Identity, and you will not escape the madness that induced this weird, unnatural and ghostly thought that mocks creation and that laughs at God. Deny your own Identity, and you assail the universe alone, without a friend, a tiny particle of dust against the legions of your enemies. Deny your own Identity, and look on evil, sin and death, and watch despair snatch from your fingers every scrap of hope, leaving you nothing but the wish to die. In the wise man god understands that there was no sacrifice asked but only truth to be acknowledged and no more than this. We sat in my office for hours without any words coming out from our mouths. Did we have to use words? Did I have to take her back to the crime scene, I must confess it is a place I wouldn't want to be neither, so I went there wearing her coat as if I became her and I felt it all, there was no need for words surely I know. In the darkness of her eyes I was the only one who would see the light in the corner of the room she had left with her for movement. It wasn't that big; the only move she could make was to put her hands at her mouth when she would sneeze. Its ok with me I said, this is your world and not his………could I ever read a story that wasn't mine? Could I ever hear her speak? The child in the basement of my bar is still crying in my ears and I feel pain. I was once rejected and as I was drowning in the bottles of my insecurities I left the child I was, hiding in the basement of my bar. How could I ever really explain that this is my story? He never came out to see what his father turned out to be, so afraid he never really believed the world around him but now looking at her I can see the child giving his hand to a stranger and the man is just about to come back in the bar. And this time the caring man I have become is there for help.


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