Love and the Runner

    The Runner

              Her heart is beating faster, her breathing becoming heavier. Her legs seem like they are on autopilot. Everything is rushing past her. The trees, the grass and the bushes are just blurs. Some seem close and some not as close. She can hear herself breathing. She can hear herself panting, yet she keeps running. She can hear her feet pounding on the fallen sticks and leaves. At a distance the trees are so clear, but as she nears them they become unfocused shades of green. 

           Her pace increases; as do the trees surrounding her. It seems that every time she takes a step, the trees multiply. Every kind of tree imaginable is starting to surround her. Her pace is steadily increasing, along with her heart rate. Hundreds of trees surround her. They appear to be growing larger, towering over her like skyscrapers. 

            It is becoming harder and harder to run around the large amounts of gigantic trees. She is running all the harder now. The trees surround her.  They are blocking every possible path. Her progress being hindered, she comes to a sudden stop; almost toppling over herself in the process. Her eyes widen at the sight of the now thousands of trees surrounding and towering over her. Overwhelmed, she falls to her knees and sobs. Her weeping continues for what seems like years. BOOM. All of the once erect trees are now lying on the ground with their tops touching the soil.

            She lifts her head from her hands enough to see the downed trees around her. They make a circle. She is unharmed in the center of the circle. In the blink of an eye all of the trees have disappeared. They have been replaced by a blinding white light, still in the shape of a circle around her.  Out of the light emerges a figure.  A man in white with kind eyes is walking towards her.  

            Once the man reaches her he extends both arms out reaching for hers. She looks into his eyes. She has never seen love like that in someone’s eyes before. She reaches and puts her hands in his. With a smile on his face, he carefully helps her up and pulls her in towards him. He wraps his arms around her and holds her. Tears pour out of her eyes. She feels his love surround and engulf her. Peace overwhelms her and her weeping ceases. He squeezes her close to him and rocks her from side to side, like a father would a child. She can’t believe how relieved she is and that him holding her melts all of her troubles away.

            “Stop running; you don’t have to run sweetheart. I’m right here. I love you.  Trust me. Just trust me,” he whispers to her.

Love and a Lost Boy

   Love and a Lost Boy

       
        Headphones in, he’s blocked the rest of the world out. He turns towards the music to tell him how he feels. He escapes within each lyric, in each line, in each drum beat and guitar string being tweaked. The artist seems to be singing just for him. He relaxes and takes a deep breath. He realizes this will be the last song he’ll ever hear. The last time he will sit in his room with the door shut, away from everyone.

        He takes a minute to think about all of the memories. A few are nice, but most bring back feelings of confusion, anger and hopelessness. Images of his parents yelling flash through his brain. Images of him rushing into their room when realizing a fight had started. He protected his mom naturally. His dad was sometimes stronger than he realized. Or so he told himself. Every time this happened.

        The song has ended and he realizes what he must do. Neatly sitting the ipod down on his bed, he gets up and makes his way to the door. Every step he takes seems to get heavier and heavier. He puts on his coat and walks out the door of his room. He turns to carefully shut the door. He then walks down the stairs to the kitchen. Finding his favorite soda, he takes one last sip before heading out the door.

        Outside of the house, he feels the cool air while walking to his car. He backs out of the driveway and tears up at the sight of both of his parents’ cars in the driveway. He knows they are asleep and won’t notice he is gone. Driving down the road, he thinks once again about his pain filled, miserable life. How no one will miss him. How this won’t even reach the news until a month from now when the school finally calls and asks why he hasn’t been in attendance. He thinks about his friends- acquaintances really- and how they won’t even notice his disappearance. He is a vapor in the wind. No, he is the wind. There, but never really noticed; taken for granted until it gets uncomfortable.

         As he drives he notices all the houses along the roads. He imagines children playing outside with their parents and dogs running around following the kids. He imagines elderly couples walking down the sidewalk holding hands. All these people seem to be so happy, so carefree.

        As he finally arrives to a clearing in the woods near a park that no one goes to this time of night, he finds somewhere to rest his car.  His headlights shine brightly, illuminating the trees and grass. He takes the keys out of the ignition and sits them on the top of the car. Maybe someone who is in need of a car will find the keys and use the car to get where they need to go. After all, he did just fill it up with gas this morning; a free car and free gas to whoever finds it first. He reaches in the glove box to pull a gun that would ultimately end his fears and his pain. He gets out of the car and shuts the door.

    

        Walking past many trees, he tries to find the best spot. Not too close to the road. He nears a tree with flowers growing on it. The flowers are white with four petals total. He has heard a few people call this kind a dogwood tree. As he pulls the gun near enough to check to see if it is loaded and ready to fire, he sees something out of the corner of his eye. He glances up and sees nothing. He returns to checking the gun so that it is ready for use and won’t cause any complications. There it is again. He sees something; something white in the corner of his eye. Annoyed at the disturbance of his plan, he looks up once more to see what is going on.

        He sees. He freezes. He can’t move. He can’t speak. He can barely even think. THUMP. His jean covered knees hit the soil. He begins to weep uncontrollably. The tears rushing out of his eyes are blurring his vision. He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket.

       

        “Son, you have always been the joy of my life. The reason I died. You are loved, more than you can even imagine. Now get up and show this world the same love,” says a man dressed in white.

        All the boy can do is nod. This man, he is glowing from head to toe. Not a radioactive, alien glow. But a glow that begins from within. The kindness in the man’s eyes, the reassuring smile on his face, he knows this man is The One. The one people only read and talk about. The Son of God and he is seeing him for his own.  Oh how glorious! Oh, how radiant and full of life he is! Not the lungs full of air, heart beating, kind of life, no, true life. All he can do is fall upon his knees and bow. All he can do is the one simple task he was given. To show this world love. The same love that just put all of his own fears to rest. The same love that just took all of his pain and hopelessness and replaced it with an abundance of love, joy, peace and of course hope. The hope he thought he had lost.

        The man began to walk towards him. Still on his knees, the boy sat in adoration of the man born of a virgin. As the glowing man approached with his hand out, the boy also stuck his hand out. The man helped him up and gave him a confirming hug and smile.

        “I know. I forgive you,” the man said without him having to utter any words of repentance or shame.

         With a heartfelt “Thank you” from the boy, the man disappeared.

        The boy walked, head held high, out of the woods and towards his car. It was daylight now. On top of his car sat his keys and now a book. The book was told to be the book of instructions before leaving earth. He treated it as such, as he now planned on leaving earth at the time he is meant to, not the time he chooses to. He took the keys and the book and got back into his car.

       

        Starting the car, he began to drive back home. As he drove to his house where his sleeping parents lay, he began to pray, for the first time in years. He talked to the man he had just seen and thanked him again for saving him…more than once he knows. The boy finally returned home and unlocked the door of his house.

         The house is silent. He is happy to know his parents are still asleep in their bed. Walking past their room to his own he thinks of how he loves them and how he is glad he can be here for them. He will start his task given by the man with showing them the love he has received.

        The boy never once contemplated ceasing his life again. The hope was there the love was there. He did not feel alone or unappreciated anymore. His joy overflowed into others he was around. The task he was given was no longer even seen as a task but a way of life. Love is his life, and Hope is foundation. 

Love and a Lost Girl

    Love and a Lost Girl

            The door behind her shuts. She locks it carefully. The water from the shower she just turned on is getting hotter. The steam is rising, and the mirror is fogging up. She looks at her reflection in disgust. Disgust, a word -no a feeling- she knows all too well. She gazes at the sink, then at the toilet, and then returns her critical eyes to the mirror. She turns the knob on the sink, just enough to get more background noise before she slips into the familiar routine. The lid lifts to reveal a bowl awaiting her sickness. With the popsicle stick, which she stashed in her purse earlier, tightly gripped in her fingers, she begins the destructive process.

Round one: She quickly shoves the stick down her throat triggering the usual gag reflex. She’s releasing all the horrible thoughts about herself, the disgust. The pain, the worrying and fretting and the comparing and judging are all escaping her body. The feelings of inadequacy, failure, misplaced self-worth and beauty rush up her throat like an out-of-control river. This also includes all of the food she has consumed in the hours since her last so called “redemption.”

Chunks of her self-disgust bellow into the bowl aiding her addiction. The acidic bile stings her throat and she lets out an insecure cough. Her grip slightly weaker than before, she reaches for something to wipe her mouth. She rises like a wounded soldier and walks to the mirror. Carefully, she wipes away the fog with her hand, hoping maybe her opinion will change. Wrong. Shaking she nears the bowl again; the now bile covered stick in hand.

Round two: She forces the stick once more down her throat regurgitating any feeling she has left. Now she is in her element. This process has been repeated so many times, she loses count and stops when she is too weak to continue. The steam from the running shower has turned the room into a sauna. She leans back against the wall in a thin, self-inflicted daze. Not really focusing her attention on anything in particular, her eyelids grow heavy and ultimately close.

At first she sees only black. The black turns to grey, then to white. The white becomes blinding, like someone turned the saturation all the way up. The brightness of the white starts to recede; the picture becomes clearer, more focused. A girl, in what seems to be a meadow, is surrounded by colorful, sweet-smelling flowers.

The girl is leaned over, examining each wonderful flower. She is in a lovely white dress. The dress fits her perfectly, like it was designed just for the contours of her body. This girl in the meadow is the same girl whose eyes are closed right now. The girl, engrossed in the flowers, doesn’t seem to notice that in the distance someone is coming. She is humming to herself and enjoying the variety of flowers that are before her.

There is a gentle tap on her shoulder. As she turns around, her eyes meet those of a man. The overwhelming kindness in his eyes melts her down to the core. He smiles and reaches for her hand. She obliges. He is dressed in an all white tuxedo. Even his shoes are white. He takes her and pulls her close. She melts in his love; it seems to engulf every part of her.

“You’ve always been beautiful to me. I love you,” he kindly whispers.

These two simple sentences seem to wash over her with peace and reassurance. The tears she fought back at meeting his eyes are now trickling down her cheeks. He releases her from his warm embrace, but still has her hand in his. She looks into his eyes and cannot help but smile. His caring smile appears once more as he begins to twirl her. With her flowing gown and graceful movement, she is the most coveted ballerina. Peace and joy have overthrown the feelings she once had and she dances with the man in white.

After what seems like hours of carefree dancing with the man in white, other figures seem to be heading their way. A multitude of people dressed in white with bright, smiling faces are treading the lush, green grass of the meadow in the distance. They have a peaceful, loving glow, similar to that of the man’s. She can hear music in the distance coming closer and closer. It sounds beautiful and joyous in the same way. All together now, the people gather around. They sing and play their music. Some people are even dancing. What incredible sights and sounds! As they celebrate, they all look towards the man in white with love and adoration. She looks at the man, then at the people. The people all look at her and smile in confirmation. She then realizes who the man is.

She walks to the man and with love in her heart she says, “Thank you.”

She means this with every ounce of her being. She then walks over and joins the crowd in celebration. She sings and dances along with all of the people in white. She dances with children and adults alike. The smile on her face conveys the joy she feels deep inside.

After much celebration, the man picks up a tiara and walks towards the girl. The celebration pauses. The people watch as he places the jeweled tiara on her head. He kisses her forehead and wipes the tears of happiness from her cheek. She is smiling at him, and he is smiling at her. The crowd erupts with clapping and shouts of excitement. The joyous celebration begins again. 

          Still standing in front of the man, she humbly thanks him once again.  Voices and instruments alike all sound their praises. Drums and trumpets resonate throughout the meadow. Suddenly, her vision starts to blur, and she can only hear the drums. The vision that was so clear turns to the familiar white, then grey and finally black. The drums fade to a loud banging. The sound of someone banging on…a door… Her eyes flutter once or twice before finally staying open. She was jarred to reality by the knocking on the bathroom door.

“Hello? Are you okay in there? You’ve been in the shower for quite some time now,” asks a worried voice from outside the door.

“Yeah,” she clears her now dry, scratchy throat, “I’m fine; just enjoying the hot water warming me up. It’s been so cold lately,” she replies.

“Well, I doubt you’ll have much hot water left, as long as you’ve been in there. You better get out before it freezes you out,” says the worried voice.

“Okay, I’ll be right out,” replies the girl.

Getting up is much easier now. She flushes the toilet and turns the water off for both the shower and the sink. She brushes her teeth and cleans up her mess. The clean up routine is done with a different perspective this time; no more hiding or worrying. Bathroom clean, she looks in the mirror once more. This time, she’s not looking for self-approval or the once twisted sign of beauty (thinness). She has love, joy and peace in her heart. 

She walks out of the bathroom, a room that aided her self-destruction, now a confident young woman full of hope. She has not binged or purged since the bathroom experience. That was the day Love showed her true beauty and the hope she never thought she had.

Crimson Love

   

        Crimson Love

      Running through those veins are words she has heard growing up. She cuts to bleed them out. When the blood escapes her body, the words ooze out like an infection. She waits for the pain to take her away. She wills herself numb. Numb to this world and its twisted logic. The thoughts in her head are destroying her. They rip and tear at her confidence. 

      Sitting alone in her room, she dreams. She dreams of an innocent man who dies because of the betrayal of a friend. She has no idea who it is, yet she knows all too well. He seems to be looking directly at her.

       He mouths, “I love you; this is for you,” as he inhales for the last time.

       In the dream she cries, yet there is peace. When she awakes, all her scars are gone and the book now beside her is opened to a chapter called John. She smiles for the first time in years and decides to read. Love, the crimson Love, came to her that day. She has not split her flesh since. Love is her light in the darkness and joy is her strength.