It was night. Not a dark night, not a bright night; just night. Marion stared at the cold television set, picked up a Nab and chewed on the stale cracker. The dim reflection of a street light bounced off of the gray television screen. "God why have you forsaken me?" She looked around the cluttered room, her own voice had startled her. She slumped lower into her single overstuffed chair. The chair was her friend, besides the old broken television, the ripped and torn chair was the only furniture left in her apartment a metaphor for her empty and torn life.
She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the gnawing hunger pains. If she had the will she could go to the soup kitchen, the mercy clinic, and all of the help agencies her village provided, but that would mean leaving the chair, besides it was night, nothing special, just another night. A cooling breeze from a broken window blew through the clutter and a small picture flipped over. A previous tenant had been Catholic and in the clutter were remnants of their old trash.
"Nailed you to a cross too." Marion toed the crucifix imprinted small card. Her heart pained and she grasped at her breast. "God, just take me away, send me to hell I don't care, it couldn't be any worse."
Marion laughed at herself, took a deep breath, then began laughing again. "I'm so funny, maybe I should crawl into that old television, let the world see me on the screen. 'Oh, look,' they would say, 'Marion is a star.' Right, a star, more like a spark, maybe an explosion, poof, and she's gone. That's what they'll say." Marion snickered.
She threw her legs over the arm of the chair and tried to rest her head on the opposite arm. Her bed was uncomfortable but it wasn't on the floor. She closed her eyes but the reoccurring visions interrupted any possible rest. Days earlier some boys came in and took what little furniture she had; nobody called the police; nobody really cared. She shook her head violently, "No, no, no," she cried. In her mind she could see the government people taking her daughter away. Then, her jumbled thoughts turned to the man who promised to take care of her. "Wonder what happened to him? I supposed his wife would be shocked if I showed up on his doorstep." She laughed. "He probably wishes I was dead or gone away." She held her hand up over the chair so that the faint light reflected off of her dirty fingers. "Maybe I will show up at his little lily white church and sit in a pew with his little lily white family, and say 'hello, remember me, the woman your father said he loved more than anything else. Yes, yes,' I would say, 'it was a delightful love relationship, oh I didn't mind being put out on the street, I bet he tells you too that a little adversity is good for the soul. Yes, isn't that just like him? Oh, I see him coming down the isle, I'd better scoot cause I promised a judge not to bother him any longer.' Oh, they'd love that."
Marion flipped her greasy hair over the arm of the chair. Her heart was beating rapidly. "Okay Jesus, you see what a sinner I am, blast me away; I am so far away from your mercy."
"Marion," a soft voice echoed in the room.
A dust particle sparkled in the dim light. "I love you."
"dub" is a freelance Christian writer, best known for his straight forward approach to common issues. His 38 year professional writing career gives him keen insight into successful reporting. To contact dub email firstname.lastname@example.org
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