Hire
Writers
Editors
Home Tour About Read What's New Help Forums Join
My Account Login
Shop
Save
Support
E
Book
Store
Learn
About
Jesus
  



The HOME for Christian writers! The Home for Christian Writers!



 
Prophecy PLEASE ENCOURAGE THE AUTHOR BY COMMENTING

  LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE   SEND A PRIVATE MESSAGE
  HIRE THIS WRITER
REPORT ARTICLE

 TRACK THIS AUTHOR ADD TO MY FAVORITES
corner
What's New
 
corner
 
The Last Camping Trip
by Julie Michaelson
05/15/11
For Sale
Author requests article critique


  Mail
 





An
adulteress
stalks
a man's
very life...
none
who touches
her
will go
unpunished...
Her house
is the
way
to Sheol,
going
down
to the
chambers
of
death.
[Proverbs 6:26-29;
7:27]
**********************
The fresh mountain
air touched each of
the sweat glands along
Donald's damp skin
of his bare forearms.
For a moment, he almost
forgot the fast
beating of his heart,
and the nauseous
queasiness of his
empty stomach. Again
he reached down to
let his trembling
fingers graze the edge
of the big white foam
cooler: inside were
plenty of sandwiches,
a couple of six packs
of cold mineral water,
some apples, oranges,
and several cans of fruit juice,
and honey-nut health-bars.......
and,
the small steel gun.
____________________
A feminine voice
called out.
"Over HERE,
HONEY!
LET'S GO....
THIS WAY!"

Hearing his wife's
voice, Donald looked
up: coming out of his
reverie. Automatically,
he smiled and nodded:
reaching his arm up
to point towards the
eastern edge of the
lake. Gentle curls
of cold water broke
against their canoe;
off in the distance a
flock of birds broke
the lovely stillness
with the rush of their
flapping wings.
"Sure......HONEY!
That's a good IDEA!
I think there's a BIRD SANCTUARY..
over THERE!"
Donald stopped talking
for a moment;
he dipped his free hand
in the cold, shimmering water.
It was so cold.....
and, deep.
Then he looked up again;
his blue eyes crinkling
up with his loving smile.
Donald's wife, however, couldn't
see the tiny pulse at the
base of his sunburnt
neck throbbing rhythmically.
"Remember, MARGIE?
We were going to take
some PICTURES.....
for Carol and the KIDS?"

"OH, YOU BET!
Maybe NEXT YEAR,
we can get your sister
and her family....to
come WITH US!"

Donald gave a purposeful
light chuckle, and
nodded once more:
he moved his free hand down again,
and began paddling. The
morning sun was just
coming over the mountain's
blue horizon; even
in this high altitude
the April day promised
to be much warmer
than usual. They had
camped out under the
moonlight and stars
the night before; from
inside their tent, Donald
had heard the croaking of frogs,
the gentle crashing of
deer hooves in the
underbrush......and,
the heavy pounding
of his heart. Mixed
in with the scent of
the rich forest soil,
and the dew-soaked plants,
and the spring night air,
was the stink
of his own nervous
sweat.

Would he be able to
do it? This trip had
taken such a long time,
and so very much planning;
it would be a shame if he lost his
nerve, and wouldn't be
able to pull it off.

Ever since that afternoon
at the attorney's office,
when Donald had heard how much
it was going to cost him
if he was going to go
through with the divorce, he
had been planning on
this day.....this camping trip.
Being a surgeon, Donald was
accustomed to calm,
meticulous thinking....
and patient control
of his emotions;
meticulous planning was crucial
to everything.....and,
of course....motivation.

And,
Christine
was his motivation.
Even in the canoe,
at this very
moment, hundreds of
miles away from the
city, Donald drew
an intake of breath
at the thought of her
name. Her pale skin
next to his, under
the cool ceiling fan
of her bedroom, was almost
more than he could bear.
Christine's baby soft
blond hair would
caress his bare shoulders,
and tickle the his five-o'clock
roughened chin, as
she moved over him.
Her damp, dewy skin smelled
like the coconut-scented shampoo
that she always used, and her
small, plump mouth tasted like the
peppermint tea that
she loved to drink. Christine
had the senuality of a
fairy-tale character,
with her soft weight
of shoulder-length
long frizzy blond hair,
and pale, child-like
figure. And, just like the
lilting light laugh
of a little woodland fairy...
the siren of a fragile nymph...
her voice was very soft
and beguiling......
and,
....sensually innocent.

Donald moaned; he
focused on the hard
canoe paddle
in his tight fists,
and closed his tight,
sleepless-weary eyelids:
hoping that Margie hadn't
heard him. The morning air
was beginning to warm up,
and soon they would
be rounding the curve
of the lake near the
bird sanctuary.

The timing had been
meticulously planned:
Donald had often made
this canoe trip
with his father in his
younger years, and
knew the territory
of these mountains,
well. Miles and miles
of pine-covered forest
stretched in front of
them; this particular
area wasn't as well
traveled as the National Park to the
west of them. It was
a little early in the year
for vacationing
families.......and being
the son of two park
rangers, Donald was
always at home in the
wilderness: he loved
it, particularly the
spacious loneliness of
it. It was beautiful
and lonely......
and the mountain lakes
were so very deep,
and cold.
And, deep.
They were just
the perfect spot for
meticulous planning.
Donald drew in another
sharp breath;
he called out:
"Let's stop HERE,
HONEY!
We can SNAP a few PICTURES!"

Marge's voice drifted
across from the other
side of the big, new,
expensive canoe.
"OKAY!
Can you get out......
one of those BOTTLES OF MINERAL WATER,
HONEY? I'm already
THIRSTY!"

Drops of cold sweat
trickled down Donald's
hot neck, and into his
already damp armpits.
Would he be able to
DO it? Almost a year
of planning had gone
into this very moment...Donald felt
like a marathon runner
at the midpoint of the
race: ready to turn
back, but unwilling to
abandon all the months
and months of painful
training, and determined sacrifice.
Breathing hard, almost
to the point of someone in the throes
of a blinding panic-attack, Donald
called out: his voice
to his own ears sounded
slightly cracked, and hoarse.
"YEAH! I COULD
USE ONE TOO!
LET'S STOP HERE,
OKAY?"

His wife turned around, and laughed.
"SURE, HONEY!
MY ARMS ARE GETTING TIRED!
I'M NOT AS USED TO ALL THIS STUFF,
LIKE YOU!"

Setting down his
long paddle, Donald
grabbed the foam lid
of the big cooler with
trembling fingertips.
Breathing hard as if
he were truly pounding the hard
pavement in the middle
of the marathon......or,
pounding rhythymically
in the middle of love-making
with Christine....Donald
pulled out a wet cold
plastic bottle of mineral water.
He lifted his sweating hand,
and tossed the slippery
bottle across the big canoe.
"Here
ya GO, MARGE!"

"THANKS, HONEY!
WHERE'S YOUR
CAMERA?"

Donald's pounding heart
felt as if it
were bursting painfully
through his narrow
chest. He forced
himself to smile:
hoping that in the
hazy morning air his
face was not being
clearly seen.
He cleared his parched
throat; more beads
of clammy sweat
trickled down his heaving chest.
"It's
right BEHIND you....
HONEY! I PUT IT IN
THAT OTHER SACK!
NEXT TO YOUR SLEEPING GEAR!"

"OKAY, HONEY!"

Donald's hand reached
again into the foam
cooler; this time down
deeper, past the packs
of cold wet water bottles.
The dry ice stung the perspiring
flesh of his right hand;
snug down under the container
of sandwiches and out of
sight, was the small
black zippered pouch.

Donald, fighting to keep
both ice-cold shaking
hands steady, slowly
and gently unzipped the pouch.
The small steel gun
felt as frigid as the
deep mountain lake, and
surprisingly light;
Donald expected the
instrument of death
to feel much weightier,
and cumbersome.

But, it didn't.
In fact, it felt quite
pleasing to hold,
and very comfortable,
almost as if it were
any accustomed item
he was used to carrying,
like a pair
of keys.

The marathon was
coming to a close.....
Donald swore that he
could almost just see
the finish line.......he
lifted both hands; he swallowed
a thin trail of hot, spicy vomit
that was edging at the
bottom of his dry throat. Salty, hot
sweat trickled onto
his eyelids: burning
them like stinging hot
lumps of coal. Quickly,
he reached up and
wiped both his burning,
stinging eyes. With
trembling fingers,
Donald began
to aim the small pistol
toward the dark head
of his wife.

She looked up,
and screamed.
"DONALD!"

He fired: a loud
cracking, popping sound
filled his ears, and forced
his head back. For
a moment, Donald didn't
hear anything at all.

Then,
He blinked.

And,
there was nothing
there: only a small
cloud of smoke. The
air around him smelled
of something charred,
and burnt.

But, it wasn't of
charred flesh.

There was nothing:
nothing, at all.

Donald was looking at
air.

In a few
moments, smoke of
the pistol cleared.
There was only air
where his wife had
been.

Air.

There was nothing.

She was gone.

In the twinkling,
of an eye.
*****************
Then
we
who are
alive,
who are
left,
shall be
caught up
together....
to meet
the Lord
in the
air.
[1 Thessalonians 4:17]



Copyright 2011.


If you died today, are you absolutely certain that you would go to heaven? You can be! TRUST JESUS NOW

Read more articles by Julie Michaelson or search for articles on the same topic or others.


Read More - Free Reprints, Main Site Articles, Most Read Articles or highly acclaimed Challenge Articles. Read Great New Release Christian Books for FREE in our Free Reads for Reviews Program. Christian writers can JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and help spread the Gospel.


The opinions expressed by authors do not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.

Hire a Christian Writer, Christian Writer Wanted, Christian Writer Needed, Christian Content Needed
Find a Christian Editor, Hire a Christian Editor, Christian Editor, Find a Christian Writer
 
corner
Corner
This article has been read 257 times     < Previous | Next >


Member Comments
Member Date
ThresiaPaulose varghese 16 May 2011
Thank you for this nice article. God loves us most and He is blessing us this day. Thank you Julie.




TRUST JESUS TODAY











Free Audio Bible
500 Plus Languages
Faith Comes By Hearing.com