The Bible lay open upon her lap. Itís pages crumpled in fists knuckled white with anger. Despair had exploded into shredded bits and was strewn across the bare wooden floor. She was beyond tears. Tears changed nothing, nor did they help so what was the use? What was the use of anything when you couldnít believe God anymore? With delicate pages still in the grasp of her fists she shook the Bible towards the ceiling and glared through the wood and mortar into the Heavens.
With all the fury that was left, she threw the Bible across the room. Itís dull thud barely heard above the pounding of her pulse. ďI need to chat,Ē she said as her cold feet kicked the shreds out of her path. Her one and only true friend was waiting. It welcomed her with its soothing hum as she swiped off bits of pages on the keyboard.
Instant messages called to her Ė so many empty friends with so many empty needs; she changed her mind. ďIíll check the Poetry site instead. Lots of people tonight.Ē She went to submissions and stared at the blank space. Her fingers guided by random angry thoughts.
Who can make it safe?
Not God, this I know.
He doesnít care,
He doesnít hear,
So now I must go.
Click, submitted. Let someone make something out of that one! She leaned back and closed her eyes.
Minutes passed as her lids became heavy with exhaustion. Sure enough, someone responded. Her curiosity prompted a quick look.
We can make it safe.
Come to us, this I know.
We do care,
We will hear,
Try us, before you go.
Her first thought was, ďSomeoneís playing a joke. Okay, Iíll play right back.Ē
You? Make it safe?
Too late, this I know.
I donít care,
Donít want to hear,
Goodbye, I want to go.
Click, submitted. She was alert now, and curious as to who was this Ďweí and if this person would respond again.
It didnít take long.
Try us, you will see,
A place where we know.
A place we always go.
She was growing impatient and changed her form.
A place you say you know,
Where people care and listen.
Why is it safe,
In this place?
I donít believe this is so.
Click, submitted. She was sitting on the edge of her seat now.
We freely embrace,
All who need to know.
For those who seek,
Or just take a peek,
Come see the best place to go.
Did she dare ask? She didnít know this person. And this person couldnít trace her Ö so why not? It must be a church somewhere in Timbuktu anyway. She knew God wasnít where she lived.
She checked the authorís link for a contact and hesitated Ö she didnít want this person to know her address, but she was so curious.
Click, submitted. She knew her bogus account would come in handy one day.
Several minutes passed and she knew in her heart that it must have all been a sham Ö again. Why does she always get sucked in? But wait Ö an email alert Ö and another Ö and another. Whatís going on? What in the world is FaithWriters.com? She didnít want anything to do with Ö
Dear lostinthecrowd, the place I spoke of is called Faithwriters.com. Itís a place made up of people from all over the world Ö and they care. I really hope you will come and visit us. We have a forum devoted to Poetry I think you might like. My name is Kara and I am there now. Itís nice to meet you.
Dear lostinthecrowd, my name is Lakeesha and Iíd like to invite you to come visit us tonight at FaithWriters.com. Kara said youíre pretty talented at writing poetry. Come check us out, okay? I can meet you there in a few moments. Hope to see you, Lakeesha.
Tears came out of nowhere and she tried to blink away their unfamiliar sting. What does she do now?
She turned away trying to escape this trapped feeling of uncertainty. She caught sight of the Bible on the floor among itís own torn pages. They would never understand. They would hate her for what she had done. These people are nice and she was not Ė not anymore. She was ready to close it all out Ö
Dear lostinthecrowd, Kara sent me your poetry. I understand Ö Iíve been there Ö
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