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!
The Official Writing Challenge

BACK TO
CHALLENGE
MAIN

INSTRUCTIONS

how it works
submission rules
guidelines for
choosing a level

ENTRIES

submit your entry
read current entries
read past entries
challenge winners



Our Daily Devotional HERE
Place it on your site or
receive it daily by email.





TRUST JESUS TODAY

TRY THE TEST



Share
how it works   Submit

Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 – Advanced)
Topic: The Manuscript (04/29/10)

TITLE: We Granted Her Crayons
By harvestgal Ndaguba
05/02/10


 LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE
 SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
 ADD TO MY FAVORITES

Flashes of memory torment me.

My father fondles me. I love it. Then his hands move where they don't belong. I look up startled into his eyes, but I'm only five. “I love you,” he whispers as he lays me in his bed. Love hurts.

Earlier memories flash before me, the tender touch of my mothers arms. She holds me with a cigarette in her mouth. She smiles. “Looks like me, doesn't she Tom.” He laughs, “sure does.” I love her.

A few months later, she holds me crying. “Momma's gotta go. Forgive me.” She puts me in my crib. “Love you doll.” She struggles to light a cigarette. After a few puffs, she walks to the door an says, “Goodbye.”

“Momma,” I sob, “Momma come.”

I cry till dad comes home and finds me alone. I never see Momma again. Love hurts.

Let me out of this cage. Let me out of this torment. Someone help me. I bang my fist against the cement walls till they bleed. I can't take the silence. I can't take the loneliness. If only someone would come and talk to me.

More memories... I'm holding a beer in one hand and a cigarette in my mouth, wearing a skirt that barely covers my panties. It's a party at Kevin's, captain of the football team. The team is all around me. Suddenly, they are carrying me upstairs. I struggle to get free to no avail. They love on me till morning and leave me alone. I'm 16. I find my way home at dawn. My father awaits me at the door. “Where've you been whore!” He smacks me again and again, till I pass out. I awake in his bed beside him. He's crying. “You're my daughter. You're all I have. I love you.”

I shall die if I continue these memories. They hurt. Love hurts.

Now I remember Marsha. She reached out to me. She'd hold me in a special way. I knew it was wrong. She kissed my lips. I loved her. We became more then friends, inseparable. My father despised me because of her. He kicked me out his house at 18 years. I moved in with her. She was there for me. Things were getting better. Then, I came home to find her in bed with another girl. In anger I ran to my dresser, grabbed the gun and killed them both.

Still raging, I went to my father's house. When he answered the door, I shot him. I didn't mean it, the rage was totally in control of me. I watched him dying, knelt beside him on the floor and kissed his lips. “I love you Daddy, forgive me.”

I then jumped in my car and drove to Kevin's house, the place I'd been raped by the football team. I killed him and his brother. It was there I was finally caught by the police.

In prison, like a wild woman, I often attacked the guards and my prison-mates.

They've sentenced me to solitary confinement for life. I don't know where to turn. I'm lost. Make these memories stop. JESUS! JESUS! I call out His name again and again.

A neighbor once told me, Anyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.

“What's His name.” I'd asked.

“Jesus,” she had replied.

I call on that name now with all I have within me.

Light! Peace. A strong and loving presence fills my cell. I know I'll never be the same again

Months pass.

The guards see the change in me. They give me a Bible at my request. I spend my days singing and studying my Bible. His love heals. It's so different from the other love I've experienced in life. His love brings joy instead of sorrow. I must share this.


She asked for crayons and paper too. Crayons? What was her plan? She had changed, yet, as a guard, I knew that prisoners often faked such changes. She wasn't allowed to have anything sharp, but we granted her crayons. The next few years she wrote and wrote. She'd study her Bible, sing and write.

Upon her death, I asked for the papers. I wanted to see what she'd written. The writings brought such joy to my soul. I gathered them together into manuscripts for a book series and named it, “We Granted Her Crayons.” For we granted her crayons and she blessed the world with her anointed writings.


The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.


This article has been read 364 times
Member Comments
Member Date
Lisa Keck05/06/10
Wow, trully out of the broken places beauty can come through Christ Jesus. I think there should have been a page break befoe those final 2 paragraphs where the point of view changes. Good job.
stanley Bednarz 05/06/10
This what I call a pow wow! The use of "Love Hurts," and certain literary bridges kept me their through jumps in time.
Jan Ackerson 05/07/10
Very compelling writing. A few missed commas here and there, but the last two paragraphs more than make up for those teeny glitches. Extremely powerful.
Mildred Sheldon05/08/10
This was so powerful. I am thankful for kleenex. Love hurts drew me like a moth to the flames. I've witnessed first hand how abuse can torment a child. I truly enjoyed this. God bless
Carol Penhorwood 05/08/10
Intense and powerful! It hurt to even read this, but I'm so thankful and grateful for that healing love of Jesus.
Joanne Sher 05/09/10
SO powerful. Your voice is just excellent - I felt like I knew her. Wow.
Ann Grover05/11/10
Very powerful and packed with raw emotion. (A little polishing and a few commas required.)
Beth LaBuff 05/11/10
Your story is haunting. Your theme, "Love hurts," is powerful. I wished you had more than 750 words to write with when I came to the end.