Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: The Media (in any form) (11/11/10)
By Carole Robishaw
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She jumped up, ran into the other room and took a very quick shower, dressed and headed out the door. While she was driving, Nora made a call that resulted in the address of the family she had just watched. After a drive of just a few miles, she was there.
Recoiling from the crowd as she got out of the car, she ran the gauntlet and headed straight for the front door. She knew she wouldn’t be able to get there undetected, but by moving quickly, she hoped to avoid being attacked.
James Wilson yanked the door open, ordering her off his doorstep.
“Please, sir, I’m not here to interview you, I’m here to help you.”
“What do you take me for? Do you think I don’t recognize your face from the evening news? We don’t need the kind of help you’re offering.”
The door would have slammed shut, except Nora’s foot was in the way. Fighting back tears of pain, she attempted again to explain. “Sir, please. I’m not with them anymore. I understand what you are going through, I’ve been there. I know what it’s like now from your side. I just want to help.” Silently she sent a prayer up, God, please help me, I have no idea what I’m doing but I know you sent me here. “Please.”
James saw the expression on her face and hesitated.
Nora looked back over her shoulder, knowing the reporters were inching their way closer in an attempt to capitalize on whatever entryway she made.
James saw her looking, and recognized the expectations on the faces. He abruptly grabbed her arm and yanked her in, slamming and bolting the door behind them. “Alright, what do you want?”
“I just want to help, I went through a similar tragic loss myself just a few weeks ago, and I’m still trying to come to terms with what happened. Maybe we can help each other. I can help you fend off the reporters, and we can try to seek solace. Let me be an advocate for you. I can help, I know I can.” Yes, God.
James moved his arm, indicating a chair in the living room ahead.
“No, not here, there are too many windows. Is there another room, maybe towards the back of the house, where we can talk?” Nora was thinking of the new gadgets some of the reporters had been talking about using to listen in on conversations. How could I have been so blind? So wrapped up in being a reporter, in telling the world everything, that I stopped caring about the pain? Oh, God, forgive me for all the times I caused suffering in my search for my view of the truth.
James led them to another room, where Tracey Wilson was sitting in a rocker, clutching a stuffed animal.
“Mrs. Wilson, I’m so sorry. I know it doesn’t mean much, but I know exactly how you are feeling right now. I understand the pain and confusion you are struggling with.” Nora knelt at the foot of the rocker. “I want to help, in any way I can.” She turned towards James. “I can speak to the reporters outside for you, when the time comes, but for now, please let me share your sorrow. I don’t know if you know Him, but I know the perfect person who can give you the peace you are so desperately seeking right now. We may never be able to find the answers to why this has happened, but I can help you to find a way to deal with it, if only you will let me tell you about my friend.”
The Wilson’s exchanged glances, then, slowly, as Tracey sobbed, her words coming out in a whisper, “Please, I need whatever help you can offer.”
Thank you Lord, now please, give me the words to say.
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