Run silly girl, run. Run as fast as your legs will take you! Don’t stop now. Don’t ever stop running!
You - with tawdry yellow hair, carelessly scraped into a pig-tail by nicotine stained fingers, matching your foul breath.
You are nothing! You are no-one! You are insignificant!
Run … like the March hare. Run … like a convict escaping the law. Run! Run! There’s no way up; there’s no way down. There’s nowhere to go. You are chasing your tail … always.
You, a once chubby toddler with golden curls and dimpled cheeks. You, who could melt daddy’s heart with a smile. What did you do Mary Anne? What made you bad? Rotten to the core, like a fallen apple crawling with black and yellow wasps; little demons … with a nasty sting in the tail.
You Mary Anne, a once charming girl; buoyant, confidant, secure; tinkling the ivories while daddy looks lovingly on. The metronome marks the beat; one and two and three and … perfect rhythm! You grab and smash it to the floor. Daddy’s cool blue/grey eyes stare; disconcerted, alarmed. Your own rhythm spiralling into a black hole of confusion, delirium, despair.
Nothing, no-one to balance the senses. You are alone!
So sensitive, so delicate, inhabiting your world of shadows. No-one will come to you. You have no friends in your distorted, misshapen little bubble. You are trapped with the voices that only you hear. You are entombed with the ghosts that arise from the shadows of your warped imagination.
You Mary Anne; cowering, whimpering. You Mary Anne are soiled goods, a reject. You are unlovable! You have nothing; no self-respect, no compassion. You are nothing. God doesn’t want your type!
Look at you now. Go on then … do it! Cut, cut and get it right this time. It doesn’t hurt. Your sad little life will be over. No-one will miss you Mary Anne. You don’t count. You are nothing!
No! No, don’t cry out to HIM silly girl. HE doesn’t care! What did HE ever do for you? Was He around in your desolate moments? Was He there when you were forced from your home; put into the hospital wing; made to swallow medicine? Turn your back on Him Mary Anne. And run! Run ‘til your legs won’t carry you.
Good girl! Now you get it don’t you? Run for your life. Trample the memories that resurface and suffuse your soul. There were no happy times Mary Anne. Your mind deceives you. Keep on running until the final breath.
Now, you are fully spent; drained, exhausted both inside and out. You crumple into a pitiful void of emptiness, heaving and weeping shallow tears, too numb to care, too tired to live.
The sun taunts you mercilessly, casting a long shadow in the field by the rail track where you lay; wretched, broken, finished. Yet another monster to torment you. Your eyes screw tightly shut in a bid to evade its cruel assault upon you.
But wait … somewhere, in the deep recesses of the sub-conscious; that hidden compartment where riddles and mysteries are filed away, a familiar sound arises. A sweet, angelic sound; voices, a throng, a vast choir in heavenly harmony, and each word reverberating inside your head. You know the song well!
‘Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling, calling for you and for me – Patiently Jesus is waiting and watching, watching for you and for me - Come home, come home, all who are weary come home.’
Raw emotion stirs from the depths of a barren well that once, long ago served a bubbling stream of joyfulness, hope and love.
Slowly, you dare to open your eyes. You slip your hand into the one being graciously offered to you - knowing His Spirit has spoken!
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