She tucked her worn blankie under one arm, and slipped her diary out from between the mattress and the box spring. Quietly, she tiptoed to the door. She slowly opened it and found her way to the top of the stairs, in the dark of the night. Then she sat down, out of sight, listening to the whispered talk of her mother and the strangers. And she began to write.
Theyíre here, again. I guess itís good. Why wouldnít it be? My mom sounds calm. Thatís a good sign. I just wish I could hear what they are saying. I can only catch a few words here and there, when I try real hard.
End times. Hard times. War. Bad weather reports. Forever. Jesus.
I donít really get these end times things that everyone is talking about.
I guess when time comes to an end? Sounds weird and confusing to me. I tried to look it up in my kidís bible, but that didnít help. All I read were stories about really old people and Jesus and then, at the end, some letter that some guy wrote about someday there being no more tears and no more sorrow.
I like that part. Iím not much of a crier, but my mom sure is. I think sheíll be happier when she doesnít cry so much. I guess Iíll be happier too when I donít have to cry over a skinned knee or when my dog died or hurt feelings. I donít like it when my feelings get hurt. Yuck!
I do remember reading something about forever, which really doesnít make sense. How can that be? What exactly is forever? I mean, my parents told me that theyíd be married forever. That didnít last. My grandma told me that sheíd love me forever, but she died. Does she still love me even when I canít see her? And my (former) best friend said sheíd be my BFF Ė Best Friend Forever. Yah, right. That didnít work out so well, thanks to her new BFF. Forever. I donít get forever.
Now I hear my mom and the strangers talking about people being divided. Divided people? Thatís creepy. I hope that I donít get divided up into different parts. I like being whole. And new bodies? Thatís weird, too. I guess, for the most part, I mean, there are a few things Iíd like to change about myself. Iíd rather not have big feet or skinny legs. I hope my new body is colorful. I hope I have a rainbow colored body with pink hair and blue arms and a purple stomach. That would be cool.
Now theyíre talking about fighting, fighting against an enemy? Who is the enemy? Iím scared. Should I be scared? Wait a minute. These strangers want to fight with love? How do we fight with love? That doesnít seem like a very strong weapon. And fight with the Word of God? Iím pretty sure using a bible for a weapon isnít going to get them too far. Maybe thatís not what they mean?
Wait a minute? I know those voices! Thatís Mrs. Jones from the corner gas station. I like the way she gives me a piece of peppermint every time I come in the store, and thatís the deep voice of Mr. Carl. Heís our mailman. Everyday, he comes, except Sundays, of course. He is pretty nice. Doesnít hit any squirrels on the road when he drives (at least that Iíve seen).
Iím getting tired now, Diary. Iíll try and stay up tomorrow night and write some more. Maybe Iíll figure out these end times. I need to go and talk to Jesus for a few minutes, and see if I can sort this all out. Hope Heís still up. What am I talking about? Heís always up!
The little girl tiptoed quietly back to her room, slipped her diary back in to its hiding place, snuggled up under her blankie and went to bed. She prayed and asked Jesus to help her understand what the whispering voices said, but most of all to just help her get through these hard and confusing end times.
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