Short Stories

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Here I stand.
At the beginning of another journey.
The road stretches ahead of me, seemingly endless. There is no sign of life or activity and the horizon looks uninviting.

I look back.
The tunnel through which I traversed gapes open, and the slight wind that blows causes baby whirlwinds in the wilderness sand, creating a moaning sound. It reminds me of the deep moans the soul emits when the pain it suffers is more than can be expressed in words. It is reminiscent of my own pain. My soul recognizes the sorrowful moan and feels the tunnel pulling it backwards into itself.

I peer into the tunnel curious to see if I can make out the opening on the other side, but the darkness is too thick and the end is too far. I cannot see a thing. I close my eyes as I remember those dark days when I could not see either opening of the tunnel; groping in the darkness and stumbling on rocks and debris that I could not see. I hear the soft sobs of my breaking heart as my feet hit against the rocks, drawing blood and chipping away at my will to continue. I remember sitting on the damp floor of the tunnel trying to picture in my mind’s eye, the blue sky, chirping birds and what it felt like to have the sun kiss my skin. I could remember the words and what they meant – it was so hard to visualize. Sometimes when the pain almost seemed to engulf me I would cry out and the echoing sound of my screams shrieked back, mocking me as if to show me how completely alone I was and so utterly deserted.

But I remember feeling a hand hold my own grubby one, lifting me up from my seat of defeat. I remember arms holding me as I cried myself to sleep – wrapping me in warmth and comforting me. I remember a cool drink being lifted to my lips, giving me strength to walk again. A soft voice that spoke courage to my heart, gently prodding helping me seek truth, promising never to let me go, reminding me I am not alone, protecting me from the obstacles I did not see and watching over me as I slept in the dark.
I remember.

I open my eyes.
Holding my hand in front of my face to shield the sun from my eyes I look at the road again. My clothes and face are covered with the dirt that encrusted the inside of the tunnel. My toes show through my shoes in the places where the leather is worn, and the soles flip-flop around as I walk. There are no new clothes to change into for the journey on this highway. There is no shelter from the sun. The only promise I have is that it will take me far away from the tunnel.

I take one step.
And find myself back where I was.
Relying on Someone other than myself to make this journey to the end of this road.
Highway 285.

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