TITLE: The Gideon Bible note 11th September, 2015
By Nicki Jeffery
SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
SEND ARTICLE TO A FRIEND
The Gideon Bible note, by Nicki Jeffery
“Ready to go, darling?”
Mandy finished scribbling her note and slipped it into the Gideon Bible. Leaving the red leather book in a prominent place, she glanced around the motel room and smiled. “Let’s go, babe.”
Sam dropped the keys in the wooden box. Taking the wheel, he coasted down the tree-lined street before turning onto the highway. After purchasing drive-through coffees from McDonalds, he sipped the warm brew and asked his wife, “What did you write this time?”
“Psalm chapter 34, verse 18, ‘The Lord is close to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.’ And then I wrote, ‘God loves you. He cares what happens to you. Your life and well-being are in His strong hands.’”
Tamika pulled up in her dirty white Laser and swallowed hard. She willed herself to have the courage to go through with her plan. There was no other way.
She yanked her sleeves down over knife-scarred arms. She smeared her mascara wiping tears with the back of her hand. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stood, stretching.
She signed in and retrieved the list of checked outs and make ups. After loading the trolley of cleaning supplies, Tamika slipped a skinny finger through the universal key ring and headed for room nine.
Life wasn’t worth living anymore. Everyday her mind was in turmoil playing vivid memories of her mother’s limp body, battered. She could hear the wail of sirens. Smell the vile man responsible, reeking of beer and cigarette smoke. Panic attacks were frequent as Tamika felt the rough grasp of the same murderer who was to blame for her own pregnancy.
For a year she had lived with the shame of her decision to abort. But how could she bring a child into the world who would remind her of that sickening night? Who would share half the genes of her rapist? Whose father had caused her untold misery and anguish?
Tamika couldn’t fight anymore. Every day she felt the brick-like weight on her head. Every night anxiety chased away sleep. Her breathing was shallow, her pillow wet with tears. She had no appetite. Nothing made her feel any better. Life was grey, without hope. Enough was enough.
Tamika sighed. Despite the cloudiness in her mind, she tried to focus on her tasks. Stripping the beds, clearing dirty dishes and emptying rubbish bins. Vacuuming, scrubbing the bathroom, and folding the loose toilet paper into a neat triangle.
Catching her reflection in the mirror, she frowned. ‘You’re no good. You won’t be missed. No one will care when you’re gone. You’re nothing but a burden. You even killed your own baby. You too are a murderer. You’re never going to feel any good. Life will always be like this now. And it’s your entire fault.’
Dull eyes gazed back at her. The life was gone. Her face was gaunt and tired. She was a shell of the woman she had once been.
Tonight was the night. She had enough pills to do the job. No one would find her body for at least a couple of days.
As Tamika dusted the bench, her shaky hand nudged a Bible. About to return it to the drawer, she noticed paper protruding from the top. The word, “broken-hearted” caught her eye. She opened the Bible and read Mandy’s handwriting.
A moan escaped her throat and she fell to her knees. She hadn’t read from a Bible since her days in primary school scripture. She hadn’t released the pain in her heart from the two recent deaths that rocked her world. She had forgotten that there might be a God, let alone that he might care what she was going through.
“God, you must be real,” Tamika sobbed “Or I won’t be alive tonight.”
On legs not her own, clutching the Bible with white knuckles, she found her manager and confessed, “I’m suicidal. I need help.”
This is a work of fiction
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.