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Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: STAND UP FOR JESUS (don't write about the song) (04/09/15)
The tiny comb snarled in her baby doll’s coarse hair and jumped from her hand. Ever so patiently, she began again, while the tempest raged in the next room.

“Why don’t you grow up!” her mother’s shrill voice penetrated through the wall. “You can’t keep a job. You don’t want to work. All you want to do is stand on street corners…” the words trailed off, indiscernible.

She smoothed the baby’s hair away from its face, its unblinking blue eyes staring back into hers. Shifting to a sitting position, she extracted her foot tangled in the delicate pink netting draped from its ring overhead. Pursing her lips, she went back to combing.

“You're worthless!” screamed her mother, the raw disgust in her voice causing a knot of something uncomfortable to form in her tummy. “Jesus H….”

She gripped the comb, yanking, but paused at her reflection mirrored back from the vanity her father had so proudly presented her when she’d turned six. Her lips were drawn into a straight hard line, and there was a sheen in her eyes of tears.

“Why don’t they stop?” she whispered to the doll. “Oh. I guess you can’t talk, can you? You’re only a baby.” she added gently, fighting the knot of whatever was rising from her tummy into her chest, and making her want to hurt something.

“That – that – that child and her imaginary friends…” came the ugly voice through the cheerfully patterned wallpaper of red, blue, and yellow balloons. “If you were home, you could help. But no, not you! You have to be out saving the world, while your family falls apart!”

Her fingers tightened around the top of the baby’s head. “Stop!” she cried, tearing it from its body in one angry wrenching motion.

Both the doll and its head slipped from her hands, as contrite, she looked up into the face staring back at her from the framed picture on the wall. Tears slipped down her cheeks and she sobbed, drawing comfort – and courage, before standing up.

Pausing, she stopped to listen before turning the cold smooth handle of her bedroom door. Then, stepping into the dark hallway, she waited, quaking, as the voices, previously muffled through the wall, hit her full force.

She took one step, and then another, until she was standing in front of her parents’ bedroom door, which was cracked. “Jesus H….” screamed her mother.

That was it. She couldn’t, no she wouldn’t, take anymore. Someone had to speak up, and that someone was going to be her. Swallowing, she pushed the door slowly open.

They didn’t know she was there. Or if they did, they chose to keep on fighting – well, maybe not her dad who was sitting on the edge of their bed, holding his head in his hands, but her mom, who stood, hands on her hips, glaring down at him, was.

They must have sensed her there. She hadn’t said anything, just stood there. Her mother’s hands dropped to her sides and she stopped yelling, while her father, maybe because it had grown silent in the room, looked up.

Something thumped painfully in her chest, as her eyes traveled slowly, examining first her mother’s, and then her father’s faces.

“Mommy? Daddy?”

At the sound of her voice, her father rushed to gather her in his arms, lips muffled against the top of her head. He cried, “Baby, oh baby, I’m so sorry…”

Stiffening, resolved to complete her mission, she lifted her chin, and pulled away, backing up until she could feel the solid doorframe against her back. “Mommy,” she began.

“Honey, what is it?” Mommy asked, her eyes wide, lips parted.

She wrenched her eyes from her mother’s to her father’s, saying, “Daddy?”

“What is it sweet pea?” he answered, his eyes intent upon hers, waiting.

“Does the man on the wall have a middle name?” she asked.

“What man?” her father asked, and glanced over at her mother, who shook her head.

“You know – my friend, the one over my bed!” she cried, unnerved that they'd forgotten. “You kept yelling an “H” in his name!” As recognition dawned in his eyes, her father reached for her, but she stepped back into the open door out of reach. Her mission wasn’tdone.

Straightening to her full height, she took a breath before saying what she’d really come to tell them. In a clear unwavering voice, she said “I wanted to tell you that I don’t think he likes it, and I don’t either.” Tears brimmed her eyes, spilling down her cheeks as she sobbed out the words. Her next words were muted against both parents’ embraces, as they wrapped their arms around her – and each other. “It hurts both of us when you say his name like that…
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This article has been read 382 times
Member Comments
Member
Date
C D Swanson 
04/17/15
Wow- Powerfully delivered! Great story. Children are often the ones who can bring adults to their knees.

Great job with this!!

God bless~
Terrie Ellington 
04/17/15
Oh my!!! Left me deeply moved! Kept me totally enthralled the entire length of the article. Couldn't read fast enough to see what was coming next. I wish you were allowed a larger word count so you could tell more of the parents reaction or response with their embrace.

WOW.... WOW

I'll keep my eye out for your work on Faithwriters and beyond this. God's gifting is evident in your writing!

Live blessed!
Loni Bowden-Horn
04/18/15
This was a powerfully moving piece. The vivid imagery of the characters was spellbinding. "A child should lead them" is a term that comes to mind. I felt that i was in the room listening to every word said.