There was an old concrete platform in the back corner of the playground where I would hide from them. Perhaps it had once held a statue or a water fountain. Tall weeds collected themselves around the base creating a green bunker for my slender frame. If the other children knew where I was, would they come get me and drag me out by my tattered gray sweater or my stringy hair and spit on me? Would they throw me down on the ground and kick me back and forth like a soccer ball? Or would they stumble upon me accidentally while playing hide and seek and see me as just another one of the weeds, laughing in an octave my voice cannot sing, and move on?

They cried out and raised their weapons in the air. Some of them aimed for her calf. The rest of the hunters fired at her.

She charged at the ones running toward her baby. They fired their weapons again, and again. She came crashing down and watched them carry her baby away.

The sound of another car made her heart skip a beat. They chased the hunters, and managed to save her calf.

But by the time the calf returned to its Mother’s side, it was too late. The calf moved closer to lay by her side. The rescue party then carefully placed the calf in the back of their truck, and took it to the sanctuary.

#SafeHaven ©

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=g8lDY1De1_s

9/13/2020

Each day draws us closer to an end we cannot see but know is there. Yet, how often do we take for granted that tomorrow will come? That tomorrow we can begin…that thing. That thing that is always too much to think about today, so we put it off…indefinitely.

How often do we simply twiddle our thumbs, or wail unceasingly to the heavens about personal struggles and adversities without taking the steps, doing the work, to effect change?

How often do we forget to love our loved ones as deeply as we can in both word and action?

And…here we are. That known destination is within our sight. We don’t know how close, but we know it is coming. And so we find ourselves grasping for every moment of joy we can squeeze from our lives. We see beauty everywhere around us in details we never had time to notice before. Before death became our constant companion. Before we acknowledged the half-life we lived before death seeped under your skin and reminded us to love, to live, completely. I have never held you so tight as I do now, each night, knowing that too soon, my arms will be empty.

It took all of their energy to keep their shoulders from slumping, but they held their head high. They may never win, but they still would not lose- even when it took all their might.

Even when it left them biting back their tears until they were in a soft bed with a pillow to muffle their sorrow.

To understand a story such as mine you would have to go back to the beginning. To the room in which I spent most of my waking hours. To an outsider it would look to be a dingy, barren sort of box. What wallpaper remained was faded and peeling. For me, that room was a refuge. A sanctuary with a simple wooden dresser, a bed, and a few dolls scattered about the floor. An old quilt I liked to wrap myself in whenever I heard shouting. Which happened quite often.You see my stepfather was not a rational sort of man. And on those nights when he took to drinking(which also happened quite often) he became an angry sort of man. My mother and I would share a knowing look as she would tell me to go play quietly in my room. “No matter what you hear outside your door you must promise me that you will not come out.” Of course, I never did. Until one night when instead of the screams returning to muffled sobs, they stopped completely. The silence more alarming than any sound I could imagine. Immediately I knew. I would never hear my mother’s voice again.

Jackie looked at her patient, the older gentlemen. The man had been at the hospital for a greater time than she had been a nurse. Jackie thought of when she first had been assigned him. Family members would be all around. Flowers flourished as gifts that friends came to water. Get well cards from his coworkers. Now there was no one, the air was stale, and only medical devices remained.

Today was a solemn day. Jackie had retired and she would never see him again because she was moving to the other side of the country. Jackie would be his last visitor. His last family member had died from an abrupt heart attack a few days ago. He had been in the coma for 45 years. For how many more, no doctor knew. This man was stubborn. It was time to say her goodbye. Jackie got up from her chair, walked over to the hospital bed, and laid her hand onto his shoulder.

To her surprise, the man stirred, and eventually grumbled, “Where am I?”

You let poison seep into your mind.

You try to convince me

To allow myself do the same.

There is no filter between

The words that flow from and into you.

You refuse to listen to my side,

My perspective.

You’ve occupied my head for far too long

Although I’ve tried and failed to push you out,

You refuse to leave:

There is a mark left from your hate,

Your intolerance

Where you once spoke to me

Where you once showed me

Who you really were.

Maybe I fanned the flames.

Maybe I wanted you to hate me.

Maybe I wanted to show you

How wrong and closed you were.

I realize, you were never my friend,

So I didn’t care.

Eitherway, your deliberate ignorance,

Your snarky comments,

Have weighed me down.

I lie awake at night,

My anger,

Threatening to take over;

And envy at your ability

To forget:

Your words that stabbed like knives

Before pretending they weren’t

Meant to hurt.

You think that you know best,

Well you are blind

To your obnoxiousness.

You tell me who I have to be,

What I have to believe,

And insult me if I don’t.

But now,

I

Am

Done.

Her barbed words are laced with a vicious poison which she dispenses liberally to those around her. The deadly mixture she got from the barbs others threw at her, so many years ago. They slipped under her radar and filled her blood with poison and fear and now she is stuck, throwing barbs at those who try to get close enough to soothe her fears - or stab her again.

There wasn't much he could do, except stand back. The morning was grey, the festival quiet, about to begin. He watched his daughter run into the crowds, her red duffel flying behind her. Dark coats stumbled back bemused, their eyes turning generous at the sight of her joy.

The fog seemed to lift slightly from the shadows as the gurgle of her giggle rose. He smiled to himself, thinking that at least he had this, this moment, this love.

Later they told him there was nothing he could have done differently. No one could have expected it.

Sirens blasted from the other side of the square, and the man whose gunshots were heard fired aimlessly at the crowd. He was tasered to the ground and bundled into a police car, but not before his bullets caused a shriek.

Blood seeped crimson on the cold hard stone, and people started screaming. The father ran and when he saw the red duffel coat he tried to save her and there was nothing he could do except hold her as his wife behind him howled.

"Do something," she said, over and over again.