A Love Too Strong/Threshold #writephoto

looking-out

Photo by Sue Vincent

They searched for the tribesman and the woman missionary.  They combed the beach, and searched the cave but there was no sign of them.  The only thing they found was a note the woman had written.  They gave it to her fiance.

A love too strong for us to deny

We leave this island behind

to embrace a new life out there

Some of you may ask why

would I forsake my own kind.

I love him, would be my reply.

And as long as we are together

I shall have nothing to fear.

The storms, with God’s help, we will weather.

 

Alan, I hope that one day you will find it in your heart forgive me.

Ella 

 

This was written for the #writephoto Prompt – Threshold at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo.

Choosing Love Over Fear

man playing piano

He sat at the piano, running his fingers over the keys.  His heart was heavy and his mind muddled.  Music was elusive.  He couldn’t concentrate.  All he could think about was her and how much he missed her.  What a fool he had been to let her walk out of his life.  He had allowed fear to get the better of him.

What was he so afraid of?  Of falling in love?  Too late.  He was already madly in love with her.  It wasn’t lack of trust.  He trusted Odeta implicitly which was more than he could say about other women he had been involved with.  Did it have to do with her last relationship?  After they had been together for two years, the guy suddenly decided that he didn’t want to be tied down to one woman.  She later told him that it hurt like hell and it took a while for her to get over it.  And it was when she was starting to pick up the pieces that he came into her life.

They met at a trendy restaurant in Soho.  The usual piano player couldn’t make it because he was sick so as a favor to his friend, the club’s manager, he filled in.   He would never forget the first time he saw her.  She walked in alone, tall and beautiful, her hair cut short like a boy’s, wearing a red, off the shoulder dress which flattered her slender figure.  No jewelry.  Only a touch of red lipstick.  Her dark skin was flawless.  She looked like a model.  Their eyes met.  He wanted to stop playing and walk over to her but he stayed put.  Besides, she was meeting someone.  She walked past him and to a table where an African man was sitting.

african woman in dress bw

He kept an eye on her all evening as he played.  Was the man her boyfriend or husband?  Or were they meeting for the first time?  Was this their first date?  He shook his head.  Forget about it, Man.  You’re out of her league.  She looks like she’s used to being with men like the one she was with now–elegantly dressed, used to dining in expensive establishments like this, drove fancy cars and wealthy.

Still, he couldn’t help himself.  She intrigued him.  And when he took a break and went to the bar to have a drink, he passed by her table.  She looked at him.  He smiled and left the room.

As he sat down at the bar and ordered his drink, he saw the man she was with leave.  He didn’t look upset or anything.  A few minutes later, she came out of the dining-room.  When she saw him, she walked over to the empty stool beside him and sat down.  She ordered a virgin cocktail.  Turning to him, she said, “You play the piano very well.”

This close, she was even more stunning.  “Thank you,” he replied.  “Didn’t your date enjoy my playing?  Is that why he left?”

She smiled.  “He left because he flying back to Cape Town tonight.  And he wasn’t my date.  He’s my brother.”

He couldn’t hide the relief on his face.  “Your brother.  I thought he was your boyfriend or husband.”

“I’m single.  And you?”

“Single.  Are you a model?”

She laughed.  “No.  I’m a Marketing Director.”

“When I saw you, I thought you were a model.  I’m sure I’m not the first man to think that.”

“You’re right.  I have been approached by people in the modelling industry and they always are surprised when I tell them that I’m not interested and that I’m perfectly happy with being in the Marketing business.”

“It’s easy to see why they approach you.  You’re a very stunning woman.”

She smiled.  “Thank you…I don’t know your name.”

“It’s Ian.”

“Nice to meet you, Ian,” she said holding out her hand.  “Odetta.”

“Likewise, Odetta.  My break will be over in ten minutes.  Would you be able to stick around for half hour?”

She nodded.  “Sure.  I’ll just sit here at the bar until you’re done.”

“Good.  We can go somewhere else and talk.”

“So, what do you do when you’re not playing the piano?”

“Structural Engineering.”

“Sounds interesting.  Tell me about it.”

The ten minutes went quickly and he reluctantly left her at the bar to finish his session.  Half hour later, they were sitting at a cafe, continuing their conversation.  It was after mid-night when he finally gave her a ride home.  They saw each other the following night.  They began dating and things were going well until he got cold feet and told her that he they should take a break because things were moving too fast.  Hurt and angry, she walked out of the apartment.

That was a month ago.  Many times he wanted to go over to her place and apologize.  His life was empty without her.  What a fool he was to ruin a good thing because he was afraid.  And now, here he was alone and miserable, tinkering with the piano and missing her like crazy.

Finally, he got up from the piano and went over to the window.  He stood there for several minutes and then he quickly left the room.  He went into his study, sat down behind the desk and taking out stationary and a pen, he wrote her a letter, pouring out his heart.  By the time he was done, the letter was three pages long.  He folded them and stuffed into an envelope.   After sealing it and adding postage, he got up and left the house.  He walked to the mailbox and after a slight hesitation, he pushed the letter through the slot.

A week later, he was sitting at the piano again trying to play something–anything when the doorbell rang.  Thankful for the interruption, he got up and went to answer the door.  His heart lurched when he saw Odeta standing there.  She must have gotten his letter.  “Hello,” he said when he opened the door.  His eyes eagerly ran over her.  She looked beautiful in the denim dress.

“Hello, Ian.”

“Please come in.”

She went in and he closed the door.  “I got your letter.”

“I figured that’s why you’re here.”

“Thank you for writing it,” she said quietly.  “It explained a lot.”

“Let’s go into the living-room and talk.”

“I was so hurt and angry when you said that you wanted us to take a break from each other.” she said when they were sitting on the sofa.  “You said that things were moving too fast.”

“I’m sorry, Odeta.  The last thing I wanted to do was to hurt you but I was scared.  I was falling fast and hard for you.  I’ve been hurt before and I was afraid of getting hurt again.  And as I mentioned in my letter, I was afraid that you were on the rebound.”

“I can’t blame you for thinking that since we met just a few months after the breakup.  I wasn’t looking for anything.  Believe me, having another relationship was the last thing on my mind but that night when I walked into the restaurant and saw you I was immediately attracted to you.  That’s why I came over to the bar soon after my brother left.”

“I was immediately attracted to you to and was thrilled when you joined me at the bar.”

“Ian, I know you’re afraid of getting hurt.  So am I.”

“I’m still afraid but it’s nothing compared to the emptiness I feel inside without you in my life.”

“Do you want to give us another chance?”

“Yes, Odeta, I do.”

She touched his face.  “I was hoping that you would say that.”

This time I chose love over fear,” he murmured, his eyes searching hers and what he saw in them made his heart sing.  He had nothing to fear now.

Source:  Paired Life

Slipping Away

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I clung to him tightly as fear clutched my heart.  I could feel him slipping away despite all the love and devotion I’ve given him.

25 Words

woman clinging to her man

This is for the Weekend Writing Prompt by Sammi Cox. For instructions, click HERE.

One of These Days…

I am sitting in front of the mirror.  A bruised face with haunted eyes are looking back at me.  The cut on my temple needed stitches.  I used to be a nurse before I got married.  I pick up the threaded needle and proceed to sew the cut.  I bite down on my lip at the pain but I won’t stop until it’s done.

I examine my handiwork.  It looks a bit crude but it will do.  I didn’t want to go to the hospital because I would have to explain the bruises on my face and hands.  No, it was better to do this myself.

I sit there staring at myself for a while longer, watching the tears, silent and unabated run down my cheeks.  What have I done to make him hate me so?  It has to be hate.  No man would hit a woman he loves.  I have been a good wife to him.  When he wanted me to give up my job at the hospital, I did so without any argument.  I take care of him, our home, do the laundry, cook the meals and everything else.  I don’t complain even though I am bone tired by the end of the day.  I make sure that his food is piping hot and ready when he comes home.  I don’t resist when he wants us to make love even though I’m not in the mood.

Yes, I have been a good wife to him.  Why then, does he hate me?  Why does he get angry for no reason and hit me?  In the past, when he hit me, he used to be sorry right after and beg me to forgive him.  Then, the beatings became more frequent and the apologies were less until they were no longer expressed.

Once he threatened to kill me if I left him.  So, I stay not out of love but out of fear.  How much longer could I live this nightmare?  How many more blows and insults can I take before I decide that leaving him is worth the risk?

I place my finger on my lips to silence the voice screaming inside me.  I am afraid of what would happen if I were to unleash it.  I have been living with an abusive husband and suffering in silence for six years.  I was beaten during pregnancy and suffered a miscarriage as a result.  I can’t have children because of the damage that was done.  My mother knew about it but still she insisted that I stay with Anil.  “A woman’s place is with her husband.  It’s against our religion for you to leave Anil and you will only bring shame to our family.”  She even made me think that it was my fault that Anil was beating me.  “He’s a good man.  You must be doing something to make him so angry that he beats you.”

So, I listened to her and I stayed.  I didn’t want to bring shame to our family.  That was two years ago.  One of these days, though, I am going to leave Anil and I don’t care if that brings shame to my family.  I don’t owe them anything.  They don’t care about me so why should I care about them?

I make a solemn promise to myself now on the eve of my thirtieth birthday, that one of these days, I will walk out of here and never look back.

Leaving an abusive marriage/relationship isn’t as cut and dry as many of us believe.  Women remain in these situations for various reasons–self-blame; damaged self-worth; fear; the desire to change the abuser; the children’s safety; family expectations and experiences; financial limitations and isolation.  Some women eventually leave while, sadly, others don’t.

This was written for the Ragtag Daily Prompt for Monday which is Needle. For more information, click HERE.

 

domestic-violence-awareness-1

Source:  Institute for Family Studies

No Fear

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Photo by Jodi McKinney

I’m lying here in prison, sentenced to three years for holding a Bible Study. My family and friends warned me to be careful because of an ongoing crackdown on believers. I and five other believers were taken into custody because our Bible Study didn’t have the government’s approval. When I was on trial, I was accused of “gathering a crowd to disturb public order.”

Three years doesn’t seem like a long time but I’m counting the days until I’m free again. I pray and draw strength from the apostle Paul who didn’t let being in prison get him down. He wasn’t alone. God was with him. He’s with me too.

I close my eyes now and imagine I’m outside of these walls, holding a Bible Study in a field, under a beautiful blue sky.  When I leave here, I’ll return to worshipping God and leading others to Him.  I’m not afraid of what the government could do to me.  Nothing short of death will stop me now.

 

167 Words

I was inspired by a true story of a Chinese Christian Woman who was sentenced to three years in prison after holding Bible Study.

This was written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers hosted by Priceless Joy and Joe. For more information visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Source:  The Gospel Herald

The Dream/Circle #writephoto

circle-of-stones

She stared at the photo, her face turning white as a sheet.  It looked exactly like the place in her dream.  The eerie woods with its tall trees and overgrown grass that looked like hay scattered on the ground and the strange stones arranged in a circle.  She was afraid to tell John for fear that he would think that she having a relapse.

Three years ago, she had suffered a nervous breakdown after and it had taken a long time for her to recover.  She was fine until she started having the same dream shortly after she celebrated her fortieth birthday.

It began with her walking through the woods and it appeared to her that it was in the early 1900s for she wore a gown which swept the ground as she walked.  Why she would venture into the woods unaccompanied, she had no idea.  Perhaps it was the adventurous spirit in her.  She would walk and walk, until she came to the stones.  Curious, she would approach them.  They held a strange fascination for her.

There was something unearthly about them.  She went to the largest one and after a moment’s hesitation, she reached down and touched it.  Suddenly, she was lying on her back, looking up at a man, dressed as a priest dressed in blue and saffron robes and the crackling sound of flames followed by unbearable heat.  And then she would wake up, feeling as if her body was on fire.

What did this dream mean?  Was she losing her mind again?  She was afraid to tell anyone.  She didn’t want to go back to the psychiatric ward.

Her hand trembled as she held the photo.  She would show it to John and ask him about it and she had to be perfectly calm about it.

After dinner that night when they were relaxing on the sofa, she showed the photo to him.  “John, I saw this in the desk drawer,” she said.  “When was it taken?”

“I was working on a story about Temple Wood and I found this photo in the archives.  I think it was taken in the early 1900s.  It was in these woods where it is believed that a missing adolescent girl was burned alive on this large stone–known as the Druid altar.”  He pointed to the same stone she had touched in her dream.  “Her name was Alice Frawley.  She would have been forty if she were still alive today.”

She felt a cold fear clutch at her heart.  “Do–do you have a photo of her?”

“I believe so.   I’ll go and get it.”

He returned a while later and handed it to her.  “Sorry, it took me so long to find it.  I’m not sure why it wasn’t with the other photo.”

She took one look at it and fainted.

Startled, he took the photo out of her hand and examined it closely.  He scrambled to his feet and ran for the photo album.  He flipped through the pages until he came to the photo of Annie when she was a teenager.  His face went white when he saw the uncanny resemblance between her and Alice.

This was written in response to the Thursday Photo Prompt – Circle by Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo. Click on the link to read other stories inspired by the image.

Source:  Voices From the Dawn

Grimwood Mansion

It was as if she were in a trance.  Everything around her faded into nothingness.  Her eyes were riveted on Grimwood Manor.  She walked towards the imposing, Gothic facade of the house.  It loomed like a foreboding giant watching her come closer like a spider watching a fly lured to its web.

She paused and looked up at the top three windows.  A light went on and the curtain moved in the middle one.  The spell was broken.  Her heart lurched in palpable fear.  The house was supposed to be deserted.  She thought she saw a figure.  Terrified, she turned and ran as fast as she could, falling a couple of times as she tumbled across the field.

She didn’t stop running until she was safely back at the cottage.  She darted inside, closed the door behind her and leaned against it to catch her breath.  Her aunt was in the kitchen and she bustled into the foyer when she heard her come in.  “Good heavens,” she exclaimed.  “What happened to you?  You look like you have seen a ghost.”

She stumbled over to the sofa and sank heavily on to the cushions.  “I just came from Grimwood Manor,” she said.  “I thought it was supposed to be deserted.”

“It’s deserted but not abandoned.  Now and then someone, perhaps the caretaker goes there and tends to the place.  They have to keep it in good condition in case they wish to sell it one of these days.”

“Who would want to buy it?  It looks creepy.  I saw a light at one of the windows, the curtain move and a figure standing there.”

“Granted it’s not one of the best looking mansions but it’s not haunted as some like to say.  I there-say, it use to be full of life back in the 1800s.  The family was always throwing balls.  It was deserted in the early 1900s but cared for.  It’s not so bad during the day.  Why did you go there tonight?”

“I hadn’t planned to but on my way back here, I had to pass it.  I was drawn to it.  I had never seen a Gothic mansion before.  I read so much about them.  Do you suppose the caretaker would show me around?”

“I don’t know.  You will have to ask him.  When you go take someone with you.  Don’t go alone.”

“Would you like to go with me, Aunt?”

“No, thank you.  I don’t fancy traipsing about in a rundown old mansion.  Such things don’t interest me.”

“Very well, Aunt.  I will ask Joe to go with me.”  Joe was her Aunt’s neighbor’s son.  This was her way of asking Joe out on a date without really asking him.  She liked Joe but was still not sure how he felt about her. Hopefully, while exploring the mansion, she would find out.

“Good idea.  Joe’s a upstanding young man,” her aunt said.  “Are you hungry?  You should be after your gallivanting.  Your supper is on the table.”

She smiled and got up from the sofa.  “Thank you, Aunt.”

She went to the kitchen where a large plate of piping hot, mouth-watering beef stew and dumplings awaited her.  As she tucked into them, she thought about Grimwood Manor.

It was hard to believe that it was once filled with life and laughter.  Now it looked like a dead, empty husk.  Yet, in spite of its lacklustre appearance, she had been irresistibly drawn to it.  If she hadn’t seen movement in the upstairs window, she would have gone inside if the doors were unlocked. And who knows what she would have found lurking in any of those rooms.  She shuddered at the thought.

 

Sources:  Fantasy Name Generators; The Spruce

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