Let It All Go

She watched the kids playing. Not so long ago, Michael was playing with them. He would have turned 11 on Friday. She recognized the kid whose father ran Michael down on his way home from school. Apparently, he was reaching for his cell when it happened.

He was serving time in prison but she was still angry. He killed her baby. Michael was all she had after his Dad died two years ago. Friends, family and coworkers urged her to move past her anger before it destroyed her. But, she just couldn’t do that.  Fighting back the fears, she turned away.

“Mrs. Thompson?”

She turned around. It was the man’s son. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry about Michael. He was my best friend.”

She didn’t answer.

“I know you’re still angry with my Dad. I was too.”

“How did you cope?”

“I asked God to help me.”

“How did he do that?”

“He showed me that being angry with Dad won’t bring Michael back.”

“What should I do with my anger?”

“Let it all go.”

“I’ll try.”

 

175 Words

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.

Clemency

Photo Credit: Fandango

I stood there, gazing at the city across the bay.  Somewhere in that concrete jungle was the prison where I spent fifteen years before I was granted clemency and released on parole.  It felt good to be standing there in the open, the sun hitting my face and listening to the lapping water.   It felt good not being behind bars.

When I turned sixteen, I never thought I’d wind up in prison.  My life changed when I killed Mick, the man who forced me to prostitute myself.  I was a victim of sex trafficking but I was treated like a criminal and sentenced to life, a sentence which the governor now considers to be too harsh.  Thanks to the celebrities who came to my defense, I’m standing here now.

I didn’t want to kill Mick but I feared for my life.  He would have killed me that night if I hadn’t defended myself.  I don’t hate him.  It wouldn’t do me any good.  I want to focus on rebuilding my life.  While in prison, I earned my Associate’s Degree.  I know that opportunity came from God.  I thought my life was over but, it’s not.

195 Words

This story was inspired by the true story of Cyntoia Brown who was arrested and charged with homicide of Johnny Allen who offered to have paid sex with her.  She was accused of murder and robbery and sentenced to life.  

This was written for Sunday Photo Fiction hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details visit Here.  To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

No Fear

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

Escape/Shadows #writephoto

Copyright Sue Vincent

It was like a prison.  This institution or fortress with its many gates.  Were they keeping people out or people in?  She stood in the shadows, watching and waiting, hoping to one day, slip through those gates and disappear.  What would she be leaving behind?  Only misery and intolerable conditions.  She hated it.  How she wished she had never been brought here.  She had put up a fight and protested vehemently but her efforts were ignored and her cries fell on deaf ears.  Big, strong hands had lifted her up and deposited her resolutely into the carriage.  Away, she went, from the place she had called home since she was a child, clutching her rag doll, her eyes wide with fear and a sense of foreboding because she was going to a strange place miles and miles away from home.

The journey was a long and tedious one.  As the carriage bumped along the unending and twisting roads which were illuminated at one point by the sun and then the next by the moon, she felt her eyelids growing heavy.  She had fought to stay awake because she wanted to see where she was going so that she could find her way back home but sleep won.  The next time she opened her eyes, she was here.  The carriage had stopped in the courtyard and the building loomed above her like an ogre, the light of the moon giving it a ghastly look.  She shivered not from the cold but from what might be inside those walls.

The door creaked open and a tall, willowy blonde woman emerged.  She spoke to the driver, took the suitcase from him and then turned to her as the carriage drove away.  “Hello, Janet,” she greeted the little girl who watched the carriage disappear into the night along with her hopes.  “You must be weary from your journey.  Come along.”  She held out her hand.

Janet took it and allowed herself to be taken through the enormous door, into a large foyer and up a staircase.  She was taken to a room which had rows of beds.  The lady led her to a bed in the corner and put her suitcase beside it.  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

Janet was but she shook her head.  Her brown eyes large in her small face.  She was ten years old but looked younger.  She removed her bonnet to reveal a head of shocking red hair which matched the freckles on her face.

“Very well, then.  After you have unpacked, you may turn in now and I shall see you in the morning.  My name is Miss Foster.” She left a candle burning although, the room was adequately lit by the moon and left, her long skirts making a bustling sound as they brushed across the floor.

For several minutes she had stood there, wishing she were far away.  Then a yawn galvanized her into action.  She unpacked her suitcase, changed and slipped under the covers.  In less than five minutes, she was fast asleep.

That was the beginning of her nightmare.  She stood there now in the shadows, gazing beyond the gates, longing from freedom.  Then, she heard the bell, signalling that recess was over.  She turned and headed toward the building, her mutinous gaze caught sight of the sign above the door, Ravenwood Institution.  Yes, one of these day, she was going to run away from this miserable place.  The only person she would miss was Miss Foster who had been very kind to her.

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

Source:  Fantasy Name Generators

Danny

Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding

I stood before the shed where they found my friend, Danny.

We used to hang out every day, daydreaming about how we were going to change the world.  He wanted to be a lawyer for the poor and disadvantaged while I dreamed of being a social worker.

Danny was more than a friend to me.  He was the older brother I wish I had.  I am the youngest of three girls.  My sisters didn’t have much time for me.  They were too busy with their friends and social engagements but, I didn’t mind because I had Danny.

He and I were thick as thieves.  We were inseparable.  That’s why his sudden change in behavior was a shock for me.  The sweet, easygoing guy I loved so dearly had become a stranger to me.  He had mood swings, was hyperactive and seemed to have trouble concentrating or staying on topic.  He became withdrawn and spent most of his time in this shed.  I learned later, that he was taking Crystal Meth.  It claimed his life and his dreams.

This morning, I wanted to stop by on my way to the Centre where I run a Crystal Meth Addiction Treatment Program.

199 Words.

This story was inspired by a program I watched last night on CNN about a mothers addicted to Crystal Meth.  The story that really touched me was that of a young man whose mother was taking it.  On the wall of their home hung framed photos of him as a boy and as a promising football player.  All those dreams of a bright future were dashed when he became addicted to Meth and if convicted of selling it, he faces life imprisonment.  What a waste of a young life.

This was written for Sunday Photo Fiction hosted by Susan Spaulding. For more details, visit Here.  To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Source:  Serenity Acres

The Nightmare

Copyright Susan Spaulding

She stood at the window.  Radio City Music Hall was on her left.  Below, people carried on with their lives, oblivious to her plight.

She had left one prison only to end up in another type—without bars but more confining.  She was trapped inside the world of sex trafficking.  In exchange for being released from prison she was forced to become a sex worker.  If she didn’t comply, her bond would be rescinded and she would be thrown back into jail.  Prison life for an African American woman would be intolerable.

She had been arrested on prostitution charges, which were false.  She had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and when the others were rounded up, she was too.  Her protests fell on deaf ears and found herself in a cell, looking through the bars, terrified.  She had no one to help her.

When she heard that her bail was posted and that she was going to be released, she was surprised but relieved.  And then her nightmare really began…

She turned away from the window and began to undress.  The senator lay there watching her, waiting, like all predators with their victims.

197 words

This story was inspired by an article on US Sex Trafficking where sex traffickers target incarcerated women, forcing them to become sex workers after posting their bail and having them released from prison.  The women had to do what they were told or risk going back to prison.  Sex trafficking is a heinous practice that needs to be banned.

This post was written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction. For more details visit Here.  To read more of the stories based on this week’s prompt, visit Here.

Source:  Freedom United

Sing to the Lord

Shout joyfully to the LORD, all the earth; Break forth in song, rejoice, and sing praises – Psalm 98:4

Praising God is something that should be as natural as breathing.  It’s hard to do so, however, when facing trials, problems or challenges, but that is the time when we really need to do it.  I have had an experience when I was feeling down about something and it came to me, no doubt it was the Holy Spirit’s prompting, that instead of focusing on what I was going through, to focus on God instead.  So, I began to praise Him.  I began to sing songs of praise to Him and after a while, I felt so light and upbeat.  The problem which had seemed like a mountain became minuscule until with God’s help, I was able to resolve it.

The apostle Paul is a good example of someone who praised God regardless of what the circumstances were.  Who could forget when Silas and he were in jail and instead of suffering in silence, they began to sing?  Acts 16:25 says But at midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them.  God used that moment as an opportunity to reveal Himself.

Suddenly, there was an earthquake, shaking the foundations of the prison and the doors to the jail cells were opened and the chains broken, the prisoners could have escaped but no one moved.  The jailer thought that they had broken out and was about to take his life out of fear of reprisal but Paul assured him that all of the prisoners were there.  And that led the jailer to ask the question, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?” (Verse 30).  God used Paul’s and Silas’ attitude toward their circumstances to bring about the salvation of the jailer and his family.  And who knows if any of the other prisoners didn’t change too as a result of what they heard and witnessed.

How we deal with adversity will not only affect us but those around us.  Instead of looking down or around, we look up and whatever song the Holy Spirit, our Comforter, puts in our hearts, we lift our voices and sing to our God, Who “is our refuge and strength, A very present help in trouble” (Psalm 46:1).  It will lift our burdens up to Him and bring His comfort down to us.