The Vast Field

The hideous smell perked up as she tried to hide its revolting and malignant odour. Her parents had always raised her to know right from wrong. It was like she heeded their warning and went ahead with her loathsome deed. She had steered away from the path of wisdom and took the thorny way. Voices were drowned as she listened to the hateful aspect of her flesh. There was no forgiveness for her crime. It haunted her night and day. She could have been accused as a heretic if she lived in the past. She wondered if grace could be enough in her time of despair and reproach. Tears poured out of her eyes as though a faucet had sprung a leak and a thousand plumbers couldn't fix the problem. She bowed her head in utter shame and vehemently began to scream her distress. No one could hear her. This was the greatest sadness she had ever known. To look up, and see no one there. To know no one had sympathy for her pathetic needs. The King's princess had lost her way and the crimson dress of saphron was tattered and torn.

The field was vast. Full of endless possibilities. Full of hope. Happiness... the perfect place for death. The sky was the limit. If she ended it now she could be seen as a martyr- sacrificing herself so others wouldn't have to suffer the same fate. Her bottle of aspirin seemed like the perfect solution. The perfect cover-up. The purest way to end her suffering and bring about her demise.

She contemplated with her emotions, jumping back and forth, while the demonic voices grew louder and their armies strengthened. It was through this agression that she noticed her hand. Her right hand. The simplicity of it awed her. The complexity in its structure seemed fathomless. It was at this hand that she stared and examined for hours. The lines. The texture. The colour. It was a part of the body that had the potential to do a lot of harm, or it could honour and serve those around her. She only had to make a choice.

It was then that she thought about forgiveness. She thought of the freedom in being released and how much she ached for that feeling. Maybe all she had to do was ask for it. Maybe the choice was her own. Free will. As she felt the lines in her hand, she slowly felt peace. An elixir of life. A concept she couldn't grasp, but a state she wanted to reach.

Her tears had slowly stopped pouring. Forgiveness seemed closer and closer. Her heart of brokeness could mend. Grace could be received if she just opened her hands and lifted them to the heavens. As she silenced the violent noises in her head that were creating a genocide, a quiet whisper could be heard:

"Beloved, you are Mine".

It echoed. It got louder. It repeated until it consumed all the guilt. Until victory was achieved in the bloody war. It filled her with joy. The voice got so loud that no other voice could be heard.

The steeple could be seen a few miles away. A promise of hope. A covenant of forgiveness. Out of the despair she rose, never to look back again.