One Beautiful Moment

Five months to the day that I turn eighteen; hard to believe I’ve grown up so quickly. Hard to believe how much I’ve changed, and just in these past three months. Time will tell whether the changes were good or evil; but I trust God to mold me in His hand.
In a flashback I see myself as six-seven-eight years old…I was a stick, all arms and legs and bones. I had the cutest smile ever seen. My hair was always up in a ponytail, and braided. Fuzzy curls framing my face; such sweet innocence.
I remember going to my Grandma’s house, and the funny thing is that all I remember is trying to fall asleep. Against the wall in an old sleeping bag with a red deer pattern on the inside. My baby brother’s crib just above my head; him sticking his arm through the slats and poking me. It would be completely dark except for the moonlight coming in through the single window in the guest room. Occasionally a semi would speed past on the mountain highway, creating a sound I can still hear in my head. There was paneling on the ceiling- long lines. I would count them, raise my arm up and trace them with my finger in the air. I was always careful not to knock the wall, for since it was a trailer house, the sound carried into my grandparent’s closet. Across the room there hung a painting. A mother in her nightgown holding her child; comforting him. I told myself that I would be that mother someday. I just hoped I’d be that pretty. As I think back I get tears in my throat. I’ve done so much that I’d never take back, but I long to return to those moments. Was it really me? Or was it just a dream I dreamt? Memories are beautiful things, but also heart-rending ones.
Maybe I’ll just stay in that memory for awhile. Think about something other than now.

Like waves of the sea and flowers of the field, our lives are brief and seen by few. Yet each one is a beautiful moment… -Julie Ackerman Link

Only one life, so live it well,
And keep your candle trimmed and bright;
Eternity, not time, will tell
The radius of that candle’s light.
-Miller

The Walking Dead

I don’t know how I ever slept that night, but nevertheless I must have, for I awoke to a beautiful spring day. The dawn was just peeping over the moors and the early morning fog was gently rising in the stillness. All was silent, but it was a peaceful silence; like that of flowers nodding in their sleep and a nectar-laden wind whispering endearments to the trees. I was curled up on my side, my curls draped softly around my face. I thought, pleasantly that that horrid night had only been a dream. Just a dream- there was nothing to fear. But I was wrong. As I combed my hair I noticed what looked to be a tear in the lace of my nightgown. I was positive it had not been there the day before. Becoming worried I proceeded to examine my throat in the mirror, and to my astonishment and terror, the very faint outline of hands around my throat, and faint purplish-blue bruises were forming on my neck.
No, but my attempted murder had not been a dream. Not in the least.

Murder

A searing heat hit the back of my throat and seemed to burn deep into my lungs; my chest constricted and I became aware of a pressing weight upon my neck, small hands- but deathly strong wringing my neck- squeezing the life from my lungs. I opened my eyes and stared into the clinging darkness- there was nothing there- I could not see the faintest flicker of light or even shadow. All there was was a nothingness too close but too far away. It was swallowing me. I reached frantically for the hands grasping my throat- to pull them away from me, but I felt only my own neck against my cold fingers. And suddenly, as silently as my murderer came, it was gone.
I lay there gasping and shaking from the apparent attack. Was my mind playing tricks on me- or was this attempt just another of my phantom ghost? The floorboards outside my door creaked, telling of a midnight visitor. The doorknob rattled; I was frozen in my bed. Rigid- staring into the engulfing darkness. The footsteps slowly died away- fainter and fainter as they descended the stairs. The heavy front door scraped shut. I had not heard it open.