The Journey of a Lifetime

Okay, I know a nice, long, meaningful post is way overdue. So is a simple day-by-day post, full of fun pictures. Well I can't give you that just now, so instead I'll go easy on myself and give you something I've already written. That way I won't have to stress myself and think of something deep. Yes I'm so shallow. :D

Please find it in your heart to forgive me for this terribly action. :)

Here is a short story I wrote for my writing class last year. The teacher gave us a list of items to include in a short story. No I am not going to post the list of items, that is unless you beg! So please post a comment.

Anyway here you go! Also, if I get any interest in this story I might post another short story I wrote. I'll have to post it in a few parts though. It is a bit longer than this one.

The Journey of a Lifetime

by Bryce

“Death would seem only a reward for me.” If you had been there on that dreary winter morning when I muttered those words, sitting next to me in my coach seat as the second leg of my flight lifted from the runway and took to the skies you might have thought me a nasty, depressed bum. Well you would have been pretty close to hitting the nail smack on the head. I looked the part of a homeless tramp. My stained t-shirt and thin yellow jacket were not even close to appropriate wear for the freezing winter breezes that whipped around outside the very window I was seated beside. Though my face was bright red it was not only from the chill, the biggest cause of my haggard look was the sobs that had racked my body moments before and the silent tears that still streaked down my face. You might have continued to stare at me instead of requesting a seat change, if so you would have seen me flinch as thelady seated in the aisle seat of my row reached over you to pat me on the shoulder.

“Now, now deary what is the trouble?” The whispered words full of kindness would have been apparent to you as the sound drifted past your face and came to a soothing rest nestled inside my left ear. I’m sure by now you would have been entranced, more likely from shock instead of interest, at the odd scene unfolding in front of your very eyes. No one else on the plane even noticed us as we gained altitude and the sign above our heads continued to demand that seatbelts be securely fastened. As the words of the elderly woman connected with my numb mind you would have seen me turn to stare at the tiny, wrinkled lady with her wispy snow white hair pulled into a bun on the top of her head. If you looked closely as my hazel eyes gazed into hers you would have seen my body shudder as my tears began to pour in fresh torrents.

“Why me!?” The defiant question could be heard by you and anyone else within a few feet of my hunched body. After a glare from another passenger across the aisle, my next cry-- this one in a defeated statement-- was softer and would have touched even a heart of stone. “Why does God hate me?” Your reaction might have been more extreme but all the tiny woman did was pat me again on the shoulder and say.

“Start at the beginning child.” And start at the beginning I did, you would have watched, most likely not even believing your own eyes, as I poured my heart into the arms of a complete stranger.

My life started out fine, better than fine I was the princess of my own little world. I was the only child born to Mr. and Mrs. Henry Carter and they spoiled me. Having wealthy parents was great, or at least in my young childhood I believed it was fantastic but because of my rich heritage I was totally and utterly unprepared for the downfall. It all happened so fast, one morning I was acting my usual part of rotten eight year old royalty and the next I was scrubbing the dishes in the same kitchen I had ordered people about in my whole life. What had happened? Death had happened. Oblivious to the hazard that would take place only hours in the future my parents had kissed me on the cheek and glided away in their limo leaving me to rule the house and the servants while they were away. After a spirited evening at the theater the Carters were on there way home when the inconceivable took place. A runaway semi took the lives of my obnoxious but loving parents and left me alone. In their carefree life my parents had forgotten to leave a last will and testament thus leaving me without a guardian.

My only known living relative was a distant aunt on my fathers side whom I had never met. After she was contacted with the news of her nephew and his wife’s untimely death and her knew guardianship she wasted no time in moving in and removing me from my throne. She fired all our servants and my only friend left in the world, my nanny. Then she sold anything and everything expensive or beautiful that had belonged to my deceased parents or to me, turning our house into a drab gloomy mansion. The only possessions I was able to hide was one of my fathers favorite silk ties and a antique rhinestone necklace that had belonged to my mother. My new “Aunty”, as she insisted I call her, ordered my about as if I was a servant instead of the one day owner of the Carter family’s vast estate. As hard as it was to accustom myself to the hard life my aunt placed before me and as unwilling as I was, I knew I would have to endure it until I became of age, at twenty-one. So for years I labored and tolled and as I worked I turned from a brat who thought the world revolved around her to a rough young women who was sure that she was worthless and that God had forsaken her.

When me twenty-first birthday dawned bright and clear, I awoke with joy in my heart. Today was the day I had dreamed of, today my foe would be vanquished and I would triumph and reign as queen over Carter castle forever. Sadly some hopes are only that, dreams, fantasies that can never be accomplished. Another downfall was before me, but this time I had more strength to endure it. Aunty had no plans to give up her throne to the likes of me even though I was the rightful heir. This fact, which I knew I should have been prepared for, sent my heart plummeting and then I was certain of one thing; I would not be able to regain my kingdom without an army and friends in high places was something in which I was sorely lacking. So on what was suppose to be a joyful occasion I was kicked out of the only home I had ever known, with my small amount of worldly goods stored in a small, dented, yellow suitcase that I had found in the attic, and forced to fend for myself in the corrupt and dangerous city of New York.

Stumbling up the steps of a ancient looking building I read the sign over the door “Church of Christ Homeless Center. We Welcome You With Open Arms.”. “Well I guess this is the place.” I muttered under my breath. It had only been two days since I had been kicked out of my home. Those days had been the hardest in my life. I had spent the last of my money that morning buying myself a meal, that is when I had spotted the brochure for the homeless center. I hadn’t wanted to come but after analyzing my situation I had to face the facts, I had no choice. The total amount of my possessions came down to, my fathers silver and burgundy silk necktie, my mothers rhinestone necklace nestled in its purple box, my favorite childhood CD of Classical Masterpieces, and some old crumbled price tags that I had found in the bottom of the dented case and had forgotten to trash, all tucked into the ugliest suitcase I had seen in my entire life; this and the clothes on my back was everything I had in the world. Raising my hand to knock on the giant front door I shuddered at my reflection in the mirror tacked right above the brass knocker. Continuing to stare it looked as if my very reflection was mocking me, “Look at what you’ve come to now Haley, look how much God hates you. First your parents now this. No one loves you, no one will ever love you.” A chill seeped across my body and I quickly averted my eyes and grabbing the knocker announced my arrival with a bang. Within moments the door was opened by a women who looked about my age, she was dressed in a pink t-shirt and khaki shorts. After one glance at my appearance her face broke into a smile.

“Welcome to Open Arms.” She exclaimed and pulled me into an embrace.

I didn’t stay at Open Arms long, only a year. Even so it was enough time for me to get a job, to start saving money, to accumulate a library of three books which I read and re-read along with some other items, and to know and love Susie. She was twenty- two, a year older than me but full of more life and joy then I ever dreamed one person could attain. Susie became the sister I never had even though I only knew her for one short year. Loving me and encouraging me she showed me the closest think to real, pure love I had ever experienced before. Just as I was finally starting to forgive God under Susie’s constant encouragement unknown us yet another downfall was creeping closer and closer, making ready to crush me.

Susie Joy Allen was murdered on December 25th 2007 while walking through a very dangerous area of New York City, with only her dog, passing out Christmas candy and Christmas joy to the children. This was the final straw for me, a went into a deep state of depression that no one could arouse me from. I was heartbroken and angry and in my fury I turned my back completely on God and walked the other way. Finally the woman who ran the Open Arms could no longer deal with my depression, she purchased my plane ticket to another homeless shelter in Utah. My flight was to leave on Friday, January 25th, one month after Susie’s death. So with my yellow suitcase filled with all my memories, including a dog collar and comb that had belonged to Scruffy, Susie’s dog who had also been killed, the brochure I had picked up while buying breakfast a year ago, an envelope with my initials on it containing emergency money, and my tickets I left behind New York City forever.

After stepping off the first leg of my flight in the Detroit airport I glanced at a clock on the wall. I had just enough time to grab and snack and use the restroom before the second leg of my flight took to the skies to carry me to Utah. Soon I was headed toward the women’s room a bottle of V-8 stored in my bag along with a plastic spoon, which I would use to eat the can of tuna I had purchased back in New York, once on the plane. Placing my bag right beside the door I rushed into the first open stall I spotted. When I was done I headed toward the restroom exit. Just as I reached out to grab the knob the door flew open smacking me in the face.

“I’m so sorry!” A voice cried in astonishment. I felt someone helping me up as I reached a hand to my throbbing temple and felt a trickle running down my face. “Should I call for some help!?” Again the excited voice addressed me. My head swam but I finally managed to murmur.

“No. I’m fine.” With that said I turned back toward the sink and away from the frazzled lady. After cleaning out my small cut and stopping the bleeding I caught a glimpse of the time. Turning with a shout I speed out of the restroom and through the airport. I was the last person to board the flight but I found my seat with no problem and breathed a huge sigh of relief as I plopped down next to the window. Final beginning to relax I closed my eyes and felt the throbbing in my head lessen. As the plane beneath me lifted from the runway it hit me, like a electrical shock it surged through my entire body. My worldly possessions, the money, the box with the address of the homeless shelter in Utah on it, everything I had accumulated in my year in the city, all of it was back in the Detroit airport nestled inside my old, dented, yellow suitcase.

Beneath us the flight continued to zoom through the sky, you continued to stare, the kind lady continued to listen, and I finished my story with a stifled sob. “That is why I would rather die, that is why I’m depressed, that is why I am destined for nothing, that is why I look like this.” As you watched my voice cracked and I look into the woman’s eyes drawing from the strength, the understanding I found there. “Why does God hate me?” If you had been there you might have barely comprehended the whispered words, but the elderly lady understood them clearly and answered me with the sweetest words I had ever heard.

“The Lord doesn’t hate you Haley Marie Carter. He loves you with an unconditional love that knows no boundaries. His only desire is that you trust Him, that you give Him your life for He has already given you His.” After all that had happened in my twenty-two years, the death of my parents, my servant childhood, being kicked out of my own home, the murder of Susie, and finally loosing all my worldly possessions in an airport, even after all that those few words started me on a journey, a road toward forgiveness, a race I would run for a lifetime, joyfully for the King of Kings.