Short Story from a picture: I Have Hope
I had no hope. Why should I? What with a child on the way and two already that walked the streets hungry, and a husband who had left. Not that I blame him, and none may be better than an abusive one. My little ones had to beg for sustenance. I threw up whatever anyone had the kindness to give me. At least I could lie in the meagre privacy of our little curtained place, situated in the corner of the room we shared with three other families. Death would come to me warmly anyway.
Then the angel walked in. Without knocking, we had no door anyway. The spirits skin glowed in the dim light of the room. She bent over me. I had always thought dying would be more painful, and then nothingness, or torment, until I had paid for my life. A man angel rounded the curtain and together they lifted my feather weight and bore me away. I caught one last glimpse of my boy, tears dribbling out of his brown eyes, watching as I left, unable to do anything about it. I should have stayed for him, or for the little girl with bouncing black curls that I knew would be standing in the dirt somewhere, watching. I reached out to my boy and a moan escaped my lips then they were all gone.
Light reflected off light blue walls. A sheet of crinkling white lay over and under me. The angels came and went. They fed me, and talked to me. They were not spirits but people like me; they just had different coloured skin. Now, I remember sometimes seeing other spirit coloured people before, but not often, they usually avoided us, especially women and others as poor and worthless as me.
These people who are not spirits are strange, they have strange ideas. They think I am worth something and they say that someone great loves me. But I know they are wrong. They say he sent them, but I have seen many to whom he has not sent them. I tell them there is no point in what they are doing, even if I get better, there is no hope. I have lost this child and I know not what has become of my others. Truly all I did have, that little, is gone.
Still they will not give up on either my health or my soul. I should not be frightened, someone they call God is watching me, but I have heard of God. He requires the life of people, of children, he is not good. Nevertheless they tell me stories, of a great creator who loves, everyone, even me. A Jesus who says; “Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
They have made my body better, my spirit, not yet. I can leave; I have to, so they can help others, show the love of their Jesus to more. That is why they help. I will go, but I am coming back. Ha that is also something their Jesus said. They say I am to come to the little house next to these rooms. There they will tell me and others more stories; stories that are true, or so they say. I will listen, because if they are true, I have hope.