The End of The Road Brought Fragrance. In Response to Bill's Challenge, by Manatita

Was it really only yesterday? The year had gone badly and it was most certainly his Annus Horribilis, put simply, a very bad year. Head down, fingers scratching at his forehead and walking aimlessly through a dusty old side street in Downtown Frutompia, he stopped at an alleyway, to invigorate his thoughts.

Alone, dishevelled, lost in despair, and with an empty stomach rumbling and dreaming of its next meal, Pete stumbled forward like a drunken man, lost in his own dreams. It was the beginning of a New Year, and he was still apprehensive and afraid.

Reflecting on what was so far a pretty dismal period in Life, thoughts weighed heavily on his shoulders like dead elephants. He walked through the alleyway, oblivious of the polluted air that he now breathed, and the sirens of speeding vehicles going by. Down past the apartment buildings, along an alleyway strewn with debris, the pungent smell of dumpsters, broken-looking homeless Souls and dead rats, was his only companions.

This was Frutompia, after all, not exactly the place to be for a desperate man; one who had lost everything, was now homeless and penniless, with the threat of rain and an overcast sky, shadowing his every move.

Yet it was not the dome of the capitol building, some half a mile away, that would transform his life, but the sight of a creamy coloured apartment, with a box-like rectangular metal cage, hanging outside its locked door. How strange, thought Peter. He had not seen anything like this where he came from, and the fact that there was a long ladder attached to it, made him all the more curious.

What was its purpose, why was it there? It was going nowhere, and this thought suddenly served as a metaphor for his own life: Going NO WHERE. Living in the fast lane of wine, women, failing marriage and drugs, had brought him to this, and now he felt as rusty and as useless as those metal bars, with no objectives, no dreams; no hopes …

Slowly and purposefully he climbed the ladder, and entered into the cage, some thirty metres above the ground. Once inside, he rocked precariously to and fro, a saddened soul, striving without much success, to deal with the deep emptiness within.

He looked down, and realised that he was slowly being the cynosure of the curious eyes from passers-by. Some stood and took pictures, others stopped to see what he would do, camera’s and ‘selfies’ ready, in case he decided to jump.

What a cruel world this! He thought. Cold, uninviting, with a lack of empathy; full of complacency and indifference.

What had happened to this land of hope and glory? Where were the principles of Washington, Emerson, Lincoln and Jefferson? Devoid of hope; without so much as another glance at those beneath, he leapt out of the cage, and threw himself into the air.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter became aware of a visitation, in one of his many dreams. He also heard himself singing a song of the great Psalmist David, and wept for joy.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me”. (Psalm 23:4) JKV.

Suddenly he thanked God that his dear wife and children were church-goers, as those words of David, were most certainly comforting to him. He felt a hand on his forehead, and a deep thrill of the Spirit flowed through him like an electric shock. Only it was loving and intoxicating, and he felt a deep peace and forgiveness.

A few seconds later, and two weeks after his sad experience, he opened his eyes on the 5^th Floor, Ward 6, Bay 3, Bed1, at Frutompia Hospital.

Scanning the area around him, he was aware of a woman and two children sitting next to his bed. Where was he, how did they got there? They looked strangely familiar. Eyes worn and flushed by the many tears she said and the prayers offered, the woman held his hands, and then ran her palms along both sides of his sleepy face. Yet she appeared comforting; reassuring and immensely supportive. Her face shone with beauty.

Peter suddenly remembered. He had thrown himself from a sort of make-shift balcony some time ago, and somehow had landed on some thick mattresses and cushions, in the yard beneath. He had then knocked his head on something solid, and that was all he recollected.

He lifted his feet, and they responded; his hands, and they responded too. He was happy to be alive and in one piece; yet with so much love in his heart. Still, he needed to understand the presence of the vaguely familiar woman who was holding his hands, while treating him so affectionately. Unable to remain silent any longer, he turned his head and said:

“Why are you here?”

“To take you home, my husband, she replied, to take you home. The children are waiting, but there is no rush.”

With that she kissed his cheeks, and a tear of joyfulness fell smack unto his blushing face. Peter wept, with his eyes and heart, saying a trillion Gratitude’s in Silence.

-Manatita. Word-crafted Awakenings by The Lantern-Carrier. © Copyrighted 1^st February, 2015.