Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: SWEET HOUR OF PRAYER (don’t write about the song) (04/30/15)
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TITLE: Melissa. | Previous Challenge Entry
By Danielle King
05/07/15 -
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It was early springtime, chilly but bright with a bit of a breeze. My one day off work and the dandelions were competing with my filthy windows for attention.
My car waited patiently in the drive to see what I would do. I swear I saw a seductive finger beckon me over. Anyway, I fell for it. I climbed behind the wheel and turned my back on the convoluted bindweed choking my soul.
Where to? Who knew? Who cared?
The weather man’s promise of change was wrong. The sunshine warmed my heart and lifted my spirits... briefly. A couple of Kites soared over the treetops… scavengers, birds of prey, waiting to pick at my rotting flesh.
I had nothing left to lose. My wife, my kids… gone. I don’t blame Trish for leaving. I had it coming. I deserved everything I got. Even the shrink said so. “Rewind to a happier period in life,” he’d said. “What’s done is done. Dwell instead on the positive.” Huh, easy said.
I screeched to a halt inviting an angry gesture from the guy behind. I’d passed a signpost I hadn’t seen in years. I swung the car around and followed my nose.
With each mile the topography subtly changed until I approached a narrow lane separated from fields by drystone walling. I pulled up. Craggy, limestone fell-sides rose majestically to encompass the valley stretching out ahead. Everywhere there were fields and road side verges brimming with wildflowers. Sweet cicely... I remembered the name.
I drove on. The breeze carried an earthy aroma of agriculture and burning logs. The road forked off. Instinctively I took the left, passing scattered barns, hay meadows and lambs frolicking on the hillside; the timeless way of life for Dale’s farmers. I knew exactly where I was.
The cottages and crofts in the village of Scarsdale faced onto a sizeable green. Nothing had changed. Even the old red telephone box remained intact outside the dwelling that doubled as a post office. I parked up and took a stroll for old time’s sake.
St Oswald’s church sits in a bend of the lively river Skirfare, amongst sycamores and yews. A robin sang his wistful tune from atop the 15th century tower. I rested awhile to soak up the ambiance.
The click of a latch broke the silence. A girl was standing in the vestibule looking at me. A floral skirt swished the tops of her hiking boots; a tad inconsistent, I thought. There was no-one around bar the occupants of the ancient graves, so I felt obliged to break the silence.
“Picturesque, don’t you think?” I smiled. The breeze tousled her hair. She was older than I thought. Late teen’s maybe.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said. Her stance was odd… rigid. I decided the poor kid had problems. I went with the flow.
“Really? Who told you to expect me?” Her gaze remained fixed on mine.
“Are you coming inside?” She asked.
“Soon. I’m reminiscing right now. I once came here on a field trip with school.”
“Braithwaite’s bunk barn,” she declared, stepping into the sunshine. “They always come back.”
“Every school kid?” I chuckled, accommodating her simplicity.
“Just the troubled ones.”
She knew? Not possible. She was likely not born when I came here. She stepped back inside the vestibule and clicked the door latch. “He’s calling my name,” she explained. “I’m Melissa.”
This kid intrigued me. I waited awhile before following her inside. She was kneeling in a pew, hands together, eyes staring straight ahead to the altar. I waited some more, mindful not to interrupt this spiritual experience for her.
Who was she? A local for sure, living her uncomplicated life amid a close knit community who accept her limitations.
Oh, for the joys of simplicity; an uncluttered mind; a peaceful heart and a faithful friend to commune with. I envied the girl’s naivety. I yearned for such joy.
“I knew you’d come,” she said, at length.
“Who told you to expect me?” This was like Déjà vu!
“You’re troubled,” she replied. I could not deny it.
“Is God your only friend, Melissa?”
“Almost, but He’s all I need. I talk to God. I listen. I obey. It’s not complicated.”
“Could you put a word in for me?” I teased.
“I did. You were watching us.”
“And the answer?”
“God said, come…
It’s simple enough for me!”
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