Dere Jesus | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Dere Jesus | Previous Challenge Entry
By Kelly Jacobsen
11/12/08
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His palms were sweaty. He quickly looked at his watch, and then stared out the window. Children frolicked in the snow. His little girl Elisa stood in the center, throwing snowballs at other kids. He glanced quickly away from the scene. Any more of this and he might change his mind. He then turned and stared at the thirty-six caliber, its silencer securely on. He held it up, turned it around a few times. Then with every effort left in him, he held it to his head. He squeezed his eyes shut. "God forgive me." He whispered pleadingly.

Then out of some unknown force, his eyes snapped open. He looked around the room. Everything was different. The curtains were a bronze and burgundy elegant pattern. The desk beside him was a hand oiled varnished cherry oak. He looked to his hand, which still sweated profusely. However, the gun was gone. What? He looked around the room.

Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw a big man. His head almost seemed to go through the roof. His apparel was nothing he had ever seen before. A long white robe ordained this man. Gold...pure by the looks of it outlined the collar, cuffs, and buttons. His eyes were big and gracious. Blond curly hair filled the top of his square fore head. Bright blue eyes smiled back.

"Who...who are you?" Michael frightfully demanded as his child hood stutter filled his voice.

"No fear. I've come in Peace." The big man said with assurance that even made Michael feel suddenly at comfort.

"You're not...no." Michael gasped as he then gripped the desk.

"Yes. But I did not come to give you a heart attack." He said, handing a card to Michael.
The card was in a bright red envelope, with crayon pictures drawn onto the cover. Michael scanned it and flipped it over.

"Elisa thinks the world of you." The big man gazed at the card while he folded his big arms across his massive chest.

“Yes I…know.” Embarrassment flashed across his face. He then gazed back up to see the stranger. However, he was gone. Michael then felt a surge rivet through his body and his mind seemed to rush back into reality.

He awoke from the daydream. He still had the gun up to his head. His eyes still squeezed tightly shut. He then popped them open, and gently set the gun down. He cautiously walked over to the window. As he stared, he glanced down to the ground. There lay the red card. He rushed over and picked it up. He carefully pried the letter open as if it were some rare pearl. The inside was colorfully ordained with little stickers all over the front. He opened it and noticed his little girl’s seven-year-old signature carelessly scrawled at the very bottom. Interest filled his very being. He quickly scanned to the top. Moreover, he then began to read the mis-spelled words. Dere Jesus…I no ther is no santa. So I am riting you this letter. Daddy has bin very sad latly. Ant ruth wunts me to liv with her. But Jesus I dont wunt to. Daddy needs me now. Momma dide as you hav alredy met her. Tel her I sed hi. And Jesus wud you giv daddy his job bak? And his heart? I don’t wunt gifts. I wunt daddy. I luv you Jesus luv Elisa.

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