Forgiveness

Connie lay crumpled on the floor, hurt and barely holding on. Hatred or forgiveness: that would be the choice. Which would win? One would be easy, one would be hard, and each had to be given away. Hatred or forgiveness? Both went to the same person, one deserved the latter, not. Which would she choose? Would she even have a choice?

The coldness of the floor penetrated her awareness. The hairs on her arms were at full attention, listening intently to determine if it was safe to rise again. With the pain so real and each nerve awakened anew to the electric shocks from the bruising, could she choose forgiveness?

When pride is all that’s left to clothe the naked soul, it is the last thing to be stripped before the fall, and must be shed to forgive. Pride and grudges are all that hold Connie together, and are the two things demanded to be set free. It would never make sense. Not to the hurt and wounded; at least not now, not when things are so raw.

She tried to love the unlovable, and failed miserably. With her heart turned cold and limbs weak and useless, she would be content to drift into that dark empty space where there was no sound, no feeling, no smells, no cares or concerns.

Then the sound of his unsteady tread on the stair brought her to full alertness. It was enough to pull all remaining strength to rise again. Bone, tendon, muscle, all flashed red with each movement away from the sound of his footsteps. The die was cast. The love was gone. He was unlovable, unreachable, impossible. Lord knows she tried to bridge that gap and failed. There would be no forgiveness this time. Not this time.

There was only one chance to be free and she would take it. He hurt her more than she loved him. There was only so much love that forgiveness could bend. Sometimes, the best grace given is to one’s self.

The only choice left was the battleground. She would either stand or fall; at least she got to choose the where.

[w.c: 357]





First Place: No Dialogue Contest