Voice 1
Come my child, it's time to leave
Let me take you from darkness and need
Let me lead you towards the light
Stay no more in this dark night
Voice 2
God, oh God, why have you left me?
To wallow in pain and in misery
I know the answer, please just go
Leave me here in my sorrow
I am not worthy to see your face
I belong here in the darkest place
I'm sure you've got other things to do
Other people to see more worthy of you
Voice 1
My child, my child, take my hands
These scars match yours, please understand
I bled and I died so you would see me
I bled and I died so you could be free
Free from this darkness and all this pain
Free to walk in the light again
You've already chosen to seek my face
You know you will see me in the heavenly place
Voice 2
You see? That's just it. I know what to do
Why focus on me when others need you?
Voice 1
Yes this is true, others need me as well
Know this, dear one, ALL will be well
Voice 2
But how can you say that? See where I've fallen
I'm sure I'm not worthy to call in
Among all your saints, so stately and pure
I haven't done great works, that's for sure
So why do I deserve life everlasting?
You know I stink at prayer and fasting
Just leave me alone, here in the mire
There's no way I'll be purified by fire
I'm too dirty and scar-ridden to always seek you
I always want something other than truth
I wish I could seek you with all of my heart
But God sometimes I just can't even start
Voice 1
My child, my child, have you forgotten?
You speak to the creator of all, who brought in
The sun and the moon, the earth and all time
If I want you my child, then you will be mine
For my love is as deep and wide as the sea
You'll never need anything when you love me
So take my hands, fight through the pain
I'll carry you till you stand on your feet again.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
Sunday, August 17, 2014
The Ugly Girl - A Short Story
The ugly girl crumples to the floor, and with a slight moan pulls
herself into a kneeling position. Blinded by the light in the room – or
perhaps, the light that is the room – she hangs her head, hoping that
the curtain of her matted dark hair will keep the burning light from
paining her eyes. The dark curtain helps, but some streaks of light come
through and sting her skin. She imagines she can smell burning hair
where the light tries to get through, but she knows the smell isn’t
there. Nothing about that light is really destructive.
There is silence. Another smell reaches her nostrils – but this one is real, not imagined. It is the stink of the rags she wears. They are the traditional clothing worn by those across the Border, and she has been wearing them so long that she had thought she was used to the smell. However, in this room of light, the odor seems particularly pungent.
As the stink grows stronger, she realizes she is blushing. She is embarrassed here. For – whether she can see him or not – the King is in this room. She is kneeling in front of him, dressed in these filthy, bloody rags that stink to high heaven.
She thinks, to high heaven is not so much an expression here as a fact.
Suddenly her body tenses, and instinctively she slumps, as if trying to shrink into the ground. The King is about to speak.
“Kiera.”
One word. That is all.
The filthy girl on the floor remains still. Something is familiar about that name. But it is something she has forgotten. Or has tried to forget.
“Kiera,” the King says again, more insistent. She knows she must respond.
“That – that is not what I am called,” she whispers, barely moving her lips.
“I understand.” The King’s voice is equally as quiet, and she hears it as if he were kneeling right in front of her. “But that is not the name that I – through your mother – gave you.”
The dirty girl flinches. She doesn’t want to think about her mother.
“Akkiza,” she says. “I am called Akkiza.”
“You know I will not name you that which the steward of the Dark Land has called you. To me, you are Kiera.”
She winces again, and remains silent. She knows it’s useless to argue with the King. Deep down, she knows that he is always right.
“Tell me,” the King speaks again, “Tell me what those in the Dark Lands have whispered to you.”
Again, the dirty girl flinches. It is a command she cannot ignore.
“He says – he says he is the king of the Dark Land,” she whispers, “Though few acknowledge him there. They – we – don’t seem to know that we do as he says with whatever we do. Some of us had even forgotten he existed.”
Silence ensues. The dirty – now nameless – girl picks at a scab on her wrist. It had been a rather nasty gash, but had faded into the mess of the rest of the bruises.
Suddenly a pair of hands enters her view. They are perfect hands, giving off the light that fills the room. But there is one blemish on each of them. Just below the wrists of the perfect hands, she sees ugly black scars that match the color of some of her wounds.
The otherwise perfect hands take hers, to prevent her from picking at the scab. Despite herself, the girl sighs in relief. For wherever the perfect hands of the King touch her, her stinging skin is soothed.
“Why did you wander from your home?” the King asks, keeping her hands.
The dirty girl ducks her head further. Tears sting her eyes and a sob tears its way out of her throat. She knows that she need not answer, that the King knew anyway.
Still, her mind goes back to that first time. The first time she had glimpsed the Border of the Dark Lands, where her father had disappeared to, and longed to cross it and enter. Despite its sinister appearance, something about it lured her there. Perhaps it was the laughter she could hear amongst the screams. Perhaps it was the discordant music that had hurt her ears.
She had wandered there on several occasions. Each time she visited, she explored deeper and deeper into the darkness. She never found her father, but she found plenty else. The people there were so different from her, and yet so like her. The things they had given her, the ways they had touched her, the smells and the wildness and the very air she breathed had lured her farther and farther from her home and her mother. It was intoxicating.
The time before this last time she had actually been brought before the steward of the Dark Land, who called himself the king. Though he made her uncomfortable, he had spoken to her soothingly and kindly. She had wanted to stay forever in this land that she had found, the land that was so different from her own. Here she didn’t have to wait for anything, she could take it. Here nothing had value, she could do as she wished. Here she didn’t have to answer to her mother, or father, or even the King. The dark king told her that she could do whatever she wished, and she had seen several times that it was true.
But there was one condition for her staying forever. The test was different for everyone, he said, but it was only one simple task. And once she completed that she would be free to do as she wished forever.
Only too eager to comply, she had run back across the Border immediately.
The object that she had stolen, she still holds cradled to her chest. For it is a fragile package, and she knows she must handle it carefully in order to get it back to the king – steward – of the Dark Lands. The guards hadn’t even taken it from her when they had brought her to the King’s palace.
“You know he is no true king,” the King speaks again. He still holds her hands in his.
“How can he not be?” the dirty girl snarls back, surprising herself with her vehemence. “Everyone over there does what they want, all the time. He’s ruled there since the beginning of time, he–”
“That is a lie.”
The room shakes with the power of the King’s statement. Of course it is true. The King never lies.
The filthy girl falls silent again. She doesn’t understand why the King asks her these questions, if he knows everything already.
“The steward of the Dark Land has not always been in his position. I merely placed him there for my own purposes. He still answers to me.”
This confused the girl on the floor. She hasn’t noticed yet that her hair has disentangled itself, though it still hangs in a curtain over her face. The light doesn’t sting as much either.
“But no one over there follow your rules,” the girl says. “He has done away with every one of your laws.”
“He has not. He twists them for his own purposes, and covers them, and hides them, but he cannot do away with them completely.”
Suddenly there are shouts from outside the room of light. After the sounds of a scuffle, the steward of the Dark Land bursts into the room, holding a brand-new black umbrella in front of him to block the light. Of course, it helps little.
Looking at him now, the girl on the floor notices something different. In the darkness, the steward had seemed handsome and appealing. Now, however, he’s uglier than she is. And looking down at herself, she realizes that this is saying a lot.
“Why did you come here?” the King asks calmly.
“Unlike your precious pets, like the one cowering under you here, you did not give me the ability to speak to you without coming into your presence directly,” the ugly steward snarls.
“That is a lie.” Again, the room shakes with the truth of the King’s declaration. “I am everywhere, including the land I have given you temporarily. You may speak at any time and any place.”
The King’s words affect the ugly steward more than they do the ugly girl. He trembles behind his black umbrella, and seems to shrink.
“That one is mine,” he snarls finally. “She even took it for me. Just like everyone else, she took it.”
“You are wrong,” the King says, “She may have thought of it. But what she tried to steal, she returned.”
“You know, for someone who supposedly tells the truth all the time, you really are doing a bad job of it!” the steward shrieks. “She didn’t bring it back of her own accord! Your angels brought her back.”
“I’m sure that if she knew that you would destroy it, as you’ve attempted to with every other that’s been brought to you, she wouldn’t have brought it to you.” The King has an amused lilt to his voice that stuns the ugly girl. She realizes he is laughing.
“Besides,” the King continues, “No one has taken it from her. She still holds it.”
The steward fell silent, fuming.
The ugly girl sniffs the air. There is a foul reek – much stronger than her own – coming from the steward. Instinctively, she cowers towards the King, momentarily forgetting that she, too, smells.
But the King doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, his hands finally leave hers, and she hears him stand to face the steward.
“I will deal with you fully at the appointed time,” the King says to the steward, causing the room to shake again. “In the meantime, return to your land. You are no longer needed here.”
Unable to withstand the force behind the King’s words, the steward flees the room, shrieking at the guards to stay away from him.
The ugly girl and the King are alone again.
“To answer your question,” the King says, though the girl hasn’t spoken, “No one who yet belongs to the steward in the Dark Land is out of my reach. I was able to find you when you were half way to his castle with your parcel, and my army rescues the people I have chosen from his clutches every day.”
Hoping her movements don’t rub filth into the floor, the ugly girl tries to sink lower into the floor and clutches the parcel closer to herself. It is stained and as dirty as she now. She is ashamed of it and tries to hide it from the King.
“Kiera,” the King speaks again, “Don’t hide yourself from me.”
The girl is surprised to hear that this is not a command. Tears make streaks through the grime on her face as she curls herself into a ball around the stolen object. Why would he want it back now? It looks almost nothing like what it used to look like, thanks to her shenanigans in the Dark Land.
Then an image comes to her head. It is of her final trek, on her way to the steward’s palace. She is running, for some reason, clutching the stolen parcel close. But for the first time the people of the Dark Land are not welcoming. Several try to stop her. One man in particular cries out to her to turn around. But she doesn’t listen. She keeps running, eager to make for herself a new life here.
The image is dissipated as a hand touches her head. Immediately peace flows through her, and she knows it is the King.
“My child,” he says quietly, “You noticed the scars on my hands earlier. Those were for you. Everything that you carry now, I have carried a thousandfold and more. I suffered through the death the people of the Dark Land put me through, so that you wouldn’t have to. Kiera, you are healed, and you are saved. I only ask that you give it back.”
The girl looks up at the King’s face for the first time. A scar runs across his brow, marring the otherwise perfect image. He smiles lovingly, and her heart is filled with warmth.
Removing his hand from her head, the King reaches out a hand to her. She takes it, and stands. He holds out his pierced hand a second time, and slowly she hands back the stolen parcel – her life. As soon as it touches his hand, the stains disappear and its surface becomes completely clear, polished to reflect the light of the King.
But briefly, Kiera sees herself in the reflection. She sees that she is beautiful.
There is silence. Another smell reaches her nostrils – but this one is real, not imagined. It is the stink of the rags she wears. They are the traditional clothing worn by those across the Border, and she has been wearing them so long that she had thought she was used to the smell. However, in this room of light, the odor seems particularly pungent.
As the stink grows stronger, she realizes she is blushing. She is embarrassed here. For – whether she can see him or not – the King is in this room. She is kneeling in front of him, dressed in these filthy, bloody rags that stink to high heaven.
She thinks, to high heaven is not so much an expression here as a fact.
Suddenly her body tenses, and instinctively she slumps, as if trying to shrink into the ground. The King is about to speak.
“Kiera.”
One word. That is all.
The filthy girl on the floor remains still. Something is familiar about that name. But it is something she has forgotten. Or has tried to forget.
“Kiera,” the King says again, more insistent. She knows she must respond.
“That – that is not what I am called,” she whispers, barely moving her lips.
“I understand.” The King’s voice is equally as quiet, and she hears it as if he were kneeling right in front of her. “But that is not the name that I – through your mother – gave you.”
The dirty girl flinches. She doesn’t want to think about her mother.
“Akkiza,” she says. “I am called Akkiza.”
“You know I will not name you that which the steward of the Dark Land has called you. To me, you are Kiera.”
She winces again, and remains silent. She knows it’s useless to argue with the King. Deep down, she knows that he is always right.
“Tell me,” the King speaks again, “Tell me what those in the Dark Lands have whispered to you.”
Again, the dirty girl flinches. It is a command she cannot ignore.
“He says – he says he is the king of the Dark Land,” she whispers, “Though few acknowledge him there. They – we – don’t seem to know that we do as he says with whatever we do. Some of us had even forgotten he existed.”
Silence ensues. The dirty – now nameless – girl picks at a scab on her wrist. It had been a rather nasty gash, but had faded into the mess of the rest of the bruises.
Suddenly a pair of hands enters her view. They are perfect hands, giving off the light that fills the room. But there is one blemish on each of them. Just below the wrists of the perfect hands, she sees ugly black scars that match the color of some of her wounds.
The otherwise perfect hands take hers, to prevent her from picking at the scab. Despite herself, the girl sighs in relief. For wherever the perfect hands of the King touch her, her stinging skin is soothed.
“Why did you wander from your home?” the King asks, keeping her hands.
The dirty girl ducks her head further. Tears sting her eyes and a sob tears its way out of her throat. She knows that she need not answer, that the King knew anyway.
Still, her mind goes back to that first time. The first time she had glimpsed the Border of the Dark Lands, where her father had disappeared to, and longed to cross it and enter. Despite its sinister appearance, something about it lured her there. Perhaps it was the laughter she could hear amongst the screams. Perhaps it was the discordant music that had hurt her ears.
She had wandered there on several occasions. Each time she visited, she explored deeper and deeper into the darkness. She never found her father, but she found plenty else. The people there were so different from her, and yet so like her. The things they had given her, the ways they had touched her, the smells and the wildness and the very air she breathed had lured her farther and farther from her home and her mother. It was intoxicating.
The time before this last time she had actually been brought before the steward of the Dark Land, who called himself the king. Though he made her uncomfortable, he had spoken to her soothingly and kindly. She had wanted to stay forever in this land that she had found, the land that was so different from her own. Here she didn’t have to wait for anything, she could take it. Here nothing had value, she could do as she wished. Here she didn’t have to answer to her mother, or father, or even the King. The dark king told her that she could do whatever she wished, and she had seen several times that it was true.
But there was one condition for her staying forever. The test was different for everyone, he said, but it was only one simple task. And once she completed that she would be free to do as she wished forever.
Only too eager to comply, she had run back across the Border immediately.
The object that she had stolen, she still holds cradled to her chest. For it is a fragile package, and she knows she must handle it carefully in order to get it back to the king – steward – of the Dark Lands. The guards hadn’t even taken it from her when they had brought her to the King’s palace.
“You know he is no true king,” the King speaks again. He still holds her hands in his.
“How can he not be?” the dirty girl snarls back, surprising herself with her vehemence. “Everyone over there does what they want, all the time. He’s ruled there since the beginning of time, he–”
“That is a lie.”
The room shakes with the power of the King’s statement. Of course it is true. The King never lies.
The filthy girl falls silent again. She doesn’t understand why the King asks her these questions, if he knows everything already.
“The steward of the Dark Land has not always been in his position. I merely placed him there for my own purposes. He still answers to me.”
This confused the girl on the floor. She hasn’t noticed yet that her hair has disentangled itself, though it still hangs in a curtain over her face. The light doesn’t sting as much either.
“But no one over there follow your rules,” the girl says. “He has done away with every one of your laws.”
“He has not. He twists them for his own purposes, and covers them, and hides them, but he cannot do away with them completely.”
Suddenly there are shouts from outside the room of light. After the sounds of a scuffle, the steward of the Dark Land bursts into the room, holding a brand-new black umbrella in front of him to block the light. Of course, it helps little.
Looking at him now, the girl on the floor notices something different. In the darkness, the steward had seemed handsome and appealing. Now, however, he’s uglier than she is. And looking down at herself, she realizes that this is saying a lot.
“Why did you come here?” the King asks calmly.
“Unlike your precious pets, like the one cowering under you here, you did not give me the ability to speak to you without coming into your presence directly,” the ugly steward snarls.
“That is a lie.” Again, the room shakes with the truth of the King’s declaration. “I am everywhere, including the land I have given you temporarily. You may speak at any time and any place.”
The King’s words affect the ugly steward more than they do the ugly girl. He trembles behind his black umbrella, and seems to shrink.
“That one is mine,” he snarls finally. “She even took it for me. Just like everyone else, she took it.”
“You are wrong,” the King says, “She may have thought of it. But what she tried to steal, she returned.”
“You know, for someone who supposedly tells the truth all the time, you really are doing a bad job of it!” the steward shrieks. “She didn’t bring it back of her own accord! Your angels brought her back.”
“I’m sure that if she knew that you would destroy it, as you’ve attempted to with every other that’s been brought to you, she wouldn’t have brought it to you.” The King has an amused lilt to his voice that stuns the ugly girl. She realizes he is laughing.
“Besides,” the King continues, “No one has taken it from her. She still holds it.”
The steward fell silent, fuming.
The ugly girl sniffs the air. There is a foul reek – much stronger than her own – coming from the steward. Instinctively, she cowers towards the King, momentarily forgetting that she, too, smells.
But the King doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, his hands finally leave hers, and she hears him stand to face the steward.
“I will deal with you fully at the appointed time,” the King says to the steward, causing the room to shake again. “In the meantime, return to your land. You are no longer needed here.”
Unable to withstand the force behind the King’s words, the steward flees the room, shrieking at the guards to stay away from him.
The ugly girl and the King are alone again.
“To answer your question,” the King says, though the girl hasn’t spoken, “No one who yet belongs to the steward in the Dark Land is out of my reach. I was able to find you when you were half way to his castle with your parcel, and my army rescues the people I have chosen from his clutches every day.”
Hoping her movements don’t rub filth into the floor, the ugly girl tries to sink lower into the floor and clutches the parcel closer to herself. It is stained and as dirty as she now. She is ashamed of it and tries to hide it from the King.
“Kiera,” the King speaks again, “Don’t hide yourself from me.”
The girl is surprised to hear that this is not a command. Tears make streaks through the grime on her face as she curls herself into a ball around the stolen object. Why would he want it back now? It looks almost nothing like what it used to look like, thanks to her shenanigans in the Dark Land.
Then an image comes to her head. It is of her final trek, on her way to the steward’s palace. She is running, for some reason, clutching the stolen parcel close. But for the first time the people of the Dark Land are not welcoming. Several try to stop her. One man in particular cries out to her to turn around. But she doesn’t listen. She keeps running, eager to make for herself a new life here.
The image is dissipated as a hand touches her head. Immediately peace flows through her, and she knows it is the King.
“My child,” he says quietly, “You noticed the scars on my hands earlier. Those were for you. Everything that you carry now, I have carried a thousandfold and more. I suffered through the death the people of the Dark Land put me through, so that you wouldn’t have to. Kiera, you are healed, and you are saved. I only ask that you give it back.”
The girl looks up at the King’s face for the first time. A scar runs across his brow, marring the otherwise perfect image. He smiles lovingly, and her heart is filled with warmth.
Removing his hand from her head, the King reaches out a hand to her. She takes it, and stands. He holds out his pierced hand a second time, and slowly she hands back the stolen parcel – her life. As soon as it touches his hand, the stains disappear and its surface becomes completely clear, polished to reflect the light of the King.
But briefly, Kiera sees herself in the reflection. She sees that she is beautiful.
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