Mother Marys

   Meredith and I started a church group called Mother Marys, where young, pregnant women can come into the house of God and pray for their unborn miracles.  We wanted to reach out and help those who have gone down the path of the unrighteous--bring them to see that their pleasures were sins and that to gain salvation, they must repent and pray for a blessed future.
   Many told us we were foolish--that the youth were an unreachable herd that had strayed too far from its shepherd.
   Yet we have been successful with thirteen young women these past three months.
   Those who doubted us asked how we did it.  How could we touch the hearts and souls of the far gone?
   We were once them--one of the forlorn--one of the damned.  I had no husband, Meredith is my daughter, and her daughter's only father is the Lord.  We are Mother Marys.  And we will carry on His work.

Be Careful What You Wish For

   As he walked down the crowded sidewalk, briefcase in hand, Rasheed's head spun round and round like an otter swimming loops through a river.  He raised his hand to steady his brow, and he wished that God would kneel down and pluck his head right off his shoulders like a child would a flower from its stem.
   Two weeks Rasheed had suffered in this way.  And, two weeks he had whispered gently to himself, promising that all will soon be righted.  The world and his body would soon be realigned.
   God heard Rasheed's wish and chuckled a rumble through the sky.  He searched for Rasheed as He walked across the clouds, darkening them with His shadow.  He had heard Rasheed's troubled whispers and had become amused with the young businessman's thoughts.
   There was much yet to be done in this young man's life, yet God knew that the pain Rasheed hoped would dissipate would only pass with death.  Rasheed would become very successful in the next couple of years, provided he can overcome the temptation of insurmountable greed in the coming spring.
   God watched Rasheed closer.
   When spring came, a dark, cloudy day watched as Rasheed accepted a briefcase of laundered money in exchange for his silence.
   As Rasheed waited to cross the busy street, he again wished for God to put an end to the pain inside his head.  He wanted to enjoy himself and celebrate his lucky day without this dreadful, incessant ache.
   God heard Rasheed and agreed that it was the man's lucky day, for his pain would end once he took his seventh step across Booker Street.

The Unseen

   Many days before the first spring flower bloomed, the sun rose to meet a damp and dark morning.  The shipmen stretched their way to the docks, and the merchants tallied their books.  
   All around them the crumbling stone walls are silent and cold, waiting to be admired once again for their regality, but the wind just bends the leaves of grass, brushes through the sand, and chills the passersby.  

Letters from A.R.E., Seventh of Seven, 30 July 18--

Truly, if you were but a gentleman, I could address your latest letter in courteous terms, yet I find myself unable to even extend an amiable greeting!  This hackneyed display of incessant passion and devotion does not convince me even in the slightest of its sincerity.  You, my dear sir, I am now sure--hearing from a mutual acquaintance just before receiving your post--have never in your some five and thirty years expressed any emotion in truth.  Therefore, I am forced to deduce that this is all a rouse and not to be taken to heart, as a result, can you be astonished with my reaction of nothing less than hostility?  I will not be played as a doll, and I will not 'grace you' as you say, with my presence this coming season.  I wish you a bon vie, monsieur. --A.R.E.

Letters from A.R.E., Sixth of Seven, 9 June 18--

Sir, news has arrived of a very unprecedented matter.  Please refrain form attempting to ingratiate yourself to my already troubled heart that I had hardened against any future attempts of flattery.  And, do not say that I have lost hope of any happiness; I have only gained a rationale of which I fear you are clouding with suppressed emotions, when you should be using your better judgement.  And, I do take severe umbrage at your accusation that I am a 'prime example of the fickleness of a woman's love'.  My love is shown by my own sacrifice of selfish emotions, to leave you to a life of freedom from the fatal danger you are sure to meet in a life with me by your side.  It is the only way, and you will find my 'stubbornness' to be the victor due to my undying affection for your safety above my own happiness.--A.R.E.

Letters from A.R.E., Fifth of Seven, 25 May 18--

Mon ami, I cannot tell you how astonished I was to receive a letter from you.  Your perpetual silence seemed to be indicative of the truth I was unwilling to believe.  Forgive me then for my reproofs of long ago.  They were scornfully made, but I am afraid that no matter our wishes, the outcome must be as I have expressed previously.  Please do not be saddened by this answer that I am sure you were expecting, even as you were writing to me in apparent haste.  You know as well as I the misadventures that would follow us because of who we are, with nothing else considered, which would complicate our unique predicament.  I am sorry for being so foolish. --A.R.E.

Letters from A.R.E., Fourth of Seven, 18 April 18--

Darling friend, I am safe for the time being, yet I am not in confidence of being free à vie.  I will constantly live my life running from one or another.  I fear it will never come to a close.  What I have done will not be overlooked as we had hoped would transpire, what now feels ages--eons--ago.  I can honestly say that I have been a fool.  I have been imagining a life that could never--and was never--meant to be.  I should have understood when you ignored my hints of partnership, but it is as my dear girl said, 'Men will not easily be succumbed.'  Had I but set my vanity aside, and heeded her words, I may yet be in your favor. --A.R.E.

Letters from A.R.E., Third of Seven, 2 April 18--

Dearest, my intentions of writing cannot be fully expressed as for the insecurity of this page alighting eyes other than your own of a very precious hue.  I have tarried far too long and cannot wait a moment longer; I must depart.  I am distressed to have not heard your reply as of yet, but I can no longer hold myself to such vulnerability as has been a constant danger to me since last we met.  I am afraid that even by the time this reaches your long-missed hand, I will no longer be able to hope to hear your voice or see your passionate face.  I fear that those looking for me are close.  --A.R.E.