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short stories
Two Hearts by Jennifer Slattery
The hospital room was stale and cold. The pungent smell of bleach mixed with an overly strong floral freshener assaulted his nose. The pain in his legs, hips and bones was excruciating, as if someone were scraping at his marrow with a dulled knife. There were others in the room, he knew, faculty members, family members, colleagues that had served on some of his many humanitarian committees, but their voices were muddled and fragmented.
A dark haze loomed over his brain, creating a fog of incoherence. Forcing his eyes open, he latched onto the steady gaze of his wife and used every ounce of strength to make sense of the many voices that were carrying on around him. And then, in an instant they were gone as the darkness pressed in on him further and further into the deep recesses of his mind.
There was a bright light in the distance, and for a minute, he could hear the faint sound of singing and laughter, a sound so bright and joyful it caused his heart to leap in his chest. Yes, this was where he was going… This was a good place… After all he had done, all the charity checks he had written, all the people he had helped…
There was a bright light in the distance, and for a minute, he could hear the faint sound of singing and laughter, a sound so bright and joyful it caused his heart to leap in his chest. Yes, this was where he was going… This was a good place… After all he had done, all the charity checks he had written, all the people he had helped…
A Man in a long flowing white robe loomed above him like an ever-burning flame, his eyes like unquenchable flames. And when He spoke, his voice was like the sound of many rushing waters, “And as it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgement.”
Derek reached out for this man, his heart burning in his chest, every fiber of his being crying out for mercy. “Yes, to judgement,” he cried. “LORD, remember all that I have done.” But the words were hollow. He tried desperately to recall all of the charities he had given to and all of the sacrificial acts of kindness that he had done during his eighty years on earth, but they refused to come and were replaced by memories he had long since forgotten.
“That very Word which I spoke will condemn them at the last day,” the voice of thunder flooded his mind like a raging river.
“No!” he cried, trying with every ounce of strength to drown out the Words that pressed against his mind and heart. Images flashed through his brain like exploding bombs, voices long since spoken and discarded now occupying the very center of his reality.
“Come to Me all who are weary and thirsty.” “No one takes My life from Me. I lay it down of My own accord.” “My sheep know Me and listen to My voice, and I will by no means cast them away.” “Whoever calls on the name of the LORD will be saved.”
“I call, I call,” Derek’s mind called out, but it was drowned by the flood of voices.
“And as it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgement,” the Man in flowing white repeated.
“No! Please! Just give me one more chance!” Derek cried as a force so powerful pulled on him, pressing down on his heart and lungs like an unbearable weight. And then he was falling, and falling and falling, and the light, and the Man, faded until they were nothing more than a glimmer. The darkness pressed down on him, consumed him as the screams of the tormented souls below him pounded against his ears.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Cheryl’s vision began to blur as she stared at the cold, white wall in front of her. No one had come. No one had cared. Her heroine infested bones ached as her body convulsed against the starch white sheets. Her deformed feet, crippled from years of walking the streets in high stilettos, clenched and relaxed with every spasm. This was it… Her days were done… But she was ready.
Cheryl’s vision began to blur as she stared at the cold, white wall in front of her. No one had come. No one had cared. Her heroine infested bones ached as her body convulsed against the starch white sheets. Her deformed feet, crippled from years of walking the streets in high stilettos, clenched and relaxed with every spasm. This was it… Her days were done… But she was ready.
“Come, Cheryl. I am waiting.” A tender voice called out to her, drew her, enveloped her.
Memories flooded her mind, not of the cold, dark nights she spent on the street, or pent up in some strange man’s hotel room. Instead, they were memories of joy and peace, of her as a child, sitting cross-legged on a neighbors carpet as the Words of her Savior flooded her mind, “Come to Me, all who are weary, and I will give you rest.” And then there was the vision of her huddled in the corner of a nearby shelter. A woman with a milky brown complexion and deep brown eyes had talked with her that day, and although she could barely see the woman’s face, the words she spoke rang through her mind like joyous tambourines. “For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through Him.” And then there was the night, such a cold night, when that strange man had appeared to her and spoken the words of life. “Whoever confesses with his mouth and believes in his heart will be saved.”
A bright light beckoned her forward, pulling on her heart so softly, so gently, she let go of everything else and let the Light consume her, filling every nerve, every fiber with an ecstasy she had never felt, or even imagined, before. A Man in a white flowing robe and with eyes of fire stood with His arms outstretched. “Come and share your Master’s happiness, Cheryl,” He said, reaching out for her.
One Woman's Isolation, by Jennifer Slattery
Sharon’s heart pounded as she walked into the floral-lined sanctuary. She glanced at a neatly dressed family two pews down. Their daughter, dressed in tan slacks and a pressed blouse, looked to be around the same age as hers. She watched with longing as the mother, a tall brunette, reached over and gave her daughter a squeeze before glancing at her own child. Danielle’s body was tense and jittery, her face shriveled in a perpetual frown. Her dark eyes darted back and forth like two caged animals searching for a means of escape. She had been autistic from birth, and although Sharon and her husband had long since accepted this illness, there were still times when Sharon’s heart ached… for the bride she knew would never come, for the grandchildren she knew she’d never have, and for that tender hug or pleasant woman-to-woman conversation she knew they’d never share.
“Where do you want to sit,” her husband asked, his deep blue eyes sweeping across the packed sanctuary, careful not to meet the many stares that were shot their way.
Sharon shrugged. She glanced at a lady in a bright floral dress and pair of dainty sandals and then looked down at her own dirtied and threadbare garb. There had simply been no time for laundry, or for a shower, for that matter. Not today. Today it was just enough to be here. A few of the perfectly painted faces smiled at her, but she could see the disgust in their eyes. Sharon cringed, and for a moment, thought about darting back out those big double doors and into the way-overcrowded parking lot, but she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She needed to be here.
They hadn’t been to church in nearly nine years. They had tried for awhile when their daughter was two, but soon found out there was no place for them. No place for their daughter. But after nine years of living in a spiritual desert, sustained only by those quick “shout out” prayers that were muttered between the many battles that seemed to permeate every part of her day, Sharon needed to come. More than anything, she needed to hear the Words of her Savior spoken out loud, to feel the Holy Spirit’s presence as His saints sang His praises… but more than anything else, she needed to rest.
“Aiiiyeee! Thd..thd..thd…Yoooow!”
Sharon’s heart clenched as her daughter let out a series of hollers and yelps. The blood rushed to her face as she felt hundreds of eyes on her.
“Shhh,” her husband said, placing a gentle hand on their daughter’s shoulder. He looked at his wife and his eyes spoke the question that raged through Sharon’s heart, “Should we go?”
pdf form of One Woman's Isolation
pdf form of One Woman's Isolation