Faith, Forgotten

This is the story I wrote for the 2011 Fine Arts: Compelled to Love competition via Assemblies of God for the “book chapter category.” Enjoy!

 

The room was dark as a young woman slept. Her dreams seemed troubled and she shifted uncomfortably in her sleep. Beside her, a young man stood. He wore a strange garment: white flowing robes that seemed to glow in the darkness. His dark brows furrowed, and he placed his hand upon her forehead and entered into the dream.

 

The young woman, more a girl, was in a bare room. The walls were white washed, and nondescript. There were no windows and only one entrance. She looked startled, and discomforted, her dark hair swept across her shoulders as her equally dark eyes scanned the room, confirming it was empty. She did not understand how she had gotten there, and glanced around, apprehensive. She heard a noise behind her, and turned quickly, her dark eyes wary. The young man stood there.

 

In her eyes, his appearance continued to change. His skin was tan, then pale and back, his shoulder length hair shifted from black, to brown and blonde. The girl’s attention was caught by his eyes, though, which shifted from a stormy grey to a deep blue of the seas, to an everlasting green that the girl lost herself in.

 

Suddenly she felt heat and a slight pressure on her side. She glanced down to see his hand between her breast and stomach, upon her left ribcage. She stared at his hand for several moments, and then the girl glanced up, peering into his face.

 

He spoke something, and she strained her ears to hear. No sound reached her. She tried to speak herself, but her own voice did not work. He tried again. She noticed his manner suggested he spoke a question, and she tried to read his lips, but she wasn’t quick enough. He pulled his hand away, and gave her one last look. His eyes looked sad and disappointed. As he turned and left the room, the young girl fell to her knees and cried.

____                            ____                            ____                            ____                           ____

 

Evangeline’s eyes shot open. She felt a lasting sadness sweep over her and her eyes seemed to continue where the dream had left off. She forced herself to sit up and get out of bed. Her dark brown hair swept over her face and stuck where the tear tracks were.

 

Moving over to her desk, Evangeline pulled out a brush and attacked the knots that had formed overnight. Then she glanced at the mirror. Her eyes, their normal dark brown, were bloodshot and she looked like she had gotten little sleep. Quickly wiping the tears from her face, Evangeline made her way over to the bathroom and threw water on her face.

 

This isn’t working, she thought after a quick glance at the bathroom mirror showed her eyes still bloodshot. Giving it up as a bad job, she went back to her desk, pulled out a notebook, and thought for several moments. What speaks to me? She thought. Her gaze wandered around her room, not really taking in anything. Her thoughts strayed back to her dream, but she shook her head to clear it. However, thoughts of the dream kept coming back, and an idea formed in her mind, so she put it to the paper.

 

 

 

I see you. Do you see me?

 

Your face is in my mind,

 

Yet I am sure we have never met.

You are familiar, yet unknown to me.

 

I search for you. Do you search for me?

 

I awoke and I forget some details,

 

But your image is there in my mind.

 

Your light brown hair and dark eyes;

 

Your hand upon me; you speak.

 

I cannot hear, I cannot understand.

 

Who are you, you who haunt my dreams?

 

You are familiar, but a stranger.

 

Who are you? Do I haunt your dreams?

 

Do you see me as I see you?

 

I know you, or I will.

 

I must know you, I feel it.

 

Show yourself to me, please.

 

Find me so I can find you.

 

Who are you? Who haunts my dreams?

 

Who stalks my waking thoughts?

 

Who follows my nightly dreams?

 

Who are you, you who haunt my dreams?

 

Placing down her pen, Evangeline looked at her finished work. Yes, she thought,that sums it up nicely. With that out of the way, she stood and glanced at her clock. It ticked quietly away the time, showing half past seven. She got dressed and went downstairs for breakfast.

 

No one was in the kitchen as she entered it, her eyes barely taking in the bright yellow of the walls. Moving over to the cabinets, she found nothing that appealed to her appetite. Opening the white fridge, she found little else to satisfy her. Sighing, she resigned herself to an apple.

 

Evangeline carefully sliced it and sprinkled sugar and cinnamon on each piece. Then she took care to enjoy her meal and the blissful silence that was the start to her morning. Once finished, another glance at the clock showed five to eight. She shook her head, ran upstairs to grab her things, and left the house.

____                            ____                            ____                            ____                           ____

 

He appeared in her bedroom once more, his dark hair swayed in a nonexistent breeze as his figure formed. He took in his bearings before he strode over to Evangeline’s desk. His dark green eyes shifted over the poem that she had finished only minutes before and his eyes widened slightly as he read.

 

Once finished, he carefully placing the poem back to its proper position, and then turned his attention to the room itself. Most of the walls were covered with bookshelves and books of all shapes and sizes. He made his way over to the nearest shelf and looked at some of the titles. Damned for the Damned one book read. He shook his head in disappointment, as if he had expected something of Evangeline’s book choices, and looked at the book right next to it. He smiled sadly. It was the Bible. He carefully pulled it out and looked at the edges of the pages. Only one page seemed to be opened. He carefully slid open to the page, and looked at the passage. A few words were highlighted and he quickly scanned the passage.

 

When I kept silent, my bones grew old, Through my groaning all the day long. For day and night Your hand was heavy upon me; My vitality was turned into the drought of summer. Selah I acknowledged my sin to You, And my iniquity I have not hidden. I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,” And You forgave the iniquity of my sin. Psalms 32:3-32:5.

 

I wonder why she would choose that, of all passages, he thought, carefully closing the Bible. Instead of replacing it next to the other book, he gently laid it on another bookshelf, surrounded by children’s stories. He smiled. A book collector, he thought, shaking his head slightly. He turned back and returned to her desk. Leaning against the bureau, he looked at the colors of the room. The shelves were all black, but the walls were a soft brown. Not by her choice, I am sure, he thought sardonically.

 

What do you make of her, Victorious? A Voice said in his mind. Victorious, the young man from Evangeline’s dream, sighed.

 

“I would rather not judge her just yet,” the young man said as he looked at the only wall not covered with books. There were posters of people covered in tattoos, piercings, and disfigurements; some of the pictures depicted people in obvious pain.

 

She may be a bit of a challenge, the Voice said.

 

A challenge indeed, he thought, as he turned away from the pictures in disgust. Victorious glanced once more at the Bible that sat on her shelf. He wanted desperately to place it on her desk, or somewhere where she would notice it, but he knew it was forbidden; he could not mess with things that would be noticeable. Subtlety was the key. An unknown presence was a necessity, and he knew it. Such was the job of an angel. Listen, and assist, but do nothing that warrants attention.

 

He walked across the room once more and paused at the foot of the bed. His gaze wandered over to the window near her desk. A large tree was right outside her window, its branches reaching higher into the sky than the window itself. Snow sat upon the boughs, and the sounds of birds flittered through the glass. A brilliant light filtered in, bathing a small patch of carpeted floor in sunlight. Victorious turned and kneeled by the bed, his body washed in the vivid light, his head bowed and his hands clasped together.

 

“In Your name, I pray, oh Lord, grant me the strength to deal with humans once more and grant me the patience to save this girl from darkness. Help me to show her the Path that You have laid out for her, and lead her away from the Path of Satan Help me bring her back to Your everlasting light. To You, I pray, amen,” Victorious, also known as Victor, said, his head lowered as he spoke to the Voice of God.

 

 

 

Alright, so there you have it. Faith, Forgotten is the first story I’ve ever submitted to a competition. While I got qualified for nationals in the competition, I don’t believe I am going to submit due to fees and such. But I am just honored to get even recognition for my work, so… I don’t care about nationals. I am a passionate writer, and I’m so glad that this book chapter competition got me inspired enough to want to continue with writing it. Maybe, someday, when I get enough written on this story, I will get published with my work. I’m not entirely confident, though, but maybe posting here will help me with that confidence. That aside, I write some pretty crazy things, not all of which are Christian-based stories. However, when the time comes, if the time comes, I will write where I feel I am needed most. Snape_Redeemed out.

 

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~ by HelixRook on April 2, 2011.

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