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Rated: E · Short Story · Drama · #1341853
Who's she? Someone you dream of?
          It was nearing dawn when I met this solitary creature as I was approaching the church. I felt some drizzle upon my skin so I wheeled my chair faster. She was there, again, I used to watch her melancholy eyes and her pure white skin and dress.  It was just a few steps, or a little push from her, but the outside lights of the church caught my surprise, now there was that new one installed at the farthest entrance.  Yesterday, another dawn, I knew it wasn't there.  The sacristan must have installed it. Moreover, these small changes caught my attention because I knew the church's structure inside and out. After all, I had been a faithful server for quite a long time. I had memorized every step, every corner of that structure. 

          Fear could never defeat me.  Real enemies though had challenged that trait in all humans.  How could it ever conquer my being?  I had to surrender sometimes to it.  During that time in an instance, a small, flying lead touched my spine, I had to spend all those years in an infirmary that looked like hell.  They said I was a hero.  A small living hero?  A hero now afraid, something in me had to be forgotten. Inside my gut, I felt what could only be described as fear.

          I had to fight it, that's why this church was something, more than the church of God.  I asked, why was I alive?  That's it.  That was the reason why in all mornings, in all dark times, I was there: to converse, to ask, to blame. I could no longer control my heart's longing because it was an unfamiliar feeling. I wondered if it could be something else beating, other than my heart.

          A soul?  A spirit?  Was there a difference?  Was my soul my spirit?  Ah, whoever believed that?  There was nothing in the beginnings of the world.  Not even a spirit.  Not even a thing.

          "Who are you?" I asked.  But she looked stunned, surprised.  Her eyes were those I had not seen in any human.  They were pure white, a black thing inside it: alone and asking.  Like me.  Was she a hero too?  No.  I passed and investigated the light in that entrance of the church.  Why was it there?  I asked Merto, the guy who couldn't be awake earlier than me, lazy of all lazy.  I had to ask the priest to change him.  Nothing.  No reason why he put that irritant; I had to file a formal complaint before it had to be taken out.

          There was loneliness, again in that little morning when she was there.  She added to the melancholy.  She's motionless, but her lips I saw were moving, her mouth forming a sound.  I had to guess.  A why?  A who?  It was, yes, a letter formed, something like an "h".  As I reached the church (the light was no longer there), no other thought could could come out of my lazy mind.  She was in my thoughts, her pale lips could not be erased from my imagination.  What was she was asking?  I looked back.  I could only see the big acacia tree.     

          The inspiration came to me.  She was asking for help, for my help.  She knew I was a hero, so she had been there to get my attention.  It became my longest night, my longest wait.  Sleep couldn't get my spirit, for I had to get there to ask her.  I saw the tree, but the rain poured.  I made my watch, because she was of no sight.  "Come to me, lady in white."  The tree couldn't give the answer.  It was alone, its leaves were moving. 

          "Where are you?  I love you."

          She was there for a few moments.  She was gone.

          I made my watch everyday, every dawn, every morning, that time of day when darkness was swallowed by light.  I longed for it, now all my thoughts, all my questions were one and only one asking for the lady in white to get me to help her.  She needed me.  Or was it I who needed her?  We're both alone, in despair, asking for meaning, longing for answers.  Outside my church, under the tree of an everlasting acacia, it was the first time that I learned to ask, to pray with meaning, to say "Give me this moment with my lady in white."

          For she was there, by my side, and she brought me inside her world, a white cloth, clean as the sky above enveloped me and her, and we were brought to the clouds, defying fear and darkness.  My questions were answered.  My hero thing was gone.  Now I was rewarded. 

          The rain poured.  The words were forming into sentences, into paragraphs, into stories: my everlasting rewards.  So I have to believe in You.
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