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Rated: E · Prose · Children's · #990646
the story of a young crippled boy
Once upon a time, many years ago, there lived a boy. Now this boy was, at birth, named Thomas, but was known by the other village children only as Molasses. And, indeed, Molasses was a most fitting label, for Thomas was a cripple.
He longed more than anything to be like the other children; to run, to jump, to play. The young boy liked to dream of a time when he would be able to do anything. Some days he’d try again and again, jumping off the ground and landing face-first in the dirt.
Jump, fall.
Jump, fall.
Yet hard as he battled, his twisted left leg always won the fight.
So Thomas often watched from inside his tiny home as the other children played. He watched Jane play hopscotch and Jimmy jump rope. He watched Joey climb a tree, while Charlotte and Laura raced from house to house. Sometimes he would muster all his courage and limp out to Joey or Jimmy or Jane or Charlotte or Laura. But, within minutes, the joking and name-calling and ridicule would begin. So, he would slowly hobble back inside and resume watching.
One evening Thomas was limping slowly down the empty road, when he came across a penny in the dirt. As he bent down to retrieve the shiny coin, he heard something from behind.
“Molasses, Molasses, will never be the fastest!”
He quickly straightened. Losing his balance, he tumbled to the dusty ground.
The taunting voice continued with a laugh.
“Molasses, Molasses, will never be the fastest!”
Suddenly, there were more voices.
“Molasses, Molasses, will never be the fastest!”
He let out a scream as children appeared on all sides, chanting and chanting.
“Molasses, Molasses, will never be the fastest!”
He tried to stand to his feet, but his gnarled leg refused. He cried out in pain.
Tears began to stream down his face, as more and more children appeared. The chanting continued, and Thomas was despaired. He hid his face in his hands and prayed that the game would soon grow old. Yet still it continued.
“Molasses, Molasses, will never be the fastest!”
The pain is so much!
“Molasses, Molasses, will never be the fastest!”
Is there anyone who cares?
“Molasses, Molasses, will never be the fastest!”
I need help!
The circle of persecutors inched ever closer.

Closer.
Closer.
Suddenly, there was silence. Unsure what to expect, Thomas kept his face safely hidden.
Silence.
Silence.
Then, there was an arm. A strong, gentle arm, that reached around Thomas and pulled him near. Thomas felt secure, and he sobbed quietly for several minutes in the comfort of the arm.
Once all his tears were used, Thomas slowly raised his tear-stained face and looked around. His eyes stung from a mixture of tears and dust. All the children were gone, and the street was once again empty and quiet. Had there ever been a disturbance? Only he and his Savior remained. As he looked into these eyes of love, he whimpered his heartfelt thanks.
“I knew You’d never leave me, Jesus.”

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