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Spirit of a Jackal
total posts: 9321
GameGrep pts: 102
since: Nov 2006
Aug 19, 12 at 7:49pm ^Miracles in Misfortune [Short Story]
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Miracles in Misfortune
Water, sunshine, and only a piece of love are all that is necessary to breed a vigorous abundance of nature. Storms crash over the mounds of Misfortune with a rattle, crack, and thump. As loud as they are, sound worth deafening, storms are not completely evil because they bring sustenance to living things along with childish cackles. I have lived in a place of misfortune all of my life. The town is even called Mount Misfortune, which was founded by the deceased, yet mysterious Thorton Misfortune and his magical ways. I just happened to live the unlucky, unfortunate, and unpredictable life.
Throughout my life, I have never been able to predict what happens next and for every unlucky event a more misfortunate situation would occur. I wish I remembered the exact date of when these disasters began, but I believe it all started the day I was born.
I preferred to refer to her as She or Ma’am, but I never will call her Mom or Mother. She had always called me Aiden, even though I preferred Alexander, ever since the date of my birth on that stormy Friday, July 13, 1990. Those years leading up to age seven can be considered the worst of the undesired.
Fragments of memory are the only things I could manage to remember from my quite, earliest years of life. As much as I would have loved to forget them, those demoralizing times would never escape my existence. Those memories stuck around worst than the lonely, homeless dog who has been isolated on the streets outside in the rain while it has been barking for warmth at the front of the house.
Those who, sadly, knew Ma’am told me she was always inside during the day but not at night. Once the night called her name, her corpse would wake from her zombie sleep. Sooner than I had, always, realized she had been summoned to her nightly endeavors, Ma’am was already out and on her routine mission. The nightclub, her ‘coke’ addicted friends, the dealers, the pimps, but mostly the heroine were her real love. Who was I to her? She never loved me nor had she ever said the words, or at least to me. I was only Ma’am’s pawn for she used me to receive my absent father’s child support money because, in her twisted and sick mind, feeding off others was her only chance of staying alive. Sinking her vampire teeth into those who were her pawns was all she knew. I never believed in chance nor anything, until later on. Time had taught me that everything happened for a reason.
The neighbors had never once caught sight of me, so they had always believed Ma’am had never conceived children of her own. They had been proven wrong because they saw me on that dreadful of all unfortunate days. All the stabs that left scars, the beyond brutal beatings, and the terrible trials of torment she created had finally been revealed, and she was exposed of her wacky ways.
Suddenly, I had been outside just like the lonely dog and crying for her. The thought of having shed tears for her sickened me. Ma’am had scratched at her “bad” arm (as she would call it), nearly tearing apart the black, or had they been blue, embedded holes from her constant addiction to injecting heroine. I was quite clairvoyant as She got into her car and never in my life had I seen her so determined for her fix. The car had made a moan of pain, wanting to be laid to rest, yet it continued to growling with, yet, one more attempt at life to avoid Ma’am’s kicks and punches to the car’s interior. She backed the car out, nearly hitting the bushes lining the street, and began to drive away. Before the accident happened I had never imagined she was truly blinded by her addiction that boiled through her veins until it was too late and I had experienced the epiphany of all pain. I had been standing on the side walk with my head covered by my arms since the tears continued to pour from my eyes. Never had I thought crying could be so painful or was it that snap and crunch of bones as She had ran me right over with her car. This happened to be that day I allowed my stupidity to cover my eyes from a woman sleeping behind the wheel. The sound was so loud that several of the neighbors ran outside in search for the cause. I felt the bottoms of her tires rolling over my ankles while hearing the cracks until everything had gone dark. I woke up in the hospital days later to find I would never walk again. My days as a running, free spirited seven-year-old were over.
Since the gruesome event, Ma’am went to jail and I would be on my way to a new house (despite what happened around three years later). From the age of seven to ten, I grew up in complete isolation. The authorities told me that the orphanage, the only foster home in the world named Misfortuned Orphans, was going to be my new home. At that young age in my life I was unsure of my future. I spent days alone in my “new” (poorly furnished and unsanitary) room to bury my face in my yellow blanket that contained the word “Hero” spelled in blue, which had been the only piece of my father’s existence that I possessed. Sometimes a hardback book joined along which provided a soft, warm sense of comfort while absorbed in my newfound isolation. Months, weeks, and days passed without hardship. I could not say my life was outsmarting Mount Misfortune and it’s name, but at my new home I had never received a smack in the mouth with an added, “You are nothing but a reminder of your rapist father’s face!” to follow the blow. Despite its misfortunate name, Misfortuned Orphans was my new house and I had accepted its safety with open arms. It was my home now. Life as I had known it may have finally begun turning over a new leaf. What kind of storm would water it, though?
Only one month before my tenth birthday I experienced my first face-to-face sit down with Judge Brown, the court systems best ruling authority in all of Mount Misfortune.
Not even minutes after I had wheeled into my space in the court room, which was only steps below him, the Judge spoke, “I sentence Miss Bower, guilty, to ten years in county corrections without parole for attempted murder on this young boy by the name of Aiden Adams.”
I watched the audience rise along with She, who looked better from when she was at the old house (I guess Ma’am had accepted jail as her new home for these past years, as I had at the foster home). She started laughing then ended in shrieks of failure and defeat. I was not shocked, shaken, nor surprised by her childish actions in that courtroom. I had watched her with this sort of behavior all of my life. The last words I ever heard her speak were, “Demons possessed that man and Satan is your father as you are his dark child. You will amount to nothing but him!” At that moment the average, sheltered, nine-year-old would not have comprehended those words but I had. Did they hurt me? A little. Had she hurt me? No. Those words had overpowered her and every single trial of torture, wrapped together in only a small, impulsive statement. What had caused the overwhelming, powerful words to have been worse than everything I had experienced so far? There was no “cause” because I knew no one to blame. Truly, the “cause” had never been around, I had never met him, my father and the man she referred to as Satan. One thing I did know was that he was not the type of man She said he was because she had only been badmouthing herself and her horrible acts she had put on me from my birth and until the day I lost my ability to walk.
As I began to wheel out of the court room the Judge had stopped me, standing before my chair.
He stood in my way, “Aiden, you surely are the toughest child I have ever come across in my entire career as an acclaimed authority for Mount Misfortune. Whether you are just a child or a young man you will not make it in this harsh world all alone. That was why I made sure to assign the best officers to your case.”
Judge Brown walked from my line of sight to sit down in the court pew next to my wheel chair. I had felt his hand pat my shoulder and he spoke his finishing words, “These officers found someone and he wants to meet you.”
Insecurity rose up and all around me. It was just as tall as Brown was standing up. The Judge slowly swept behind me, taking advantage, by wheeling me through the threshold of the courtroom into the lobby. We stopped. Brown pointed across the room to a man who was sitting down next to the Clerk’s desk. Brown waved him over to me. As he became closer in distance small features, unnoticed from afar, became detailed and distinct. The man was neither short nor tall, he had nicely kept, short blond hair that shined against the hanging chandeliers. He smiled and knelt down on his knee in front of me. I knew who this man was. His skin was clean, unlike Ma’am.
The man spoke, “Aiden, kid, if I had only known where to find you, this would have never happened. I would have never allowed it. You still have the blanket, right? It is the yellow one with the word, “Hero” on it in blue.”
At first I was puzzled but became sure once he had brought up the question about my blanket, “I never sleep without it, Dad.” I yelled with joy jumping into his arms. I finally, finally had found my father and he was not Satan! I had defeated Ma’am, her lies had failed to surface into truths.
A little more than seven years had passed from first meeting my dad. Those years had been the best in all my life. When I moved in, Dad and I spent months getting to know each other, making up for lost time. All questions had become answered. Nothing could be better. I had my father and a new family. My father was married with no other kids and his wife called him Brian and I called her Mom. I became their child, but I was not the only one. Years after being welcomed into the family, Mom had baby Alexander, my little brother. Life as I had known it was finally fed with sustenance. Love and water had treated the leaf of my essence allowing it to grow abundantly. Sadly, the sun over it could only shine for so long.
The year I turned eighteen, the light in my life had begun to die out. The family had found that Dad was sick with cancer and it was too late to treat. There would be no cure for his illness. I did everything to make my father comfortable so he would be ready to walk through death’s mysterious door into the light of God. Before his departure, Dad and I traveled the world, met some of his favorite, famous movie stars, went sky-diving, mountain climbing, and a few other brave things to save for later.
A terrible thunderstorm struck above Mount Misfortune and had been recorded in history as the most severe storm the town had ever experienced. On the evening of this storm my father failed and lost his fight. Brian Adams died at the age of forty-three on Thursday, July 12, 2009, just a day before my nineteenth birthday.
I heard my dad’s last words to me on July 13, 2009, the day of my birthday. The police had arrived along with the doctor. I watched them take him away from me, to his new home-in the heavens with God. Unlike the day I watched them take Ma’am away to her new home in county corrections, on this day I cried. What could happen now? I could not walk because they had taken the feeling in my legs. Would they take Mom and my brother from me next? I had begun to doubt everything, including the useless, disabled adult I had become.
During the earliest hours of Friday, I was awakened to the sound of chimes and bells instead of thunder booming and rain smacking against the house. They were not loud but soft. These sounds created beautiful and majestic music calling to my ears and my heart and I had never heard such a mystical sound before. I used my arms to push my body upright so that my back was against the headboard of the bed. What happened next is unexplainable. A transparent figure of my deceased father floated from below the floor. He stopped in mid-air so his eyes, fair and shining blue, gazed into mine. There was a brilliant white, no golden, light radiating from within him which glowed around his spirit. My mouth dropped open but before I could talk his voice was first.
“Son, I’ve come back because I have to make sure you understand so that you can move on as well as I.” Dad floated from the foot of the bed and over to my side, “Aiden you were able to kick out the darkness that was consuming my life and now it is my turn to do the same for you.”
He bent down and kissed my forehead which at the same moment I felt a warm chill that surged with loving energy throughout my body. As he moved from my forehead my blond hair swayed like it would on a windy day. That feeling was indescribable yet if I could define it I would have to say I felt his vaporous spirit, I felt his love.
Dad stood up, still hovering beside the bed as if the planet had no gravity to speak his final words, “This time we will walk together. I have allowed this darkness to smother and hold you down for far too long. Grab my hand because now I can pull you up and into the light of the love of day. Let this help you to walk the Earth with your head held high. Kid, I will always love you and I will always be close by to walk by your side along with you. You will never have to fall again from these struggles. Are you ready to believe?”
My hand swung out to meet his. For a second I believed mine was actually grabbing his hand and his was grabbing my hand back. We exchanged smiles and then his spirit disappeared. The brightest, most comfortable light shined around the room beaming off the walls. As the room grew dark and lightning from the stormy skies outside continued along with the hailing rain my eyes closed and darkness swept in.
Once morning arrived I sat up in bed with a new sense of direction. I shot a glance across the room at the window which happened to be open allowing a warm, summer breeze to fly inside. I immediately felt what I had not in almost twelve years, the wind from outside was warming my feet, my ankles, as well as my legs! I nearly jumped out bed, with pure joy. I landed on the floor standing straight up. I was in complete disbelief. I walked over to the window and stared outside into the bright summer sky. The darkness of the shading clouds were pushed away as the bright rays of the sun smacked at them like they were pesky flies. Finally, the sky had cleared but the sun had missed an irregular shaped cloud. I turned my head and noticed a familiar face smiling down on me from this cloud. I had seen this face last night. The sun shined.
I spoke to the cloud while smiling, “Well, Dad it looks like a nice day. Shall we walk this Earth together, because I’m ready to believe?”
The day of my nineteenth birthday the sun had warmed the skies and pushed the storm away. That sun warmed Mount Misfortune. That sun warmed me. On that bright, sunny day, I had encountered a miracle.
Please leave comments, questions, and critiques thanks! =D
Born to fly with these gypsy wings .~+~`paRAnormal
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