Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Drown my Soul

Dark brown hair moved gently with the wave of the river current, disturbed by the frantic struggles and violent splashes of the soft hands that would never feel the grasp of the young boy that loved her. She had been engaged by her parents to a young boy that lived several yards away from her home. She, on the other hand, had made other plans.

When she found out about the arranged engagement, she couldn't hold the tears behind her eyelids that dropped like evening rain on sunflower fields. That day, while her parents were out in the vegetable fields collecting the harvest of corn that had waited so long to be picked, she had ran out without sandals into the forest, wearing only a white morning gown, hoping to find the monastery of Augustinian nuns who she had discreetly contacted before without her parents knowing. She wanted to beg entrance immediately before she had to marry someone she didn't even know, or love.

Her tears dropped like crystals along the fallen leaves in the forest path, her feet cut by the sharp, rugged stones that lay carelessly in front of her and by the thorned rosebushes whose branches gilded the path. When her bleeding feet made their way to the small pathway that lead to the monastery, the path that caressed a river with an old wooden bridge, she laid her eyes upon a small, golden haired boy who sat on the bridge while dangling his feet over the water. The rustle of the leaves in the pathway and the faint moans of pain made him turn his crystal blue eyes towards the tall feminine figure in white.  The boy said nothing, and only turned a surprised look at her, with his blue eyes opened wide at the sight of the wounds on her feet. Rising gently from the arched wooden bridge, he spoke softly, "Do you want help?" The girl, confused and grief-stricken, ran past him on the bridge and ran deeper into the forest.

 She had made her way to the large iron door of the monastery, surrounded by rosebushes, and knocked loudly, hoping that the noise would catch one of the sister's attention. Within several moments, a stout black figure appeared through the cracks of the door and peered its eyes through to see the young lady in white standing in the brokenness of her soul. Quietly opening the cold, iron door, the Mother Abbess' compassionate eyes laid eyes on the young girl once more. "Have you finally come, my daughter?"... "Yes, Mother, for I have been betrothed by my parents to a man I know not."

 Knowing the importance of the moment, the Mother Abbess bid the young girl to quickly run back to gather some clothes from her home, of course, and to do this without her parents' noticing. Smiling with the sweet grin of a rebel herself, the Mother Abbess' smile raised the meat in her cheeks, wrapped tightly by the white wimple and covered slightly by the long black veil over her head.

 As the girl ran back across the bridge, she no longer saw the stranger boy with his feet over the water. He was nowhere to be seen. "Good," she thought.
As her feet swiftly walked across the bridge, they were caught in an overgrown rosebush branch, and her toes were ensnared in the thorns of the bush. Struggling to get free, she pulled the branch with her hands, her feet were pulled up, and she fell unbalanced on the bridge. Slightly shaken, she made an attempt to rise up but fell into the running waters below her. The rosebush was still caught around her leg, hanging her from the bridge while the rest of her body dangled freely in the river. She waved her hands frantically in the river for what seemed to be an eternity in an attempt to come up for air, but to no avail. Very life passed before her, and the thought of death wrapped around her broken soul like it had never before. She stopped struggling for air at that moment. With a bride's gladness, she let go of her breath so that her soul may rise to see her beloved Jesus, the Spouse she so knew.

 The boy later came along the pathway near the river to fish and saw the body of a girl in white floating over the river. Cutting the branch around her leg with a knife he had planned to open fish with, he drew her body to the river's edge and pulled her halfway onto the shore. Clasping her soft, waterlogged hands in his, he gazed upon the beauty of her face and the brunette hair soaked with the river's tears and the blood of her feet.

 He later learned that this was his betrothed.
Two parents lost their daughter that day. A young boy lost his betrothed. A monastery lost their novice, and Heaven gained a saint.

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