Parables of Souls #1: The Twilight of Her Life

I never even knew her name but we were siblings through pain. She sat under the custodian of night, with moons and stars as light’s gatekeepers. I heard her sing a song of anguish—the first verse was guilt, followed by the chorus, pity, then the last verse, inadequacy.

I wanted to walk on by, to run from this melancholic girl, but I couldn’t. It was divine destiny, for I understood her like no one could.

Instinct guided my feet. I walked slowly, gradually increasing my pace till I was running, running to her, the nameless one. 

I sat next to her on a big slab of rock, my tongue twisted. My brain knew what to say but the nervous pathways resisted its command.

“I know your pain,” I finally said.

Her face contorted in anger, then broke out in a fiendish laugh that could terrify demons.

“Do you?” her voice heavy. “I did everything for you but it wasn’t good enough.”

“I don’t understand?”

She leaped onto her feet, animated with a deadly brew of rage. “That idiotic father never loved me. I wasn’t good enough, never intelligent enough, never pretty enough. All I wanted was him to say he was proud of me, just once.”

Suddenly my throat became tighter. “I…”

“So I tried getting acceptance from other sources. I did everything right, I was sexy, I had the swag, I was beautiful, but that wasn’t enough for you horny dogs, was it?”

I stood up queasily, on the verge of losing my supper. The ground started to spin under me.

“You screwed me then left for the next pretty thing in Jimmy Choo heels and a fine behind.” Her voice darker, malevolent.

“So, I did the next best thing, I moved on to women. We had fun for a while, but each time we had sex I felt I piece of me rot and eventually die.”

Through her words I felt a tangible force of pain. It was suddenly so lucid, her torment had becomes so real it crossed the threshold from the invisible realm onto ours.

“I am sorry,” was what I said, it was all I could say.

“I am sorry too,” She said right before removing a gun she had concealed and blew her brains out.

I immediately fell to ground with her, my body convoluting so viciously it was a wonder I did not tear a ligament.

Tears run down my cheeks faster than a formula-one race car and my heart burned with guilt.

You see, it’s true I never knew her name but I was a reflection of all the men she had talked about—the unloving father and the promiscuous men. I was Christian, but with an appetite for secret sin.

I too felt pain. Evil always has two casualties, the victim that suffers the hand of malice and the perpetrator who is engulfed in guilt and the restlessness of wickedness.