Short Story - Through Love's eyes

Crystal Sutherland, Contributor

Shattered and broken she has left me, in a hollow damp box, lost in her affliction. My essence is lost and the vigour of my perfume has been diluted or is completely diffused in misconception, mental slavery and overwhelming oppression.

Once in a while, I would open the sealed chest which she too often now, relentlessly tries to throw out with her memories of me. I would touch her with childhood memories, trying to spark a flame with the flash of her kindergarten prince, Hakeem. How she would frolic with him, secretly picking daisies, superstitiously hoping the last flower would be he loves me. I would make it more brutal and scourge her with thoughts of her handsome High School McDreamy, the football player Orlando. Oh how she loved him and swore to get married to him someday. It was intensified as I caressed her mind with the glory of her first kiss. She was floating on air. I ravished her, but my defeat was almost sure as she was swallowed up in the depth of her present abuse.

Russian Roulette

It seems to me he had it well planned. A conspiracy indeed, with his best partner in crime Mark. Dear boy Jones didn't know I was on to him, but Janet naïvely failed to uncover his camouflage. Her life was his game of Russian Roulette. He was very well familiar with her type, an expert indeed! I sensed it in his corny moves, common with the average player, cheaply trying to impress a young girl. He was like a wolf in sheep's skin prowling after a lamb.

He warmed her heart with the average rose, complimented her untamed hair at every chance he got, she stupidly blushed ... (sigh) I cringed at her immature tingles at his façade. He had finally got her sprung as he sweet-talked his way into her heart, erupting inexperienced frogs and stars in her stomach. And before Janet knew it, she was head over heels for this mannequin. He had overthrown every green light I indicated at a real man with potential unconditional love with which I would gladly unite, with his internal zestful companion, his love.

River of tears

It took her three months to solve his puzzle, but to her misfortune, it came with pain and a river of tears. I wept too, but of the mere fact that my shadow had begun to fade. He had set his goals high, like a scholar at his acme of perfection. Janet became the average, abused housewife. I'm ashamed. It was down hill from there with all the pit stops and road bumps of physical, emotional and psychological abuse. I endured it with her, and didn't die. My blossom boldly fought through the storms of depression and despair, but yet, slowly waiting to evolve into a glorious lily, blooming proud, because through it all, I am never spent.

As time passes by, Janet gets weaker and colder but through unfavourable romance, a fire rekindles ... Finally! Janet conceives. Finally a chance to show her I'm not dead. The joy she feels at the thought of little Yanique gripping her finger it calms my soul. On her stormy night of delivery, she fights on a thin line, with a 50-50 chance of survival for both her and the baby. As lightning strikes and thunder rolls, so do our hearts. With her last breath, her last ounce of strength, her last bit of hope, she pushes. A midwife yells "She's out!" but wait ... No sound, no crying, the noise of silence depresses her. Janet's cry begins to fill the air as a doctor rushes away with the child.

In the lonely delivery room, Janet contemplates her life, drowning in her misery. She begins to pray, "Dear God, yuh si mi struggles, mi a beg yuh, do, mek mi likkle girl live, Fada gimmi likkle happiness please, yuh know mi love yuh." I sense the psychological danger this will do to her, but she has buried me too deep for me to help her. Very calmly, the doctor comes and with a soft voice she says, "There was a complication during birth, the child was too fragile due to your poor diet, I'm sorry, she didn't make it." I feel Janet's heart stop and for quite a while, with her eyes wide open, she pauses. She feels the emptiness in her womb as if it has been demolished and with nothing to compensate for it. She calmly and apathetically curls into a ball and bawls ...

Well, once again, here I am in my box; she has lost all hope but I have
not. Beaten and bruised, buried and broken I am. But I am Love! I can't
die! God made me so! I'm as old as time and remember, my dear, through
it all, I am never spent.