Lightning flashed. The lights flickered within the convenient store. Night was approaching quickly with the help of the dark storm clouds. Cynthia was in for a long night. She sighed as she watched the rain begin to fall. Puddles quickly gathered as the heavenly dam broke and torrents of rain fell to the earth. Thunder boomed in the distance. The bell above the entrance rang as someone entered the store. Cynthia placed the inventory sheet to the side. The robbery happened quickly. The hooded man pointed a pistol at Cynthia's face and demanded the money in the register.

Don't panic. Stay calm. Just give him the money, Cynthia thought as she tried to remember what to do in the event of a robbery. She was terrified; too terrified to remember what to do. With the gun inches from her face, she opened the register and nervously handed the cash to the man. Cynthia watched as he stuffed the bills into his pants pockets. She expected him to leave, but he stayed where he was, intently gazing at her. She felt his eyes looking at her body. She was young and pretty, innocent.

"Don't move," he demanded as he walked to the front doors. He turned the closed sign over and locked the doors. The gun kept her standing in the same position. The emergency button was beneath the register, only an arm's length away, but fear had paralyzed her. The next few moments were a blur; Cynthia could only remember what happened in fragments, like trying to peice together a strange dream when first waking. Jumping over the counter, he threw Cynthia to the ground. She yelled, but nobody answered. She resisted, but he didn't stop. She cried, but the man had no remorse. He left the store with seventy dollars, and Cynthia's innocence.

                                                                   ***

This is such a headache, Mark thought as he emptied the contents of the capsule onto the spoon. He steadily tapped his foot to keep the rest of his body from shaking uncontrollably. Mark needed the fix. The last time he used was when he first woke, two hours before. His body was already consumed with the pains of withdrawels. He intently watched as the flame heated the powder into liquid. After putting the heroine into the syringe, he dropped the spoon and leaned against the alley wall. With a rubber cord wound tightly around his arm, he began to search for a bulging vein. This was the hard part and the most painstaking. Too many holes, but not enough veins. There! Mark nearly shouted as he saw a little hint of blue. Hurriedly, he stuck the needle into his arm and emptied the contents into his bloodstream. As the drug worked wonders within him, his body began to relax and he slid to the ground. The seventy dollars didn't last long. In fact, the money he had spent on the fix was the last bit of it. While in his drug induced haze Mark envisioned himself robbing convenient stores across the city. With all that easy money he could make his dreams come true; dreams of never running out of his greatest love.

A police cruiser crept into the alley. Mark was not paying attention. With a hood pulled over his face, his mind was transfixed in some far off world. But even if he had noticed the police, he wouldn't have run. His body was too relaxed. The officers stepped from the vehicle and approached him. They didn't need to ask him any questions; the syringe was still hanging from his arm.

                                                                  ***

Cynthia's recovery was slow. After taking a month leave of absence, she decided to return to the convenient store. At first the transition was difficult, but she kept in mind that a positive recovery is generated by making positive decisions; at least, that's what her therapist told her. Knowing she couldn't change the past, Cynthia decided to be strong, maybe even an example to others that have been through the same nightmare. Many people stew in their negative circumstances and follow a negative path, dragging those around them down the same path. Cynthia was determined not to be one of those people. Against her therapist's orders, she returned to work. Cynthia felt she needed to prove to herself that she could lead a normal life, however, the anxiety and anti-depressant medication was a plus. Her family and friends also supported her and stayed by her side through the entire episode.

After working a few weeks she felt more confident. She worked harder than before and generated positive feedback from her fellow employees. Then, out of nowhere, the news arrived. A suspect was arrested. He fit the description and his fingerprints were found at the crime scene. DNA also matched. The police needed her to identify the man who raped her. That meant coming face to face with her nightmare. She had been waiting. She had even been hoping. The day had arrived for justice to be served. Cynthia wanted him dead, but life in prison without parole would do also; she would be satisfied either way.

                                                                 ***

Twenty Years! Without parole! Mark couldn't understand the severity of the judgement. This can't be happening, Mark thought as they ushered him out of the courtroom. He tried to imagine twenty years inside a maximum security prison; he shuddered at the thought. The four months in county jail was torture enough, especially during the two week withdrawal period. Mark thought he was going to die as he went through fits of nausea, cold sweats, uncontrollable shaking, sleeplessness, and hysterical fits.

After the verdict was announced, the judge deemed Mark an offence to society, a disgusting example of a human being, and a man who deserved a harsher sentence. Is that really who you think I am? Mark pondered when the judge had uttered those words. They loaded him on the prison bus and drove him to his new home; his new home for the next twenty years.

                                                               ***

Cynthia bagan showing positive results when dealing with that tragic incident. She worked hard, spending most of her energy and time at work. However, she couldn't gather enough courage to work night shift. Within a few months her hard work had paid off; she assumed the responsibilty of assistant manager. The extra work, and the extra cash, came in handy. As she set her sights on success, her old fears began to dissipate.

Then HE came into the store. She was counting the drawer at shift change when she noticed him. He seemed a little suspicious as he constantly looked at the security mirrors in the corners. Then he appoached the counter.

The black hood.

Closer.

The gun.

Closer.

The rape.

When he reached the register, Cynthia wanted to scream for help. But as the dellusion cleared from her mind, she realized it wasn't him. She shook her head in confusion and tears welled in her eyes. I'm not going to lose it, she thought. Not after coming this far.

"Are you alright?" a concerned employee asked after noticing the expression of terror on Cynthia's face.

"Yes, I'll be fine."

The flashback was the first of many she would have as the images of that day haunted her. At that point she realized fear would never leave her no matter how much she tried to suppress it. Her friends and family began to notice the change in her behavior: the paranoia, fear, and the disassociation. Her closest friends felt obligated to show her a good time. Going to bars and clubs became a common tool to cope with Cynthia's problems. Watching Cynthia let loose, and dance, and have a good time convinced her friends that they had made a good decision. What they didn't realize was that they had opened a door for Cynthia that never needed to be opened. It was a door that led to alcohol abuse.

                                                                   ***

Prison life was worse than Mark had expected. Whatever idea he had held, whatever stories he had heard from others, didn't quite prepare him for the experiences that were in store for him. As soon as the metal doors closed behind him, he was overcome with fear. He became a number; he was part of the system. The noises never stopped: banging, yelling, flushing, buzzing. The temperature was always cold and the lights never went out. Will I ever get used to this? Mark thought as he lay on his uncomfortable steel bed.

His nightmare began a few weeks after his arrival. The first rape damaged him mentally and physically. The experience was one that he hadn't planned on. He was in his room when it first took place, lying on his bed meditating. Three large men stormed into the cell. They took turns, and when they were through, they left him bleeding on the cold cement. The guards turned their heads; rapists seem to receive "special" treatment in prison. Mark longed for the time when the cell doors closed for the night. Sometimes he would fight, but most times they would choke him until he passed out. He was beat often and raped even more. His pillow caught the tears of desperation every night. Mark would ask himself this question over and over before shutting his eyes, "Will this nightmare ever end?"

                                                                 ***

In the beginning, Cynthia avoided any intimacy with any person of the opposite sex. However, the more she drank, the more desensitized she became. One man in particular caught her eye at a certain club she frequented often. After getting passed the formalities, they began dating. Several months of dating led to the next step of engagement. Slowly, as time crept by, they tied the knot. Cynthia's life seemed to be taking a turn for the better, especially when that day arrived that she learned of her pregnancy.

Thoughts of the baby consumed her. Drinking was put aside, and in its place came the passion to shop for everything the baby would need. They were so excited, but the excitement was short lived. Cynthia miscarried. Her world was devastated; no words of comfort, no bonds of friendship, could bring her back into a normal state of mind. The bottle became her security blanket, the baby's room became her place of refuge. She would sit for hours in the darkness, rocking the empty cradle with her foot, and taking a sip out of the tumbler full of scotch. This world, to her, had never given her a chance, but only seemed to deal more hardship and despair.

                                                                ***

Pulling his knees to his chest, Mark curled his body into a fetal position. Another rape. Another beating. I can't go through this anymore, he thought. Thoughts of suicide flooded his mind. Various ideas of how to do the deed prodded his brain. While on the floor, his eye caught a glimpse of writing underneath the bed.

Who would write something there? Mark thought. Curious, he moved his body closer to the message; the words boldly declared, boldly spoke, directly to his heart.

I WILL NEVER LEAVE THEE NOR FORSAKE THEE    THIS IS FOR ANYONE FINDING THEMSELVES ON THE FLOOR OF THIS CELL

Something about those words stunned Mark. He had heard a lot of jailhouse preaching during his incarceration, but for some reason, these words in particular reached out and took hold of him.

With the thoughts of suicide leaving him, he suddenly had the urge, the desperation, to take hold of a bible and begin reading.

"You okay?"

Mark was startled by the voice. "Yes. I'm alright," he responded.

"I was walking by your cell and noticed that you were under your bunk. I've seen you around. You keep to yourself, but I feel that I should give you this." Tossing a bible onto Mark's bunk, the mysterious man turned and left the cell. Mark looked at the bible as if it were a figment of his imagination. Moving onto his bunk, Mark grabbed the bible and opened it. This verse was the first to catch his eye: COME UNTO ME ALL YOU WHO LABOR AND ARE HEAVY BURDENED AND I WILL GIVE YOU REST

Again, the words spoke deep within him. His heart burned. He had hope. Mark made a decision; a decision that he new would bring Hope where there was despair, and Light where there was darkness. He began reading the contents of that special book.

Each day was the start of a new day for Mark. No longer did he live in the past where nightmares haunted his every thought. The dark tempest of his mind was quenched with Living Water. Every day was a day of Hope; a day of Faith, of Understanding, of Forgiveness. Speaking to God daily gave hime comfort and the presence of Everlasting Love. For the first time in what seemed like ages, a smile played on Mark's face. He was compelled to write a letter. The most important letter he felt he would ever pen. The letter only consisted of two sentences: I'M SORRY   BLESSED IS THE NAME OF THE LORD JESUS

                                                                   ***

Furious, Cynthia tore the letter to peices. "How dare he?!" she screamed, her voice echoing throughout the house. Her palms caught her tears as she lay on the couch. Distant memories flashed into her mind. Suddenly, the pains of yesteryear shot through her mind. Flying into a rage, Cynthia began smashing dishes, ripping apart books, turning over furniture.

Grabbing a bottle of scotch, she stormed into the babies room. "Forgive you? Forgive YOU!? I don't think so. I hope you rot in prison. You killed my baby! You destroyed my life!"

Cynthia drank herself to sleep. In her dreams she was normal; she was happy as she held her baby in her arms, rocking the precious child to sleep.

                                                                   ***

Mark studied often and prayed more to avoid the temptations and pitfalls that met him at every corner of the prison. He led bible studies and prayer meetings. Lives were transforming around him. The presence and power of God walked with Mark. He had a strong, enduring faith in his God and all the promises of His word. He was a new person in Christ. Mark pressed on for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus. One thing he knew, he had to walk through the valley to stand upon the mountain of God.

Sitting alone in the cafeteria, Mark leaned over his bible; his mind immersed in the Word. Looking away for a second, he noticed someone looking at him from a few tables away; a person from his past, but he couldn't quite place where he had met him. Then the memory dawned upon him; it was on a cold winter night. He was broke and needed a fix. Mark had been watching the dealer from across the street. He casually approached the dealer as if to make a purchase, and when he was within striking range, he reared back and violently smashed a bottle of the dealer's head. Mark took the treasure and ran. That dealer was before him now. However, he knew that God was in control of all things, and this could be an opportunity that God could use Mark to witness.

With his mind distracted, Mark never saw him coming. The shank slipped deep into his throat, and the force of the blow pushed him onto the concrete. Panic. Fear. A pool of blood grew before his eyes. Then, as the life slipped out of him, a feeling of peace came upon him. He knew everything was okay. He closed his eyes for the last time on that cold cafeteria floor. In that moment of death, a smile once again played upon his lips, for he knew what that warmth was; it was the presence of his mighty God.

He died in the loving arms of Jesus.

                                                                 ***

Cynthia began to recover after a few sessions of therapy and a higher dose of medication. She knew that she shouldn't allow her emotions to control her life, so she decided to stay positive and focus on the good in her life. She planned a vacation for her and her husband, afterall, she felt they needed the break.Cynthia began putting in long weeks at work to save the extra cash. As she worked she took her mind to a beach she had seen in a brochure, thinking that it wouldn't be long before she would be lying on that warm sand, listening to the lull of the waves striking the beach.

Laying aside her fears, Cynthia decided to begin working nights again, afterall, she really needed the money. So, there she was, standing behind the counter late at night feeling confident that she had finally overcome the nightmare that brought so much pain in her life. And then HE entered the store.

The hood.

The gun.

"Give me the cash!" came the violent voice from within the hood.

"You're not real," Cynthia replied.

"Come on! Give me the cash! Now!"

"You are a figment of my negative feelings. You are not real."

He pulled the trigger. Her heart stopped. Her breathing stopped. She died cold and afraid on that convenient store floor. She died never knowing a Savior. She died never knowing Jesus.

IT MEANS NOTHING IF YOU HAVE LIVED A HARD LIFE, AN EASY LIFE, A LIFE WITH GOOD MORALS, OR A LIFE LIKE MARK'S. A LIFE WITHOUT JESUS IS NO LIFE AT ALL. JESUS DELIVERS THOSE THAT COME TO HIM. HE FREES US AND SAVES US TO THE UTTERMOST. CORRIE TEN BOOM STATED, "THERE IS NO PIT SO DEEP THAT CHRIST IS NOT DEEPER STILL." ARE YOU READY TO ACCEPT CHRIST INTO YOUR LIFE? YOU HAVE A CHOICE. YOU MAKE THE DECISION.

Keyword: TWO LIVES-TWO CHOICES

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Posted by Writer Extrodinaire 2008-06-25 13:06:40 Okay i liked the suspense + Report this comment
Posted by lemon 2008-06-25 15:50:06 Nice Job This was good. I liked how you expressed both of their emotions in detail. The only thing I think you should have given conclusion to is his prison rape. Even though we have accepted Christ it doesn't mean that all we've been going through will end... we just have someone who can help us get through it. =] + Report this comment

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