True Story
- From: mymorningstory@xxxxxxxxx
- Date: Fri, 30 Jan 2009 14:46:27 -0800 (PST)
I wanted to Write a story, and welcome anyone to my website.
http://www.mymorningstory.com
Its basically misc. writing for everyone, we have a "writers /
Editors / Listeners / readers" Its a new website that i welcome
everyone to write interesting stories.
Please feel free to sign up, and add your own story, or ask to be an
editor.
THIS IS AN EXAMPLE OF ONE OF OUR LATEST STORY
Tonight I went to the movies with a couple of friends, and as always I
just HAD to be saddled with the one guy on the face of the planet who
still won’t smuggle in treats. And his new best pal, my friend’s
boyfriend. Who also pays ninety three dollars for pre-chewed pretzel
bites. But I digress
The lines were endless, so when the question of who would collect
straws and napkins arose, I took the task. Just in case it has been
forever since you’ve been to a Regal movie chain in Delaware; let me
tell you how they roll: napkins don’t come pre-folded in a metal
dispenser, like in most theaters. Now they come, “accordion-folded in
an interlocking weave of segmented hell.” Baffling, since though not
stuck together, they create a daisy-chain effect. Where if more than
three napkins come loose at one “serving” the entire white plastic
SILO becomes jammed.
As I was attempting to redefine physics, I noticed a woman standing to
my right. She was gazing softly into the glassy depths of an abandoned
candy counter, solemnly watching Red Vines waiting to die. “Have you
ever felt like a visitor in your own life?” she asked, perhaps to me?
Or maybe the question was posed to herself. I had barely even heard
her, as her volume was quite faint. She continued to avoid eye
contact, her face was statuesque, lest someone observe motion and call
her out. I turned my head ever so slowly. Her eyes were dark, make-up
was flawless, a thin fleece jacket — not exactly weather appropriate.
She held a solemn loneliness within her stance that felt like thick
blue velvet.
“Have you ever felt like you were someone else just walking through
your life?” I turned to her and said, “I’ve been there.” She said, she
felt like crying but the tears would never come. We spoke, and for the
first time she had someone hear her… and mean it. For the first time
she hugged a stranger and knew what it meant to be understood. Be not
just a moth in her shell awaiting the right window to be opened before
she could fly. For the first time Virginia could breathe. For the
first time, in a long time, Virginia had hope.
She couldn’t stop touching me, as a Reverend I am used to this. It
happens when people become tremendously moved. I was holding her hand
when a man in wrinkled beige arrived to collect her, insisting that
she leave the company of a stranger, the sole, she clung to like a
child, weeping in joy for being acknowledged. As she was escorted
away, Virginia noticed that my friends were approaching and she ran to
them, thanking then for having brought me to this theater tonight, and
she gratefully flung her frail arms around my friend’s neck. My friend
didn’t get it; to her there was some crazy person before her, (forced
contact,) and she checked the status of her wallet.
I stood perplexed. Which was the afflicted one: the gal whose life was
not her own, or the one who could not express unconditional love,
friend or otherwise?
Tonight I comforted a stranger and looked into the eyes of an old
friend who seemed new to me.
This world can sometimes be a cold yet miraculous place.
GOT HOPE?
.
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