Strange Places

He came. Just as I knew he would. His footfalls were barely audible on the cold, tiled floor. By the sound of it, he was taking his time as if in deep thought, with no care as to where he was wandering . I listened to his careful, methodical steps- my eyes averted, my back to him. I was ashamed. I was terrified.

"An interesting place to have found you, girl."

I winced. Girl. His voice was unreadable, but the lack of intimacy with which he addressed me stung. My heart fluttered weakly against the crushing feeling in my chest. Hot tears stung my eyes. I bowed my head and they fell in splashes on my hands folded in my lap.

I heard his slow, now seemingly deliberate step, move behind me. It felt like I was being weighed. It felt like I was a helpless, injured seal being circled by a great white. I wanted to say something-anything- to vindicate myself and ease this crushing guilt. But I found that I couldn't speak. I didn't know whether it was from fear or because I there was nothing to say. I choked out a sob instead.

He stopped in front of me. I saw the blurred vision of feet through my tears. I couldn't make out whether he even had shoes on or not. I assumed that he did. I closed my eyes as tightly as I could while I now openly sobbed. I deserved his anger. I deserved it and yet I had the nerve to feel pity for myself. I'm pathetic.

"No, you're not." It was suddenly silent.

A small flicker of something zipped from my ears to my heart, falling into my stomach before dissipating. It felt like peace. If peace was an excited child. It danced within me for only a moment before vanishing- a flame in a howling wind.

I remained still for a moment longer, summoning my courage, holding my breath and trying to lift myself above the murky waters of what I was feeling.

But my feelings wrapped their icy tentacles around my ankle and pulled me under anyways. Two short, strangled breaths offered the last of my resolve and I used them to meet his eyes. One-two-

"Abba," I pleaded before collapsing into bitter, loud, ugly sobs. I wasn't just pulled under the surface of my sadness, my bitterness, my anger, my fear-those murky waters I wanted so desperately to escape. I was drowning in them. Each desperate pull for air only defiled my lungs with the cold and merciless, filthy deluge of emotional death. And I hated myself for putting myself here. As I had done countless times before, I allowed myself to be swept downstream by hateful thoughts- all of them directed at me.

And why shouldn't I? I knew the risks of dismissing love, of pursuing my own self interest. I rejected opportunities to forgive and encourage and I welcomed every moment that fed my pride, my pettiness, my gluttony, my lust. I became so numb to the idea of right and wrong and any moral implications thereof that I rejected their existence at all. I'm worthless. I'm less than worthless. I'm-

"My daughter," he finished.

I froze. Another respite from my toxic thoughts, but shockingly it didn't bring me peace this time. It enraged me.

"Well clearly I'm really showing it," I spat venomously, meeting his eyes in defiance.

I couldn't really discern his eyes in that moment. Just like everything else about Him, they encompassed everything. So much of everything that to describe them as any one thing would be utterly inaccurate. His eyes were every color at the same time. Each color individually; all colors together. The same description could be said of His face. His hands. His feet. His body. He was everything and anything. Not one gender, nor one race.

The only concrete thing that ever came from looking at him was the impression He gave. It was as if He was always sending a message: that in order to understand Him, you had to let go of your eyes and see with your spirit.

His eyes sang a song of hope- of passion and loss. Love and purity. They were a wellspring of life- The wellspring of life. And I knew that if I looked deep enough, I would find myself in that well...perhaps at the very bottom. Healing was just through the opening...

I shook my head against the thought. I didn't want healing. I wanted...I wanted...

"What do you want? He asked. He held himself perfectly still, gazing at me with the purest expression of compassion and authority.

"I-" I stammered, suddenly very aware that I was raging against the creator of the universe. I collected myself again. "I want...to be someone else," I said quietly, bowing my head again in shame. "Or be done," I finished. Defeated tears rolled down my cheeks. Suddenly it was too much. All of it was too much and I allowed the weight of the world to pull me down to that cold, tiled floor. I curled onto my side, turning my back to His presence, or at least to the semi-physical form He was presenting to me and let my dam break.