I am being followed, I just know it. Someone is breathing behind my neck and yet they go unseen. I want to know who my attacker is, but at the same time afraid of meeting them. His blades have cut me more then once. I know He is lingering, I am unsafe. It’s never easy when you are walking down the street alone in the dark. Watching shadows slide in and out of alley ways. I feel a soft sting on my arm. Is that my hairs standing on edge? The sting turns wet, drawing my attention. Three slices revealed red, I have been cut. How did he cut me with out me knowing?
I walk faster, looking around for Him. I pull close to the lamps along the dark street, I just need to get home. Sounds echo all around me. I don’t know where the sound is coming from. I don’t know what shadow is his or if he is even one of them. Are the steps his or mine? I felt a sharp pain in my back. Obviously the steps where his, along with the knife in my back. Even though I knew he was there, the shock of that blade was rough.
I don’t know why he is after me or what he wants, but I must have done something for him to come after me. Right? I took a breath and looked around. Everything was silent, empty. For a moment I thought I was in the clear, even the wind seemed to give a sigh of relief. In a blink of an eye, I felt at least five more slashes. My attacker seemed to move faster then the speed of light. Not once did I see him, but I felt his rushing movements zig zag back and forth. I tried to take a breath but failed to complete it before more blood was drawn. It kept happening in rapid subsection.
My knees gave way as the blade met my gut. I felt defeated, abandon in the street. Why? I almost feel numb, yet my tears fell. I watched the figure walk away, with his cloak blowing in the wind. Who is this? He turned and faced me. For the first time we stared face to face. I recognized the eyes, mouth and everything that makes up a person. He was a she, and she was me. Betrayal is hard, but even harder when you realize you have been causing your own wounds.
-The story behind the story-
One night I was thinking how our mental wounds are just as damaging as a knife wound. Seriously; the part of our brain that receives pain form a cut, is so close to how we receive messages of hurtful words . So your brain responds to those words, just as it does to a knife wound. I was realizing how much our mental wounds are rarely tended to, just left bleeding. Not only left bleeding but often reopened. That same week, I thought something about my self that felt like I was stabbed in the gut. My own words hurt so bad, the story above is a glimpse of what we can easily do to our selves.
I am not going to leave you in the dark alley, so here is a little light to guide you out. Over the past years I have learned about the love of God. In turn I have tried to love those around me, through the eyes of Christ. That same night I took that same love I use to stich others hearts on me. Within my head of imagination, I looked into my eyes and dried my tears. I saw a soft smile reassuring without a single word. I told myself the beautiful truths God would have wanted me to tell my self. I stitched my wounds with the Love of Christ.