The Transition of a Lunar Eclipse

Another blur of memories and stories that have inspired me to write. When life cuts too deep, run with blistered feet into God's arms and let him cleanse your soul. (Part one of transition)

Her skin dipped in poisoned vices. Screams make her ears ring. Cuts line the shattered glass in her feet. Used to the feeling of pain, she dances in her drunken stupor landing on her back as she falls down. Her back to God, all she knows are vices. Never to become anew, she sits her head on her knees and shivers through the darkness. Telephone rings, she doesn't answer. Her mother checking in on her maybe? No. Mother is long gone. Fell down into the tunnels of Hell. She, not knowing her mother, has nobody to turn to. A faint sound of a church chorus singing beautiful songs of praise. She thinks little of those people. Their perfect lives already meant to be held by God. Ignorance clouds her mind. She does not know how God forgives and saves. In her mind they were all perfect little church families, ready to go to Heaven. Another hit from her joint, she chokes, hoping it is her last. Her last everything. Last hit, last scream, last cut, last tear, last breath. Hope seems to her covered in acid. She wants to near it, but doesn't want to have to learn to control herself. She just gives up, over and over again. A knock on her door, she doesn't answer it. A Christian evangelist group? No. In her mind, she doesn't exist to them. So repented from joy, her best joys are in her so many clouded talents. Lovely voice hiding behind the stranger in the radio. Words of gold she sings, but does not understand them. Emotions pour out unknowingly, only in tears. Transition so difficult she just lets go. Constantly moving to the back of the tunnel. The light that shrouds her vision never shows. Never wraps its arms around her to save her. It is there, she just does not see it. She doesn't even remember the name of the last man in her bed, as there were too many of them. She only remembers the stench of whiskey and cheap cologne on his skin as the sin poured over her flesh like painful rain. Reality is a nightmare. Absolute horrors haunt her dreams. Dreams? It is all real. Can't escape? Hope is real. Hope is there. It lies in the text of a book. In the clasping of hands. It lies in the words of the Priest. It lies in front of her, covered up by vices. It lies in the pews of a church sanctuary. It lies in the love of Christian fellowship. It becomes new to her, as a baby learns to walk, or a dog learns a new trick. Hope. It lies in her heart.

Author's Note

By the way the important words are bolded.
Part two will be out soon.
The transition from broken to fixed.
From left for dead, to wanted for life.
Please tell me what you think. :D

Reviews

[Zeitgeist Manifesto]

I like the overtones in the work. It started out very dark and slowly transitioned into a brighter story. I like the gradient tone. No hero simply emerges. For a Short piece you really did a great job of not rushing the story. Some will be intimidated by the subject matter, but I'm a fan of underdogs and redemption, so the story kept me engaged. I love the change from cynical to seeking help. I also got the feeling that she hit bottom a few times. Excellent point. We dont always change when we hit bottom. Sometimes it takes a few times before we get it right.

[Last Lying Look]

I really like this one as well.
I've gone through some transitions similar to this.
Broken to fixed.
Hopeless to hopeful.
You've written this amazingly.
Excellent work.
Relatable and well written.
-Elissa :)

[Last Remnant]

It's a quick read with words running together in a speedy poem that shows a transition from despair and just a sense of being lost to finally discovering a place where she is found. You can feel the warmth in the last few sentences too. I often write rambling pieces like this one and wonder what to classify them as (story or poem or both?).

I like your bold word choices too. If you just read the bold it forms its own poem of sorts.