The Choice

As she came to the fork in the road, she had a choice: be with 'her', or remain faithful to Him. Her answer should be clear, but she becomes plagued with doubt before making her decision.

"You have a choice," I was told, by one, by many, by hundreds of thousands of blank faces, looming over me, waiting. I cannot by any means will myself to make a move, however. I feel as if my feet are encased in sludge, pulling me back, a sturdy force that cannot be shrugged away. There is another path I can take, one that is warned by many will lead to my ultimate downfall, where I am to suffer eternally.

My slender feet push again. This is where I am urged to go. But the sludge, my reluctance, my disdain, my utter disgust is what pulls me back. It feels impossible. There's no way this can work out, but I'm not alone. Them, the ones with the blank faces, their cold, uncomfortable hands push helping me to move along the path of righteousness, in which I am promised happiness. I am unsure of such claims. The path is dark and painful and only looks to be getting darker the deeper I peer in. There is no view of the outside in there. It's surrounded by more of these empty-faced people, with open arms ready to pull me in deeper.

That's not to say that the other path doesn't look intimidating. Its rocky, and steep, and dangerous. It screams freedom to me and the end can be clearly seen, with what looks to be an angel, a goddess, a deity that screams beauty. I am told I cannot have her, and yet she's sitting there, waiting patiently for me, an encouraging smile on her perfect face. She wants me to be happy. But the darkness disagrees and pushes me further.

I'm trying, doing my best to push past, but I feel stuck in place. One step. Just one step, and I can't turn back, I'll spiral so fast, my feet will not only become unstuck, but they'll carry me farther, faster. Whether or not I like it, there won't be any escaping it.

I am told that I will be rewarded greatly in the end. It'll be hard, but I'll get used to it. It's just a choice. I'll conform, I'll be happy, and I'll be loved by all. By the unidentifiable faces, and those that I hold dear, but most importantly, by him. Why would I ever disobey him, they ask. It makes sense. He didn't make me this way, and he never would.

But then how come the idea of following his way so daunting, so painful, and harsh? Why is it that the closer that I go to him, the emptier I feel. I am to love him, to stay within his grasp, let myself become limp and become a puppet to him, guided by his strings and pulled the way he wants me to go. It's what they call Love. The love that hurts, that chokes and suffocates, that is possessive and overbearing. They insist that it's the truest love you could possibly gain and it will envelop you in warmth, and make you smile. But I want to cry. I want to scream. I'm dying.

Or maybe, maybe it's just the wicked side of me. The nasty, disgusting side of me who whispers tenderly and tells me that I want her, the beauty on the other path. The side that tries to pull me to her and wants so very desperately to be in her arms, to stay with her until I draw in my last breath. I bet she's warm. I bet her scent is that of roses or lavender, pleasant and light. I bet if I were to dare to get close, I'd be swallowed whole by her, I won't escape her clutch and I'll immerse myself in temporary happiness before the warmth becomes too much and I'll be burning, the petals blackened, the stench overwhelming. She is not for me, I tell myself. She is not the one to call my own, to hold in my arms, to stay with 'till death. Should her lips touch mine, should I surrender to her blindingly bright smile, lay against her soft, smooth skin, all shall be lost. I cannot be tainted, her comfort is a lie, it is not true love. It is mere lust, and the temptation is dangerous. When she steals away my breath, captivates me and makes me pleasantly weak, there's always the fact that surely, this is just an underlying evil weakening me, attempting to turn me away from what is truly right. It's a test of my faith, the path towards her will end in pain, and the foreboding, cold path is merely to see if I'm willing to be loyal to him. One must suffer and struggle first before being able to find that happiness, so of course, that instant 'freedom' is nothing but a ploy to trap me in the end.

I've been told the right way, over and over until it was ingrained into my head, until I could hear nothing else. My own thoughts are starting to become drowned in it. I feel like I'm losing myself, but I know the truth. I'm losing the sin. It's been said by them, by him, so my own thoughts and desires have no say. I cannot ignore their knowledge. It's a choice I have to make, to be blinded and deceived by the false perception of happiness, or to continue fighting for the promise of real happiness. It's obvious what I must do.

I make a choice, one that will make me truly happy and fulfill me. The sludge disappears, exposing my slender, delicate feet to the cold air, and now I can finally move, no longer trapped between the fork in the road. Finally, I can take that step, and it's the moment I've waited oh-so-long for. I know my path.

I take a step, determined to continue with this, no longer able to go back. Yet I can't help but steal a final glance at her. Her smile has disappeared and she weeps, not for herself, but for me. A pang of doubt hits me, but I shake it away and turn away, never looking back another time. I go further and further, searching for that happiness. I search my entire life. I plaster a fake smile, convinced that one day it will become real, and it will have been worth it all. I'm looking forward to that light at the end of the tunnel. I'm becoming weaker, emptier and the only thing dragging me forward is his strings that dig into my skin, threatening to rip me into pieces. His love makes me want to scream. Not a single tear falls from my eyes for I have no tears, no nothing anymore. But this is right. This is the way it should be.

In the end, I never could find the light at the end of the tunnel.

Author's Note

I'm a young teen writer, so this may not be the best, but I definitely tried. I hope to gain some constructive criticism. Thank you if you read this rather small, lackluster work of mine.