This is another one of my recent works, also one of my shorter which I'm sure many of you will appreciate. Any criticism or feedback is certainly welcomed!
The woman of about thirty five took her daughter by the hand as they both walked across the street towards the Divine Serenity Baptist Church which they attended every Sunday, promptly at eight o' clock in the morning. Cloe did not sense anything out of the ordinary about this day, but when she looked up at her mother she did notice something. Her mother wore an expression upon her face that bewildered the six year old child. Never had she seen such an awful manifestation of an inexplicable distaste for life which she witnessed that particular day. Cloe squeezed her mother's hand tightly as they crossed the street filled with cars shooting back and forth to their individual driver's destinations.
"Mommy?" The six year old looked up at her mother quizzically, an obvious concern reflected in her shimmering blue eyes.
Her question went unanswered as they stepped foot inside the church which resonated with the sound of the organ keys being pounded into as the congregation poured through the doors, taking their seats in the pews.
Cloe's attention fluttered between her mother and the people filing into their section. She recognized Miss Johnson with her pale complexion and garish jewelry hanging off her neck and wrists. The smell of her perfume smothered Cloe's senses, causing her nose to twitch and move closer to her mother who wore a much more elegant scent which her daughter absolutely adored. She always knew what day it was when morning broke through her bedroom window and that splendid smell filled her nostrils.
The vibration of the church came to a calm as the organ's final notes were released into the air and a silence hung over the entire congregation. Then a man dressed in a black suit, black pants, and a dark brown tie stepped up to the podium. For a moment he did not speak, not a word was uttered, just silence, which made Cloe feel a little uneasy.
"This morning I am not addressing you not as your pastor, or a religious leader of any kind. I am one of you, I am just like you, and we are one. When joy fills your heart, it fills mine. When the light of God shines on you, it shines on me. And when tragedy and the dark shadows of death fall upon you, they fall upon me as well."
Cloe noticed a large photograph of a child that looked to be about her age inside a gold-colored frame, propped up on an easel not far from where the pastor was standing.
As the man in black spoke into the microphone his words of faith and conviction, Cloe wondered why adults always had such a difficult time saying what they mean. They always have to go in circles with what they want to say instead of just coming right out with it. This annoyed her more than anything. She looked up at her mother and gave a light tug on her sleeve.
"What is it, Cloe? Her mothered whispered in a rather harsh tone that made Cloe hesitant to ask the question that had entered her mind the moment she laid eyes upon that golden frame.
"Who is that girl?" Cloe nudged so close to her mother that she could feel her daughter's warm breath on her ear as she spoke.
Her mother looked down at her with an expression that duplicated the one she saw as they entered the church that morning, and just as she began to speak the organ started up once again, accompanied by the harmonious melody of the congregation's collective voice which swept over the church, threw the aisles and into the ears of every man, woman, and child.
As Cloe stood up, she felt her mother clasp her hand as they too began to sing along with the rest of the church. Cloe began to notice what was causing this most unusual shift of energy as she observed a frail looking woman dressed completely in black standing in the middle of the front left row who was not singing because she was unable to subdue her furious sobbing. Occasionally the women at either side of her would place a hand on her back or offer a tissue. That was another thing she had noticed. Most of the people in the church were draped in black. The usual variation of colors weren't present. There were no mellow shades of light blue or obscure bursts of yellow; it seemed to be a dark occasion indeed.
The ride home was awkward and silent. Most six year olds have the pleasure of not knowing awkwardness in social situations, but in this particular moment this girl knew something was wrong that day, with her mother and with the universe it’s self. When they finally arrived home, after what seemed like an hour-long trip which in reality took only fifteen minutes, Cloe took a seat on the couch in the living room and her mother removed her jacket and sat down next to her daughter. With a solemn expression on her face, she looked down at Cloe who was reflecting the concern and worry in her mother's face.
"Who was that girl in the picture in the church, mommy? And why was that woman crying?" Cloe asked again with her shimmering blue eyes, innocent and naive to the workings of the world.
She knew that she could no longer avoid the question. There would be no loud organ or congregants to chime in at the last minute, giving her an excuse to shelter her child from the things in the world she wished no person had to know.
"Her name was Theresa," she began, her mascara running off in black streaks as her eyes welled with tears, "she died when a car ran her over in the street and that woman was that girl's mother."
There was a long pause, then Cloe looked back up at her mother and asked very matter-of-factly "Why did God let that happen?"
"Eventually everyone must meet with God. Sometimes it happens when people are very young like Theresa, and sometimes it happens to people who are very old. It is God's way of working in this world, and nobody knows for sure why these things happen."
Somewhat unsatisfied with her mother's answer, Cloe sat there in quiet contemplation of the world in which she and her mother lived in.
The following Sunday the house smelt of elegant perfume as it always did that day. Cloe inhaled as much of it as possible into her lungs as they stepped out the door and into the van that would take them to church once more.
This time everything seemed to be in order again. Cloe was smiling placidly, playing with her doll in the backseat, and her mother seemed to be back to normal as well. Before she knew it they had arrived at the church, taking their parking spot across the street as always. Cloe's mother got out the car and unlocked the door for her daughter to get out.
She took her daughter by the hand so she could step out of the van. Cloe's long locks of blond hair flowed freely under the sun bonnet that adorned her small head as they began to walk across the street. Her mother stopped in mid-stride. "Oh, I forgot my purse," she said, "stay there and don't cross without me darling". She walked in panicked little strides back to the van. She quickly ran over to the passenger side door, opened it and grabbed her purse. Just as her hand had taken hold of the small black handle, she heard a loud honking noise followed by the screeching of tires. She immediately darted toward the street where she saw the most remarkable sight ever. Cloe was sitting on the pavement, her legs stretched out, and the woman whose blue BMW came within an inch of Cloe, standing above the girl with a facial expression that could only be characterized as a mix of horror and relief.
"Cloe, are you all right?" Her mother swept her up into her arms, hugging the life out of her.
"I'm okay, mommy" she looked up at her mother calmly.
"Why did you run out into the middle of the street like that?" Cloe's mother demanded, still trying to catch her breath.
"I wanted to meet God" the six year old girl said very plainly.
In the middle of the street, all her mother could do was look at her daughter, bewildered and confused like any adult would.
Excellent
