Sunday, January 1, 2012
My Little Robin
The room was cold, dark, and dirty; but the floor was twice as bad. There were roaches and rats crawling and darting throughout the darkness, coming and going to see what was happening; coming and going to hear the screaming. The ground was stained with dirt and blood, the dirt of the careless man, and the blood was the fruit of his efforts. There, on the floor was a young girl, Nichole. She had been there for days, tied up, crying, and bleeding. Tied up by the man who snatched her off the street, crying for the boyfriend she needed to hold her, and bleeding from the cuts the evil man carved into her after he finnished raping her. The first few times, she screamed and screamed for him to stop, but he would just hit her, so she stopped screaming. When she was a good girl and didn't make a sound, he would reward her with a lighter slash and a kiss and call her his little Robin. When he found out that she was being naughty while he was gone, he'd beat her with a board. One lonely night, he was at a movie, keeping up the charade that he was actually human; and little Nichole was trying to remember her life. She pictured the mother she'd always known and loved; she saw the older sister that went off to college weeks before; she heard the sweet, silky voice of a father who would take her in his arms and hold her until his heat would caress her entire body. But most of all, she felt the touch of her boyfriend, Louie. The soft hair and irresistable taste of his lips, the milky color of his skin and the warmth his cool love brought. Nichole drifted asleep thinking of her lost loved ones, but was woken up a mere hour later by the man who took her away from all of them. He was untying her and laughing so hard he was shaking, Nichole got up and ran but he caught her and held her down. Until then he had always had something covering his face, or he was always in the shadows; but now, he showed Nichole his face and...He was Anna's father.
The Window
Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour a day to drain the fluids from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation. And every afternoon when the man in the bed next to the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.
The man in the other bed would live for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the outside world. The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake, the man had said. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Lovers walked arm in arm amid flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance. As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.
One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man could not hear the band, he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words. Unexpectedly, an alien thought entered his head: Why should he have all the pleasure of seeing everything while I never get to see anything? It didn't seem fair. As the thought fermented, the man felt ashamed at first. But as the days passed and he missed seeing more sights, his envy eroded into resentment and soon turned him sour. He began to brood and found himself unable to sleep. He should be by that window - and that thought now controlled his life.
Late one night, as he lay staring at the ceiling, the man by the window began to cough. He was choking on the fluid in his lungs. The other man watched in the dimly lit room as the struggling man by the window groped for the button to call for help. Listening from across the room, he never moved, never pushed his own button which would have brought the nurse running. In less than five minutes, the coughing and choking stopped, along with the sound of breathing. Now, there was only silence--deathly silence.
The following morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths. When she found the lifeless body of the man by the window, she was saddened and called the hospital attendant to take it away--no words, no fuss. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.
Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it all himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall.
The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."
--There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled. If you want to feel rich, just count all of the things you have that money can't buy. "Today is a gift, that's why it is called the PRESENT".
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