All That Glitters

"You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven." - Matthew 5:43-48

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Society is a unique beast - on the one hand, encouraging individualism, on the other, condemning for nonconformity. In essence, the entire social echelon is juxtaposed upon itself, so that one way or another, we all judge our neighbor for the metaphorical scarlet letter upon their chest.

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Every morning, like clockwork, the resonant, dulcet chime of the bell in the church bell tower would ring in the new day.

The church, a large fixture of white-washed stone, stood in the middle of the town square. It had an ancient, regal look about it, from the large, creamy pillars in front to the floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows that lined the walls. Seemingly humongous white oaken doors, with knobs of shimmering brass, stood invitingly to the many passerby that happened across its path in the course of a day.

A warmth seemed to emanate from the building - it came from the hallways, dancing down from equally magnificent chandeliers of flawless brass; it came from the fellowship hall, from the companionship shared with fellow worshipers; it came from the sanctuary, encompassing all that was therein. But that warmth stood in direct contrast to what was seen a few feet away...

Sitting upon the front lawn was none other than Eleanor Hatfield, the young wife of Reverend Hatfield. Her legs lazily crossed at the ankle and her skirt flitting back and forth in the wind, she leaned back upon her palms and stared at the heavens. The sky offered a humorless mirage of blue-grey streaks, which matched the wayward storm in her eyes. And then, a single tear stole down her cheek.

"Be n-not dismayed w-what-whate'er betide," she sniffled, rubbing at her eyes. Ghastly streaks of black mascara marred dreadfully pale cheeks. "God will t-take c-care of y-you."

She twirled her wedding ring around her finger, feeling it suffocate her. The bond of eternal love had become a bond of eternal suffering... all because of the church behind her. Turning back, she stared at those grandiose doors, waiting for them to burst open and signal the end of the Council Meeting. Then, she could return home with her husband, and hide her shame from the world.

Turning back, she rocked forward, drawing her knees into her chest. "N-Nothing you a-ask will be d-denied... G-God will take c-care of y-you."

Whore. Jezebel. Slut. The words echoed through her brain, and she curled in on herself more tightly. Tears prickled dangerously in the corners of her eyes, threatening to further reveal her weakness. Hooker. Hoe. Bitch. A shiver wracked through her tiny body. The sun, poking its shining face through the murky gray clouds, seemed to hide from the young woman seated on the church's front lawn.

Gently peeling back her glove, she offered a tear-filled glance at her scarred wrist. Letting it snap back into place, she whispered, "God will t-take care of you... G-God will take care o-of y-you."