It was dark, so dark. I didn't know where I was or what was going on. But it was dark and warm. Uncomfortably warm. Come to think of it, it was scorching hot. Like I was burning. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. I screamed and threw open my eyes to look at my surroundings. It was pitch black, I could hear other cries, much like my own, but there was no one near me. I called out, but nobody answered me. Each of us lost in our own misery. I felt tears pouring down my burning cheeks. It was too hot. It was torture. Please, please just end, I thought. Please. But it didn't. It hurts. I cried, I cried like I was 2 years old and my mother wouldn't buy me the toy in the store I wanted. Except eventually the mother always gave in and the crying ended, here the fire burned on, I was exhausted, but I couldn't sleep, it was too hot. I was thirsty, but there was no water.
Then a voice came in the darkness, speaking to the moaning people, "Welcome to Hell." It whispered in a scratchy voice, laughter coming after it, growing louder and louder; and impossibly, the fire got hotter...
I woke up sweating in my bed. Tears were streaming down my face and I was crying out in my head. God save me! What do I need to do, God?
Repent. It echoed in my head. The one word that had been repeated to me for days: Repent.
I composed myself and climbed out of bed. I crawled over to the bookshelf where I knew a Bible was sitting, in perfect condition from its lack of use. I went downstairs to our living room and flipped on a lamp, sitting in the chair next to it. I opened the Bible. I looked:
John 3:36 He who believes in the Son has everlasting life; and he who does not believe the Son shall not see life, but the wrath of God abides on him.
God is Jesus' Father. Jesus is the Son. John 3:16. My little girl knows that one: For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life. God sent Jesus to die for me. On a cross. In a very painful way. Because he loved me. It didn't make sense before, but thinking of my little girl, and what I would give for her to live. I'd give my life. Now I understand, in a way God was giving His own life, but at the same time He was doing something much harder: He was letting His Son give His life. For me. So I could come to Him like a child. That's what the pastor had said. Like a child.
God. I don't know how to do this, but I understand that I'm a sinner. I know I've done a lot of bad things, and I regret doing them. I understand that I was wrong. Please, God, forgive me. Let me start over fresh. I can be a better person, just please give me the chance. I do believe. I believe that You sent Jesus to die for me. I believe that He died on the cross for me, and I want to accept that gift and leave all this guilt with you. Please accept me God, and help me be a better person. Amen.
I heard the crying then. I was scared. There wasn't supposed to be crying. I mean, I was crying, but that's because, for the first time in weeks I felt free. I felt happy, except that I wasn't the only one crying. I ran upstairs as fast as I could, wiping the tears from my face as I did.
Ruth was crying next to Mikayla's bed. Her fingers on Mickey's wrist. Feeling. Feeling for a pulse.
