by sloan - a student in grade 8
The Vigiller arrives, stamping her feet on the cold snowy sidewalk.
Her teary eyes follow the women entering the clinic that brings sorrow and death.
The sun peeks through the clouds as the words of her prayer break from her lips like an unstoppable avalanche.
‘Lord, Lord, I’m here! Come, come, find me in this dark place. Help these women. Hear my cry.’
The swirl of snow around the swiftly closing doors is a prison guard at this house of pain.
‘Click,’ the closed door is the sound of death.
She prays with all her heart and soul, she weeps, she cries, she moans.
And still, willing prisoners come; the door opening to admit, and closing behind.
The Vigiller persists; her legs carry her up and down, up and down, that slushy cold side walk.
In the dismal parking lot, another prayer bursts forth, ‘Lord? Have you forsaken me?’
She lifts up her head and sees the Vigiller, and with confused hurt she wonders,
‘Why is she here? Why does she care? Could there be a purpose for this one growing inside of me?’
Unknowingly, the prayers of the first become a lighthouse for the second.
For a moment, light pierces darkness, truth pierces lies, and the girl finds herself thinking, ‘Maybe...’
A cold appointment kept, means one appointment missed.