The suffocating rancid odour of something rotten pervaded the room waking her up. The fetor intruded, nearly thick enough to see, causing her to choke and sputter. The potent stink, like sulphuric brimstone, burned her nostrils. It smelled like it had then, like sucking puss out of a festered wound. And yet, it was only in her mind.
Her bed grew thorns and her window beckoned. She pushed it open, straightening her slump and wiping the sweat from her forehead. She took in the fresh morning air. It felt heavy. She closed her eyes for a minute distraughtly wanting to forget but she was floating in the darkness. She shook her head as though her tormented thoughts would leave through her ears. She failed to understand how time had not completely healed this wound.
She did not want to remember his name, much less how he smelled, but it kept happening. She would think that she was okay, go on with life as though everything was all good, and then it would happen. Something. Anything. A sound, a smell, a look, a book… they were enough to take her back to that day.
She made for the small table in long strides took a cup and hurled it letting out a silent shriek. It hit the wall with a clattering sound and broke into pieces that fell on the floor as if providing a sound track for her tormented soul. She now remembered clearly. She was broken. It was his fault. Her own father!
She regretted having opened her eyes. And to think for a moment she had looked forward to breakfast in bed! She had checked into the hotel just yesterday, finally able to enjoy the fruit of her hard work. Her seven day trip had been catered for. And yet, she could not seem to leave behind her problems.
She sat down amidst mess, holding on to the table for support, smiling wryly as though she was enacting her own life and whispered
‘Grant that through the injustices done upon me, in the light of the glories of the saving work of Christ, I may delight in you, the God who transforms sinners and heals the broken’