Cries Stories

I do not know where God is sometimes. Olympus above sends no lightening good or bad to any of my cries. What is this heaven that people speak of? A paradise of bliss sent to bandage old warrior wounds. Souls and energy pressed into the wine press to pour out old bitter poison. Disappointment. Confessional organs swell holding back angry tsunami flood of discontent. What am I supposed to do against the angry hails? Disgust...

Nobody said it would be easy. She just didn’t expect it’d be this hard. The clock ticks the hours, the minutes, the seconds, and with each passing minute of daylight, she sighs deeply and braces for the screams. Her husband’s arrival carries with it simultaneous relief and anguish for she knows he, too, fears the minutes, the hours, the untold time that will pass tonight, and the screams that will ensue. She smiles at her...