A Love Story

Not terribly original, I don't even know why I wrote this. But I felt I needed to, so here it is:

There is a bride. She is the first bride. Ever. A beautiful, perfect bride who has the distinction of being created expressly for her groom. Her groom is the real Prince Charming. His father is king not just of the land, but of the entire universe. Only the best will do for such a prince, and she is exactly that. She is the picture of perfection, exquisite in every way, beautifully dressed. As preparation for the royal wedding, she has been given every gift imaginable, including the highly prized gift of free will. Her days are carefree. She lives in the most beautiful garden, where each day, her beloved meets her for a walk. Sadly, the bride doesn't use her gifts wisely. She is ungrateful. When she is told that her groom's father is trying to keep all knowledge from her, she violates the trust given to her and misuses her gift of free will. Too late, she learns that it was all a horrible trick that she has fallen for.

Disgraced, she runs away, only to find that by falling for the trick, she is now a slave to a monster. In her shame and unhappiness, the bride is unfaithful and does terrible things. The more the bride does to fight her status as a slave, the deeper she is trapped. Her crime of rejecting her groom and his family carries the penalty of death. Only blood can satisfy the sentence. A sentence of death that will last for eternity. But the bridegroom still loves her. Her betrothed seeks her out and meets with her owner to bargain for his bride's release. He doesn't care what she has done. He looks through the dirt and grime that covers his beloved and still finds her beautiful, worthy of his love. She has destroyed her dress and defiled her body with countless lovers, but it doesn't matter to him.

The groom knows how eager the bride's owner is to watch the bride suffer and die. He knows that her owner wants nothing more than to kill her. The law of the land demands that blood be shed to atone for the crime of rejecting the royal family. Undeterred, the bridegroom gives his blood in place of the bride's. His clothes, which have always been pristine, become filthy rags. His face becomes unrecognizable as He suffers abuse on her behalf. The king cannot watch what is happening to his son. He turns away at the sight of his perfect son covered in blood and filth. The son feels deeply his father turning away, and he calls out to his father. Amazingly, the groom has been quiet throughout the whole ordeal, not even speaking when it would have saved him. But now, his anguish at being rejected overcomes him and he cries over the lost fellowship.

The bride watches all of this, speechless. Her beloved has gone through this terrible punishment because of her actions. She has led her groom to be killed in a gruesome manner. Her perfect groom, the prince. She locks herself away and grieves. Days pass, and with the third day brings new hope, a miracle. Her beloved returns, alive. As unbelievable as it sounds, he has come back to her. He holds her tenderly and pledges his love to her anew. He tells her that he willingly died for her and that he would gladly do it again. The bride sobs with a mixture of regret and remorse. His clothes, once spotless, then filthy rags, have been replaced with his usual princely attire. His shining clothes and face make her aware that she is still wearing the clothing of a slave. Her clothes aren't even good enough to be rags. It seems that no matter how hard she scrubs her clothes or tries to be careful, her clothing keeps getting stained worse and worse. Fittingly, the stains are always scarlet. Scarlet like the blood she saw flow from her beloved.

She backs away from him, not willing to dirty his clothes, especially after all he has been through for her. The groom seems to read her thoughts and reassures her that it is all right. He loves her regardless of how she is attired, but he longs to see her rightfully clothed as his bride. Disbelieving, she searches his face for a clue to his meaning. Surely he must know how much she regrets running away and being deceived. She remembers her beautiful dress that once clothed her. She is shamed at how far she has let herself go. She looks down at the floor in disgrace and mumbles that she wishes she could be his bride again. But she knows that she can't. She haltingly tells him that she wishes she could wear such a shining white example of beauty. But, as she motions to her current clothes, these rags seem to suit her better. After all, she caused his death. While yes, he is alive again by some miracle, she knows her place is now away from him. She can never forgive herself for her actions, for causing the terrible price he paid to free her, for causing his own father to turn away from him.

Weeping violently now, she falls to the floor. Her tears flowing, she watches as her tears splash His feet. Even now, he bears the marks of her actions. His beautiful feet are pierced, the wounds still fresh. Not wanting her salty tears to cause him more pain, she tries to wipe them away. But with what? Her clothes are too dirty to do much good, even though she has washed them over and over. Her hair. Her hair might work. She wipes away at her tears that are flowing over his feet. She tries to excuse herself, to tell him how much she regrets her actions. But all that comes out is, “Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.” He reaches down and pulls her off of the floor. A great light seems to fill the room, taking her breath away, causing her tears to cease.

The bride dares to lift her eyes and finds such kindness, such love, shining in the eyes of the groom. Her heart, so scarred and heavy from her actions, feels hopeful and light. She feels forgiven, fresh, new – whole. The way she felt as a girl in the garden before she ran away. Before she was deceived. She catches a glimpse of her sleeve and gasps. She looks down at her clothes in wonder. The filthy scarlet rags are gone. In their place is her gorgeous bridal dress, the one that she thought she would never see again. Her feet are shod in finely crafted slippers, jewels glisten around her neck. As she walks to a mirror, she catches sight of a veil. The most intricate, elaborate veil ever made now adorns her hair. Her groom reaches behind her to pull the veil over her face. She holds up a hand to stop Him, because only virgins are veiled. She - is not. She shouldn't even be wearing a dress made of white, much less a bridal gown. As she explains, her groom's eyes fill with compassion. How much she still doesn't understand! He lovingly tells her that her veil, her dress, are all hers to wear because of his death. His death not only freed her from being a slave, it also washed away every trace of her past life. When she asked him for forgiveness, every record of her transgression was discarded, never to be seen again. He places the veil over her face and leads her out the door where she sees a bridal party has assembled, a feast prepared. For her. And Him. The bride and her Groom.

AAAAA!!! Deer!, Pt. 4

This is Part 4 of a series. Here is Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.

As I write my accident account, I look up from my writing to see the hunter/deputy who had disappeared into the woods emerge. He is greeted with handshakes and back slaps by the drunk family. The drunks are happy to see this person they apparently know, and start yelling to him loud enough for me to hear their voices inside the police car some 20 feet away from them.

The cop who was talking to the drunks walks over to the police car I'm sitting in and knocks on the window. I tell him that I stopped to avoid hitting a deer, only to be pushed into the deer when I was rear-ended. I add that I've already told this to the hunter/deputy person. He seems surprised at this (didn't he wonder why the hunter/deputy went into the woods?) and he asks me if I remember whether or not I stayed in my lane or did I try to swerve to miss the deer. He then tells me that the other driver didn't say anything about a deer (for some reason, I'm not surprised at her omission). According to the other driver, I simply came to a complete stop for no apparent reason (because that's what all drivers of new cars do – why would I want to keep my new car?) I tell the cop that I have a very clear memory of purposely staying straight in my lane as I went down the hill because I didn't want to hit the deer. The cop then walks back over to the two accident vehicles and measures the wheels and then goes up the hill to where tire marks are visible on the road. He measures the marks and comes back to the police car I'm sitting in. He leans into the window to tell me, “Well, right now, it looks like it was the other car who was swerving. Based on the measurements, your car looks like it stayed in a straight line.” I think to myself, 'didn't I just tell him that?' but I wisely don't tell him so.

Instead, I just nod and say “okay, so what do I do?” I hand him my report that I've finished filling out. He looks over the report and tells me that the other girl is almost finished with her report. Apparently, she is either in too much pain or is too distraught to fill out the report herself, so she is dictating the report to one of the ambulance personnel. I wait in the car for a few more minutes and watch a tow truck appear and begin to hook up cables to the other car. The cop whose car I'm sitting in approaches my wrecked car and checks it out, crawling under it and examining it with his flashlight. I get out of his police car and walk towards him. By now, the drunk family is loading up into their various vehicles. They sit in their cars with their headlights on and their motors running, making no move to actually leave the scene. The cop finishes checking my car and tells me that it appears to be okay to drive. He believes the damage to be mostly superficial. He asks me to get inside my car and start the engine. My car starts just fine, which is good news. I thank him for his help and ask what I'm supposed to do regarding accident follow-up, etc. He tells me to call my insurance company first thing the next morning and that I'll need to get a copy of the accident report from the sheriff's office to fax to the company. The report should be ready in 2-3 days.

Just as I'm about to leave, the hunter/deputy walks up to my car and motions for me to roll down my window again. He says that he's been looking over my report and he wants to know exactly where in the road the deer was when it was hit. I tell him that it was right in front of where my car is now sitting.

“Okay, miss, I followed that deer into the woods, but I don't see where it went. Are you sure you hit the deer? Maybe the deer ran away first?”

“No, I know I hit the deer. I felt my car hit it and I saw it lean on the hood of my car before it ran off.”

“It leaned on your car? How close were you to it?”

Once again, I'm wonder about this so-called deputy and his hunting habits. But I simply tell him, “I was as close as I could be sitting inside my car with the deer on the hood.”

He whips out his flashlight and begins intently going over the surface of my car's hood. He suddenly jerks upright, calls out “I found a hair!” and places the hair inside one of the evidence bags that they use on CSI. He seals up the bag and calls the police officer with the report clipboard over to record the forensic evidence. After all the documentation is recorded, including the length of the hair, he holds up the bag for me to see and shines a light through the bag to illuminate what he found. One small, white hair, about 2” long. That's the only thing to prove my word against the other driver.

“Good thing we found this hair. It's a deer hair alright. This proves that there was a deer. Well, that's it. You be careful tonight.” With a slam of his hand on my car's roof, I'm free to go. I carefully drive away from the scene, hoping that the rednecks go back to their house. They drive off in the other direction, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

I call the insurance company, meet with the adjuster, etc. over the next few days. I call the sheriff's office repeatedly to find out whether or not the accident report is completed yet. On day 3, the lady on the phone tells me that she can't tell me over the phone and that I have to come down there in person. The sheriff's office is in a different county that the one I live in, and it's 30 minutes away. I drive down there and go to the front desk and explain what I need. The receptionist has no idea what I'm talking about and has to call an officer to come to the front desk. When I tell the officer why I'm at the office, he opens the door leading to the back of the office and yells into the room, “Hey! Which one of you has that report on the driver that hit ******'s little girl?”

I explain to him that I didn't hit anyone, that I was the one hit. He looks at me like I'm crazy and hands me the accident report that was placed in his hand by another officer. “This your car on the report?”

“Yes, and here at the bottom is the accident description that states that my car was hit, not the other way around.” he shrugs and tells me that I need to fax this to my insurance company. I tell him okay, thank him for his help, and drive back home.

Once home, I call the insurance company to find out the fax number and the person assigned to my claim has me read the coding for the accident to her. I do so, to find out that the accident, according to the police report, is my fault due to reckless driving caused by a deer. After speaking to her, I call the sheriff's office and ask to speak to the officer who filled out the report. He answers the phone, and after hearing my reason for calling, tells me that I'm at fault since he can't fault the deer.

Don't you just love small towns?

AAAAA!!! Deer!, Part 3

This is Part 3 in the series. Here is Part 1 and here is Part 2.

Last time, help had finally arrived for our heroine, only to depart into the woods. Will the deer survive?

At this point, I start to think that perhaps I wouldn't be in this situation if the hunter/deputy hadn't been scaring the deer out of the woods and onto the road with his hunting. I stand by the side of the road watching the spot in the woods where the hunter/deputy disappeared. I listen for a gunshot, but the night air is silent. I turn around and go back to my car and lean against the door. I check my cell phone to see how many service bars I have in this part of the country. I call DH and my dad to let them know that I've been in an accident but that I'm okay and damage to my car appears minimal. I finally begin to hear a siren off in the distance. A sheriff's car pulls up, followed by an ambulance. I check my cell phone's clock and see that it's been almost 30 minutes since 911 was called. Emergency personnel get out of the ambulance and come towards the wreck. A second police car pulls up from the opposite direction and the two police cars set out to block off our portion of the road with flashing lights.

One of the officers asks what happened and I'm just about to explain the events when the driver of the other car gets out. Up until now, she has been sitting in her car, doing God-knows-what. She is now limping and holding her knee. I think “oh, how convenient,” but I say nothing. The law enforcement officers are immediately concerned about her injury, asking her if it hurts much and can she walk on it. The ambulance personnel start examining her.

At this moment, multiple cars with various needs of repair pull up, and several people get out of each vehicle. They start hollering at the other driver to see if she's okay. One of them approaches an officer and begins to tell him just exactly what happened, even though this person wasn't there when the accident happened. It quickly becomes obvious that these people should not have driven themselves over here, as a few have problems walking in a straight line. The other driver points in my direction and tells them something I can't hear. This gets their attention turned towards me, and they begin trying to confront me about the accident. [In case my readers have forgotten, I was rear-ended. To the best of my knowledge, being rear-ended typically means that the person who hits the other vehicle is at fault. But this is apparently not the case here]

One of the officers talks to the drunk people and tries to calm them down. The other officer hands me a clipboard and tells me to sit inside his car and write down what happened in my own words. At first I'm confused as to why I have to sit inside a police car, but when the officer locks his car and leans against the car door, I realize that he's doing this for my own protection. I try to clear my head and write coherently, but it's difficult when great big rednecks keep yelling and pointing in my direction. What happens next? Does our heroine ever get out of the police car? Does a redneck riot ensue? Find out in the next episode!

AAAAA!!! Deer!, Pt. 2

This is Part 2 in the series. Here is Part 1.

When we last left our heroine, she was in the midst of a heart-breaking car accident involving her new arch nemesis, the multi-point buck. We now continue with this chilling saga...

SLAM! The car behind me rams me hard and pushes me into the deer. The deer is knocked off of his feet and leans over onto the hood of my car just a bit before righting himself. I see him appear to take a deep breath before he runs off into the woods that surround both sides of the road.

My first thought was, 'I just got this car! Why couldn't this have happened with my old car!' I was quite distraught over the car. My car hadn't even lost it's new-car smell yet. My thoughts were interrupted by the driver of the car behind me knocking on my window. I opened my car door to hear her say “I need a cell phone.” Thinking that someone in the car with her was injured, I handed here my phone. She dials 911 and reports the wreck, giving our location. She then calls another number and tells the person that she's been in a wreck and needs someone to pick her up. She gives my phone back to me and starts looking at the damage to her car. My car is slightly crumpled in the back, but her car is definitely totaled. She was driving a late '80's model of car, low to the ground, that pretty much slid beautifully under the back of my car. I ask her if she's okay and she says that she's fine, just shaken up. I reply that I know how she feels and that I've just gotten this car, can't believe this happened, etc. She gives me a look, says “we shouldn't be talking,” and gets into her car. I think this is strange, but I haven't been in a situation like this before, so what do I know?

We wait. We wait some more. A good-ol' boy truck roars by, the driver leaning out the window to yell at us, “get off the road!” A late-model sedan drives by, blaring it's horn as it passes. I think dark thoughts about the myth of Southern hospitality. If I drove by a wreck at night and no emergency vehicles were nearby, I'd stop and make sure that the people were okay. Georgia does have a “if you can steer it, clear it” law regarding accidents, but her car can't go anywhere, and part of her car's front is under my car. By this time, the other driver has climbed back into her car and it smoking a cigarette. I go over to the other car and knock on the window to ask the driver if 911 said when they'd be here. She rolls her eyes, sighs as says “I TOLD them it was an emergency, so they're going to be here.” Well. That wasn't much help, so I walk back over to my car. A jacked-up pickup truck approaches and slows down. Thinking that Southern hospitality perhaps wasn't dead, I walk over to the truck that has pulled over on the shoulder. The driver gets out of the truck, clad in full hunting camo gear. The overhead light of his truck illuminates a hunting rifle on a rack across his back windshield. The hunter spits and asks me, “are ya'll the ones that called in the wreck? I'm a deputy from the sheriff's office and I heard it over my radio.” I tell him yes, and explain that I had stopped to avoid hitting a deer, only to have the car behind me slam me into the said deer. Hunter/deputy perks up at this and asks me how big was the deer. I attempt to describe the deer to him as he walks back to his truck, retrieves his rifle, and bounds into the woods where I tell him I last saw the deer. What happens next? Will our darling heroine be the victim of small-town justice? Will the hunter/deputy kill the offending deer? Tune in next time for the continuation of a story that can only happen in the South!

AAAAA!!! Deer!, Pt. 1

I used to like deer. I believed deer to be quiet, docile, vegetarian woodland creatures. I watched Bambi countless times as a kid. I berated people who cruelly hunted the helpless creatures down just so their families could eat cheap meat. But that was before I knew the true nature of the little doe-eyed monsters.

After driving a granny car - '92 Mercury Sable - through high school and college, my parents kindly bought me a “new” car – a '02 Toyota Corolla in the fall of 2003. I was so happy to finally have a newer car and not feel embarrassed when I drove my car to work each day. At the time I got the car, I was still living in Collegeville, which despite being a college town, doesn't really have anything. All major shopping had to be done in Big Town, some 30 minutes away. Ordinarily, I would wait for the weekend to make such a trip, but that evening I wanted to do something other than grade papers. So I hopped in my car that I'd only had a month and drove to Michael's to pick up some items for a lamp I was decorating.

Ironically, as I was driving in the early fall evening, I happened to remember an article in the previous Sunday's paper about how many wrecks happen in Georgia each year due to the malevolence of deer. I had never had any close calls with deer, so I wasn't too concerned. I scanned the radio stations in my car and found a station that was already playing Christmas music, despite the fact that it was early November. Madonna's version of “Santa Baby” came on, and I turned up the volume. Other than an annoying car that was blinding me with its headlights in my rear view mirror, life was good. Little did I know...

When I saw the monster in the middle of my lane, I at least had the advantage of being at the top of a gradually sloping hill. The fiend stood at the bottom of the hill in the classic deer-in-headlights pose. A large buck with a multi-point rack, I had the fleeting thought that my brother-in-law, a hunter, would be glad to shoot such a deer. I started to apply my brakes as soon as I saw the creature, hoping that it would come to its senses and run off into the woods that surrounded both sides of the road. I was glad that the road I was traveling on was completely empty save for my car and the annoying car right behind me, because I wouldn't have to worry about what a car in the other direction would be doing to avoid the deer. I thought that if I tried to swerve to miss the deer, in all likelihood, the deer would swerve too, so I'd just keep slowing down and stay straight in my lane. I managed to stop my car mere inches before hitting the deer. I was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when – SLAM!! - the car behind me slams into me and pushes me into the deer!

Will this be the end of our brave heroine? What about her new car? Does she ever make it to Michael's and finish her lamp? Tune in next week for the thrilling sequel to this saga!