To Whom It May Concern: by M.J. Garrett (top novels txt) 📖

give me purpose.
God, give me hope.
God, give me power.
God, give me Carla.
God, give me time.
God, give me peace.
God, give me power.
God, give me Carla.

Opening my eyes, the man is gone. Carla looks at me with her eyes watered down, tears dripping off her chin and onto her sleeveless leather shirt. The room has returned to normal and the clock on the wall is ticking with every second. Sitting there beside me with her eyes filled with tears, she reaches up with both of her hands clutching my face, and kisses my lips. I can feel the wet tears touching my face and her dry lips sticking to mine. She sits back and says to me, with her voice cracking from emotion, “Do you mean it?”

“Mean what?” I asked in confusion.

“Do you really want me to be yours, Silly?” she giggled, as she wiped her tears off of her pretty porcelain skin and then dried them on my sleeves Sniffing the drainage back into her nasal cavity, she smiled with a hint of embarrassment.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Carla.” I said, trying to dismiss her rush of emotion and trying to regain my composure.

“You just prayed, asking God to give me to you. Just now; three times!”
“You heard that? Just now? Am I God? Are you God?” I questioned everything in that split second.

“No…you prayed out loud. I heard you. You asked that God will give me to you.” She softly smiled and rubbed the drainage from her nose with the back of her hand and again rubbed her hands clean on my sleeve.

“Why do you keep wiping your snot and tears on me?” I asked her, trying to change the subject.

“Well, I can’t wipe it on leather…besides, do you know how much this outfit cost?!”

To Whom It May Concern:
Carry a handkerchief…you never know when you will need it.

*

Carla walking around the house wearing her black leather outfit, turning me on just by the sound of her leather thighs rubbing against each other, continues pacing the floor. Eating chunks of chocolate covered ice cream like popcorn, her squeaking outfit comes to a halt. Seconds go by when she yells, “I’m so fucking confused!!!”


CHAPTER 19

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Sucking in the air slowly and concentrating on the one thing that makes her feel special. She pictured is eyes and smile. She imagined his voice. She could see his composure and mystery. All of these things she loved about him. She squeezed her eyes shut and slowed her breathing. She opens up her eyes and the clock on the wall still ticks. One second at a time, it ticks. She’s still in her house, in her living room.

To Whom It May Concern:
This whole good thoughts in and bad thoughts out…it’s not working!!

Her frustration begins to mount after trying so hard to be special; trying to be this hero, this angel. She walks over to the window and peeks through the curtain. His car, just sitting there cold, hasn’t moved. She walks over to her couch and flops down and throws her head back on the fluffy cushion in complete surrender. She closes her eyes and pictures the little girl. The girl just laid there in her bed and did what she thought she was supposed to. She wasn’t wrong. This man, her grandfather, this monster, her family took something away from her. Carla’s eyes tear up from the memory of her standing there frozen; stuck in time.

She visualized everything that happened to that little girl. How her knuckles turned white holding and squeezing her doll. This girl, this younger version of her, smiled and trusted the dark figure in the corner of her room…Carla. This couldn’t be the present. This was the past. This was her past. This was her secret and no one was going to take that from her. Not God. Not the Devil. No one!
The more Carla thought about it, the angrier she became. Her breath started to become more intense and her eyes began to water. She squeezed her teeth tight and leaned forward. Putting her elbows on her knees, she dropped her head in shame. Her eyes became black as coffee as her breath became heavy. Carla raised her head to see her leather covered silhouette reflecting off the blank TV screen. Her eyes hollowed by shadows and her petite figure breathing in and out. The reflection looked back at her, staring at her with her hollow eyes; judging her. Everyone has secrets. No one has secrets.

The room begins to shake and the wind begins to blow. Her chest pulsating in and out with each tense breath that goes in and out her lungs. She closes her eyes and grits her teeth. As she opens her eyes, the room is silent and still. There is no ticking of the clock. There is no movement.

There she is. The girl in her pink unicorn covered nightgown with her hair behind her ears, standing there holding Miss Margaret by one hand as the doll just dangled limp beside her. The girl standing there in the dark, with her hollow eyes staring back at Carla, she smiles and whispered, “Save me.”

Carla, looking at the girl, smiles and vanishes.

*

“Repent!” the man behind the pulpit yelled, “Repent of your sins! Your iniquities will find you out!” Walking back and forth across the stage, he screams into the microphone. Joseph Banks clapping. Mrs. Galloway clapping. Mrs. Johnson shaking her head in joyous approval. Mr. Franklin rubs the knee of his lovely wife, who stares at the man 2 rows over. The Franklin children, shuffling through the song books and hymnals, try hard to stay as quiet as possible.

“You cry ‘God, save me’ but in your heart you don’t want to be saved!” the preacher yells. Spit flying out of his mouth and sweat dripping off the ends of hair. He takes his monogrammed handkerchief and wipes his mouth and forehead dry. “You cry ‘God, bless my home’ and you fill your mind with demons of the flesh! You are white washed tombs of iniquity. Drop to your knees! Cry to your God! Lift your hands and rejoice, for tonight sinners, you are going home. You shall be saved!”

To Whom It May Concern:
Blah, Blah, Blah…..

It’s funny, in a way; this man is anointed by God? A preacher’s addictions and sins are a mere testimony of God’s forgiveness and lack of regard for his lost sheep. It’s as if God, our almighty Savior, is standing in the back watching as this preacher, his chosen disciple, excites these sinners and fornicators, knowing that his prize fighter is taking a dive in the fifth round. All of God’s money placed on a fifth round decision. Either way, win or lose, as long as the fight is over in the fifth round, God wins.

What’s to gain? In the big scheme of things, God will always come out the victor. If his prize fighter loses, his lost sheep will pray harder. If his prize fighter wins, his lost sheep will pray harder. The game is rigged. Sitting here listening to this preacher, this false prophet, this pornographer with no secrets, I realize…someone has to pay.

All the fights with Charlie and Carl, all the times being molested and raped, all the times we dug through the trash for food to eat, all the times I woke up in the hospital, all the pain…someone has to pay.


Carla, give me the courage.
Carla, give me the strength.
Carla, give me wisdom.
Carla, save me.
Carla, give me purpose.
Carla, give me hope.
Carla, give me power.
Carla, save me.
Carla, give me time.
Carla, give me peace.
Carla, give me power.
Carla, save me.

You, the old man, the shadow, the 60 year old lady using a metal walker, the child wearing the pink unicorn covered nightgown; while you marched around the room with Carla and I stuck to the couch, you said, “Nate, my son, your vision is skewed. Your purpose has become distorted. You seek answers from your past, but you are fueled by your anger. You haven’t listened to me in a long time. Why do you fight me? You hide from me.”

I’m done. No more hiding. I have figured out my purpose. I will fight you. I will not listen. You will hide from me. I will seek those out that hurt me and stole from me. My wrath will be known. My enemies will fall. My sword shall deliver me from the hands of my oppressors. I will deliver myself. You are not God. You are not his messenger. You are my new enemy.

So, keep smiling Mrs. Johnson. Keep smiling Mrs. Galloway. Keep yelling preacher. Keep lying preacher. Keep shaking your head Mr. Franklin. Keep shouting amen, Joseph Banks. In time, I will deliver them from you. I will save them. I will help them. I am the Savior now, the Almighty, the Alpha and Omega, The Beginning, and The End. It is you who should fear me old man. Carla shall give me strength.


CHAPTER 20

The world in pause. The dark dirty world stopped in formation. The gray smog and cloud covered skies bring the night sooner than forecasted. Cars paused in the street. People paused talking on cell phones. People exchanging money for hotdogs are paused in mid-exchange….everything paused. Dogs on leashes, prancing and floating in mid-air…paused. Coins, being tossed to homeless men, are suspended in the air…paused. She walked by each of them.
Weaving in and out of the traffic, walking with confidence and her eyes blackened with purpose, she walked through the city. Her leather legs and stilettos, her hair pulled tight into braided pigtails, her sleeveless leather shirt, walking through pause as if she was god. Her beautiful pale shoulders, scarred by ink, were held back with confidence. She looked at the faces of these lifelike mannequins, these unsuspecting victims, these poor lost sheep. Her thighs rubbing together as her heels touched the ground in front of the other clicking as her hips gracefully shift side to side.

The neon sign above the small shop flickered on and off. Carla pushes the door open and sees the mannequins paused in mid step. The old man sat behind the counter with his red hat and dirty plaid shirt, reading a newspaper. He sat there in pause.
Feeling purpose, she knew she was in the right