That's Just Not Right

The cold wind touched me.

I shivered—but it wasn’t like I was scared.

No.

Just the wind—right?

We were outside on the back porch of a cabin.

The fire flickered, crackled and popped—like Rice Krispies when the milk’s poured into the bowl.

But it doesn’t deter me.

I’m determined to find out the source of this breeze,

Because I know it’s not wind.

I said ‘wind’ but I know it’s not.

I shiver—it’s fall, yes, but it’s warm outside.

So how can I shiver?

There must be something vile out there.

I get up off my chair, turn the corner and then jump back behind the corner.

I dash inside, slamming that sliding glass door.

Bolting upstairs to locate the gun hiding under my bed—

Yes, a gun under my bed!

I grab the PWD, and make my way back down to wherever that thing that had scared me was.

I round the corner, yelling out that I had a gun in my hand, and I wasn’t afraid to use it.

Something taps me on the shoulder.

I whiz around—

“No, we’re friendly skeletons!”

“Prove it!” My hands were shaking, my eyes wide, leering at it.

The skeleton puts out a hand. “Please—I just want to introduce myself.”

I kept the gun pointed at him, but I don’t dare let go of it.

I told him that any nonsense, and he’s a goner—I don’t care that he’s already dead.

“Who are you?” I ask suspiciously.

“Johns. Please! Put your gun down. I won’t hurt you.” He spread his arms. “See?”

“How do I know you’re not going to hurt me?” I didn’t comply.

He looked behind me. “Hey! Over here, you guys. Don’t be afraid. It’s okay—she

Has a gun but

She’s not going to hurt us.

We’re safe!”

I didn’t trust them.

I whirled around, pointing my weapon

At their faces.

I put my finger on the trigger.

“You’re going down, skeletons!”

I shot.

Four rounds. One

Round hit a couple of skeletons

Who cried out.

One roared in pain.

I dashed away,

Knowing that cold breeze

Was not the wind.

It wasn’t the cold wind

From the other night.

No.

It was something else.

It was the cold wind

Of evil.

Those skeletons deserved to die.

When I had escaped that cabin.

That fire with its delicious flickering,

I didn’t take anything with me.

No, sir.

I dashed.

Gun in my hand, I didn’t stop.

A wail was heard.

Pictures of skeletons vivid in my mind.

Johns and his so-called friends after me!

Me!

Why, oh why, would anyone trust him, or them?

I ran.

A woman on the run.

A fugitive.

A vagabond.

Whoever I was,

I wasn’t going back.

No, I was on the move.

Whether I had to forage

For food,

For water,

For shelter from the storm,

So be it.

But I ran.

Somewhere in a cornfield,

I heard cluck-cluck-cluck! Of a chicken.

I snuck up on it, quiet as a mouse,

Until bam!

My gun gave me my dinner that night.

I stole that chicken

Right from under that farmer’s nose.

Cooked it in an open fire

Somewhere on an island.

I lied that I was from here.

Just me and my gun.

I had to run.

I had to get away from whoever was going to capture me.

Whoever was going to haul me off to jail

Was going to pay the price!

I had a weapon.

Yes, they did, too,

But they weren’t as quick

Or as sly

Or as stealthy as I.

I was a fox.

I shapeshifted—

A power of mine.

I didn’t know whether

I was going to eat any more tonight.

Maybe I had my fill.

I don’t know.

Maybe I’ll snack on some mice

Down the road—

I went to a sewer.

Squeezed myself down there,

Befriended the rats.

Their leader took me in,

A rat among others.

Everyone accepted me.

I dined like a queen.

I was hailed their second in command

Of a pirate ship.

But I didn’t want to be a rat pirate.

I wanted to be a human.

So I escaped.

To an island where there were pirates,

Pirates who stole my gun,

Put it to me head,

And pulled the trigger.

I was dead.

No!

I jolted,

Upright in bed.

One rat asked me whether I was okay

Because she heard me breathing heavily and crying out in the night.

I told her to go back to sleep.

She did.

I escaped,

Becoming pirate captain of some famous vessel.

There were only a few on board.

I had power,

My gun my only weapon.

And friend.

These powder monkeys—

Shapeshifters who became monkeys at will—

Joined me in swinging through the trees.

In the Amazon,

We flew,

We glided,

We soared.

But I wanted to be a human,

Own a home.

Own a car.

Be a real person.

I didn’t want to be a vagabond.

No one cared about me

Like I knew people would.

I went back.

I told those skeletons, tears streaming down

My face

That I was sorry.

One of them said

I could put them back

Together.

I did.

I put my gun away.

I explained my anger.

My hatred.

I was always alone.

My boyfriend deserted me,

I was an orphan,

And I had no friends.

My life was falling apart.

“Will you be my friend?”

I asked the skeleton.

“Maybe, when you’re dead.”

I thought about what he said.

And moved on.

And when I did die,

Those skeletons didn’t include me,

Because I wasn’t a skeleton.

I was in heaven.

I didn’t become a skeleton.

I didn’t come back to earth

As a skeleton because people

Don’t do that.

Was I in heaven

Because I accepted Christ

As Savior?

Yes, but

I wasn’t a skeleton.

I belonged.

I had a family.

I met people

and had made many friends

who loved me.

I also met a man

who accepted me

for who I was,

not what I did

or what I looked like

or what I carried in my purse.

I was special

no matter what I did.

My parents hugged me

because they loved me.

I told them that I had

missed them

and had used a gun

they gave me

but all that

was gone in a jiffy

because I then

remembered those

powder monkeys

and rats

and--

were those

rats even people?

They talked.

I sensed the Lord

spoke through them.

Did he?

I don't know

But--

I mattered.