Ice sheets lay ahead.

I could avoid them.

Instead, I charge over them. Smooth glass beneath rubber soles.

Darkness envelops me.

Ragged treetops pierce the sky.

I am alone.

Within the largest park in New York City, I find solitude.

Yet, solitude now is deafening.

Families at home, warm, caressed, fulfilled.

I travel forward.

Rolling up my sleeves, I almost dare to fall across the glass.

That would hurt more.

That would be more punishing.

I roll my sleeves up even farther. Fully exposed to the icy air.

I’m so sorry, Granny. Papa. I’m so sorry, Papaw. Mamaw.


Loss. Hope. Regret. I want to scream it all out to someone, anyone. The pressure within me rises.

I find only silence.


I scream out into the night.

I am alone.

Pushing the pace now, hips stable, hamstrings fatigued but stronger. I move forward.


Louder now.

I crest a steep glassy patch, just before the cobblestones. Moving straight ahead into the unknown.

Tears streaming now down my frozen face.


I want so much for it to be blood. Blood of the Stigmata.

I believe. But am I really chosen?

I’ve gambled with Grace.

I’ve gone too far now to turn back. I may fall at any moment but know that will not happen.

I’ve chosen the ice again. Deliberately, I charge forward, across the little lakes of glass.

In the night, I never fall. Not once.

I am alone. Enveloped by darkness.

Still running forward…

“My Own Prison”


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