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.
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”