Free From – Chapter 2 – July 2nd

I hope you will join me this month as we JOURNEY each day through our short story. It is about finding FREEDOM in the midst of all the captivating pieces in life that steal our peace which we need FREE FROM!

FREE FROM
July 2,  2021

Psalm 17:1-7, ‘Listen while I build my case, God, the most honest prayer you’ll ever hear. Show the world I’m innocent—in Your heart You know I am. Go ahead, examine me from inside out, surprise me in the middle of the night—You’ll find I’m just what I say I am. My words don’t run loose. I’m not trying to get my way in the world’s way. I’m trying to get Your way, Your Word’s way. I’m staying on Your trail; I’m putting one foot in front of the other. I’m not giving up. I call to You, God, because I am sure of an answer. So—answer! Bend Your ear! Listen sharp! Paint grace-graffiti on the fences; take in Your frightened children who are running from the neighborhood bullies straight to You.’ (MSG)

Chapter 2

Heat lit up the sidewalk like the Fourth of July; it radiated through the paper-thin soles of the slippers he’d found in a dumpster across town a couple weeks ago. He almost didn’t feel it though as he barreled toward the little boy, the one who had been pulling taffy with the gooey blacktop. He was so angry he might be as hot as the stagnate summer heat crawling in his nose.
He didn’t think a thing of it. He forced his way through the small group of people forming a wall around the scuffle. These idiots, imbeciles! He thought to himself. What is wrong with people? He heard himself breathing heavy, a gurgle caught in his throat. He snatched the big oaf off the little kid like he was a piece of kindling. A strength came over him he had never experienced before, and he suddenly felt gigantean, a Goliath-energy coursing through his veins. The clod must have sensed something because momentarily he looked at him with a frightened expression before the goon covered his face with his hands. “Nope! Not today!” he heard himself mumble again, as his fists clenched. That’s all it took, two big pows, one pummel from one hand and a second from the other, and the brute was felled like a tree in the forest. “Timber,” he thought aloud, and someone in the crowd giggled. The jerk was out cold.
The little boy had scampered to a nearby doorway in a storefront. He was rolled into a ball the size of a fist, so tightly doubled up. His shoulders shook and sobs wracked his body. There is nothing more deafening than the broken cries of a wounded animal, he thought.
“What is wrong with you people?” our hero demanded, because on this day, he was a hero. “Were you just going to watch that idiot hurt this child? Unbelievable!” he remarked with a shudder, rubbing his knuckles repeatedly.
“It’s not, uh, advisable, uh, to get involved,” one bystander began. “You never know, uh, what might happen, uh, if…”
“Save it!” the Good Samaritan stammered. “What a pathetic excuse from a grown man…you are a man, right? Maybe you’re not even a man,” sizing up the individual. “Nope, that’s right; you’re not! A man doesn’t allow a child to be bullied, to be used, to be inflicted, by anyone, and especially not someone four times his size and age! Shame on you; get out of my sight!” he bellowed. “You make me sick!”
“Hey, aren’t you that homeless hobo from over yonder?” another onlooker guffawed. The crowd began to jeer, and the little boy grew smaller in his huddle. The blockhead began to stir. “What do you know about being a man? Come on, tell us?” the same man taunted.
Our hero shook his head, sadness washing over him as he made his way to the doorway where the little boy trembled. “I’d rather be a homeless hobo than the likes of you,” he muttered. “I can buy housing but you can’t buy decency and humanity.” He reached the boy. “Come on, son. Let’s go get you something to drink.” And he gathered the child in his arms and pulled him gently into a safe embrace.

To Be Continued…