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The Call of Love

As Seen Through The Eyes
of Mary of Magdala

Rose Garretson




Perfume hung in the midnight air, thick and sweet. There were no stars tonight – nothing to mitigate the unholy blackness ruling the night. Minutes crept by, with only the sound of her ragged breathing to break the oppressive flow. Her burning eyes gazed out of the small window, desperately searching. She wished with all of her might today was just a bad dream…that she would wake up and realize it was not real.

Touching her stomach, she felt the nausea sitting high and uncomfortably. She had cried until she had vomited…wept until there were no tears left. Everything was gone! Nothing worth living or dreaming for remained. They had been blown to smithereens by a hammer, nails and a final dying breath.

Her world convulsed and she harshly shook her head in denial. It could not be true! This had to be some sort of a nightmare. With each shake of her head the perfume swirled around her, closing in, reminding her of all that had passed, which caused her to gasp in utter dismay and horror.

Splaying her fingers out in front of her face, she studied her hands. They involuntarily clenched into fists as she heard the horrendous sounds of the whip in her mind. His strong and gentle back bore the lash, cut and bleeding. Yet, he made no sound.

A dry sob wracked her. How could this be? How could he truly be gone? Why was the world still spinning? How did it continue in its pattern of day-to-night? Without him, she simply did not want to continue. Life had been meaningless until he changed everything.

Burying her face in the shaking cup of her palms, she moaned against the abject grief and loss. Her hair fell over her face, and the smell of perfume redoubled. In the murky night, she remembered…remembered how everything began. Her mind wandered back to when life was innocent and so was she.


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