Tony Evans, Oak Cliff Bible Fellowship
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The Queen sat atop her hoisted chair, leg thrown over its
arm. She barely looked down at the girl,
seemingly bored. She smoothed her dress
linens as if no one else was in the room.
The young girl looked on, not anticipating the coming
conversation.
There was a moist smugness in her voice. The Queen was beautiful. Stunning, ravishing—the epitome of
beauty. Her textured crown lay adeptly
on layers of raven hair. Her ivory skin
was perfectly powdered. Gorgeous in semblance,
but her spirit was darker than the onyx that hung in her diadem. No light reflected in her empty eyes.
“Remember when you were but a child, and no one wanted
you then?” she mused.
The girl shuddered, but nodded.
“Wasn’t it better then, alone? You didn’t hurt anyone then. You didn’t have anyone to hurt. You saw the look in her eyes last night, you
know what the others girls think of you.
Wasn’t it easier not having to worry about that? Now you’re hurting people.” She trilled her tongue.
Mara’s eyes met the floor. She was right. These new friendships in her life, she wasn’t
capable of handling them. She was better
off alone, not hurting people. It seemed
like she couldn’t do anything right.
As if reading her thoughts, the Queen laughed, “You can’t
be a friend, and you’re a terrible
daughter. You don’t do anything but hurt
people. You’re selfish, and
worthless. Moving 2,000 miles away for
your own selfish gain, leaving your parents miserable. What kind of daughter are you?”
She missed her parents.
Guilt from being so far from them had taken over her heart. What the Queen said stung her deeply. And she was right. Selfish.
She was a selfish, little girl.
She knew they missed her, and she missed them, but it was not
enough. She was too selfish to return to
them.
The Queen’s head finally turned toward her, and she
shifted so that their eyes met. Dark
emeralds cast an unnerving shadow over her.
They were piercing, examining Mara, and calculating, considering every
flaw, every imperfection. “Tell me,” she
hissed, “what’s good about you?”
Mara stuttered.
She wrung her hands, failing miserably trying to look composed.
“Well, I…I’m nice?”
“Nice?” she mocked her.
“What does that mean? Child, you
are lost. You are a mess. You’re unattractive, clumsy, dismally
unintelligent, self-centered, and self-righteous.” She paused, casting a debilitating glare
towards the frail creature. “No one
could ever love you.”
With every word, Mara’s spirit sunk lower. She’s
right, I’m worthless. Mara wilted on
the marble floor, unable to keep from crying.
“I know the desires of your heart,” the Queen cooed. “To be loved.
You want friends, a family, a husband, an eternal love…but what makes
you think you deserve any of it?
Pure? Never. You’ve stained yourself. Given yourself to a million. They’ve walked over you your entire
life. And what’s worse, you don’t even
have a high paying career to make up for what you lack. Who would put up with you? Who could want you? Who could ever love you? You have nothing and you are nothing. Poor, hideous creature. But you did do this to yourself…” Her voice was like patronizing silk.
The Queen arose from her mantel, stepping gracefully down
upon the girl. She bent, kneeling so as
to be face to face. One of her hands
cupped Mara’s face while the other’s fingers traced along her chin. Mara was terrified.
“You’re not much to look at either,” he eyes intently
examining Mara’s face. A doctor giving a
diagnosis. Incurable. Unfixable.
Unhealable. “Your skin is terrible,
your teeth are crooked, you’re obscenely overweight. Really, who would want you as their wife?”
Mara pulled her face from the Queen’s hands.
“Don’t you pull away!
Look at me,” she seethed. “You truly
are worthless in every, single way.”
Mara was curled up, trying to block out the reality of
everything she wasn’t. But she knew it
was true. It was all true. She wasn’t smart. She wasn’t beautiful. She wasn’t even loving. She had hurt her friends and family in her
selfishness. What she thought was an act
of protection, shielding them from her terrible life, was only disguised
self-centeredness. She was desperate,
lowly, ugly, and completely worthless.
The Queen was right in every way.
She always was.
Mara began to weep.
I’m worthless. The room felt deathly cold, and the darkness
seeped in through her pores.
The Queen hovered, circling like a triumphant
predator. Her angry whispers filled the
heavy air.
Ugly.
Stupid.
Incapable.
Worthless.
Unlovable.
Ugly.
Ugly.
Mara, you’re ugly.
You’ll never be anything to anyone.
After the last piercing blow, the Queen quieted and Mara
sobbed. Her body wracked with
seizures. The pain was all too
great. The limbo of darkness had pulled
her into an inescapable realm of hurt.
Time escaped her as her tears continued to fall. And soon, Mara couldn’t tell if minutes or
hours had passed when she realized the Queen had not said a thing in a long
while. But she refused to open her eyes.
Why wasn’t she
saying anything? As the seconds, as
the hours, or days ticked away, Mara waited, prepared for another swarming of
vicious truths. It was an awkward
dualism. Even though she wanted the pain
to end, she wished the Queen would keep talking, just to know she wasn’t alone.
It was then she heard her. Not her voice, but her footsteps. One step turned into two, and so on, and
eventually they grew lighter and lighter until they were gone. Why had
she left? Don’t leave me, you’re all I
have, Mara thought. I can handle being worthless, but not alone.
After an eternity, she opened her swollen eyes. Her vision fell upon the throne. What had once been a majestic pillar of dark
worship, its gold had aged indelibly.
The velvet was worn and ripped.
The entire atmosphere of the room had shifted.
It was then that Mara felt a hand on her shoulder. Body weak and soul weaker, she trembled. A man helped her to her feet. A sturdy arm wrapped around her, a hand
placed heavily on her heart.
No words were spoken, but she saw light. She felt warmth. And she felt love.
His face was indistinguishable, blurred by the glare of
sun. But
where had the sun come from?
“Lies,” he whispered gently. “All lies.”
They limped toward the palace doors. A shamble compared to what they once were,
now rusted and eaten away.
“I will tell you who you are.”
His chin pressed against her head in love, and they
walked together. He was strong, but
tender. The mix soothed her and offered
a feeling of safety she had never before experienced.
Wherever they were headed, it was going to be a long,
arduous road. But she knew the further
they walked, the more then Queen’s hold would weaken. As long as He was with her, redemption lay in
sight, and the palace and the condemnation it held would eventually crumble
altogether.
