Two Cups of Cold Milk

this is a story I wrote at the library, and I thought you might like it.

Her eyes closed, she gasped for breath. She knew that if she lingered too long, she'd never escape again. Stumbling along, rain beating down on her bent figure, she passed many closed doors and drawn shades. Something out there was calling her, and she desperately needed to find it before she lost it completely. This whole year had been a landslide. Moving out, starting college, falling in with the wrong group of people, trying to get out, and then suffering the consequences. But not anymore. Finally it had been enough, and she couldn't take one more sneer, one more stab in the dark. Suddenly she paused, glancing down the alley beside her. Some homey aroma was drifting through the rain. She followed the scent as in a trance, not sure why or where she was going. A little brick building, with lace curtains in the windows, light streaming out the screen door, greeted her tired eyes. On a whim, she opened the door. A bell sang above her head, and a woman appeared behind the counter. The room was otherwise deserted, with rows of breads and cakes uneaten in the displays. The lady asked her to sit down and then left the room. Gladly she sat, as far from the windows as she could, drinking in the peace around her. Presently the lady returned, carrying two cups and a plate of cinnamon rolls. Before she knew what was happening, she was drinking milk and telling this woman her tale. The woman listened intently, never interrupting, except to fill the plate as it required. She'd never felt better than when she'd told it all, when she was no longer hiding anything. The woman sat for a moment in silence, and then smiled. "Honey, no matter what they tell you, never give up. You will be given the strength to overcome whatever obstacles are in your way. Sometimes leaving a thing unfinished isn't a defeat, it's the victory of a new and better thing defeating the old one. You've defeated that world of cold, hard hatred, and a new one awaits you. Go home, and live it to it's fullest." The words were like sweet music, the thing she'd needed the most. She called her parents; tomorrow she'd be in their arms. Tonight, she'd sleep in a brick building, with lace curtains in the windows, the smell of freshly baked bread still in the air. 

the silence here lately has come to a close. school is at the door, and with that a daily routine. this time I will do better, I will post. I've had a wonderful rest from the blog for a while, but now I'm back with fresh ideas. so yet again I ask for forgiveness, and promise to be better.