My great story

Post Reply New Topic

This is the first short story I ever wrote, and my best. It lacks polish, but I don't think that detracts from the message of the story.

If you are an athiest that is offended by referances to God, please feel free to substitute "God" with "the bologna sandwitch." For my purpose, the effect is the same.



“The Road to Providence”

Once I was asked whether or not I believe in God. I was hesitant to answer, for religion is a touchy subject in this day and age. On the matter of religion, I found it most convenient to use some sound advice my uncle once gave me. He said, “I won’t preach to you if you won’t preach to me.” It is good advice for avoiding arguments. In keeping with that advice, I will not preach my beliefs to you. I shall merely state them. This is why I believe what I believe. This is my experience.

I had been driving south from my home in Providence, Rhode Island to a friend’s back country lodge in Ohio to go deer hunting. I always loved driving my black Isuzu Trooper along the back roads that wound their way through the Appalachian Mountains. The smell of the wild –the pine trees, the breeze, the crisp, clean air– always filled me with a feeling of inner harmony. The back roads through the mountains shunned the day-to-day stresses of city life and substituted them with awe at the scope of nature. It was here, on the back roads rarely traveled, that I found myself.

I was going well below the speed limit and enjoying the scenery, for it is a pleasure rarely afforded when the road is shared with other vehicles. It is a true joy, having the road all to oneself. As I weaved through the sylvan foothills, a faint noise tore me from my euphoric state. At first, I could not figure out what I was hearing, until I realized that the noise was rising from my Isuzu. I tried to identify the noise, and I desperately hoped that my trusty Trooper would hold up until I could get to a maintenance garage, or at least a phone.

As the noise became loud enough to clearly distinguish from the normal vrmmmm of the combustion engine, I was struck by a wave of bewilderment. The sound was not, to my ear anyway, anything that sounded like engine trouble. The noise hardly sounded mechanical. It sounded as if a person was sighing. The bizarre noise sounded almost human. I was horror stricken by this realization. Immediately I slammed on the brakes, removed the key from the ignition, and ran from the truck. After sprinting about ten yards from the truck, I slowed my pace to a halt, panting. In retrospect, the surprise I felt, the fear that had suddenly gripped me should have seemed very odd. How could a hardly audible, nondescript noise cause such spontaneous fear, to such a degree that I was panicking?

Once I had caught my breath, I turned and looked toward my Isuzu. Paranoia still gripped me, and I glanced about me for signs of life. To my left, a steep hill descended to a small creek; to my right a small cliff loomed above me. Nothing moved except bird, as black as my truck, flying overhead. With great apprehension and suspicion, I approached the Trooper. Still nothing moved. I resolved to thoroughly examine the vehicle for any potential stowaways, human or not.

I searched every inch of the truck; however, there was not any man, beast, or any other thing to be found. Enormously relieved, I climbed into my Isuzu and closed the door wearily. I decided that I would wait awhile before taking the scenic route again. For a moment, I rested against the grey cloth of my seat and let forth a weary, thankful sigh of relief. I closed my eyes and grinned weakly. Thank God that was over. I reached up and placed my car key into the ignition and started my faithful Isuzu up. Promptly, the semi-human noise began. Upon this invasion of my ears, I yelled and started to shake violently in terror. After a few seconds of uncontrolled tremors, I regained my composure. “It’s just a noise. A noise can’t do anything to you; there is nothing to fear. I’ll just go to the first auto shop I find and have the noise fixed, whatever it is.” Telling this to myself returned my nerve, although I knew of no machine, or anything else, to make such a noise.

I sped down the road as fast as I dared, propelled ever on by the haunting noise. By sundown, the noise had become painfully loud and frighteningly clear, drowning out all other noises. The sound was not just a sigh or a moan as I had first thought. It sounded like one single voice laughing, screaming and crying simultaneously. For a short while I drove at a snail’s pace down the twisting road, hoping to make the assault on my ears cease; however, the noise continued to grow louder and louder. Eventually, I think, the noise stopped getting louder, but the pain it caused became more and more unbearable. I remember I started to become delirious with pain, so I pulled over to the side of the road and killed the engine; however, the noise didn’t stop this time, instead the noise rang ever louder in my ears, with pain beyond the comprehension of a mere man. If there is a Hell, I felt the searing, burning, wrenching, ripping pain of it that day. I was in agony. The noise had taken hold of my mind. I screamed and writhed in torment. My stomach heaved, and the last thing I remember is seeing my own blood on the steering wheel.

The next sensation was that of my unconscious mind. A dream so vivid it was as if I were awake. In it I saw nothing, except an image of myself lying on the ground, motionless. Was I dead? No, I sensed I was not dead, but rather that my soul was dying. I heard the sound again, and realized that the sound was my own voice. It spoke with grief, and said my name. When It sensed that I was listening, It, the abominable voice, said, “How could you have done so wrong?” with that, every memory of every wrong I caused, every sin I committed, came flooding back to me. I thought, for I could not speak, I am human, surely my actions are not the worst that a human has— “Evil being!” the Thing roared, “How could you have done such?” Immediately I was overtaken by grief and despair. I saw, nay, I felt my body start to be consumed in an enveloping ooze of despair. Was this my end?

I experienced my body, or soul, or whatever it was, sink into a pool of sorrow in much the way that one sinks into quicksand. I felt as if I were underwater, unable to see and unknowing of which way the surface was. My soul was thrashing about in a sea of misery, desperately searching for something to hold on to, something with which to shield and survive this typhoon of guilt. The voice became ever louder, and my thoughts ever weaker, as I sank into the abysmal pool of regret. “How could you be such a fiend?” But I do have good… “How can anyone have done such?” But I am not all… “How could you have failed so?” But I… “How could you…” But God loves me. “How could…” God loves me. God loves me. God loves me. God loves me. God loves me. “How…” God loves me. God loves me. God loves me. God loves me.
With that, I felt as if solid ground rose up from the deeps and lifted me from the sea that had such hold of me. I felt absolutely calm. No amount of meditation could ever bring such a feeling as fulfilling, satisfying, and rejuvenating as what I felt at that moment. I felt as if I were in a cocoon of bliss. I felt absolutely safe, absolutely secure, absolutely loved. I felt as if I was now lying on a sunny beach, absorbing the warmth and light of the Sun. Then I slept. Slept so deeply and soundly that I wish I never awoke from it.

But I did awake. Dawn had nearly come. I was slumped over my steering wheel, which was caked in dried blood, as was shirt and chin. I felt, in that moment of awakening, as one with the world. Words could never describe the feeling of awe and wonder, but remembering it now brings tears of joy to my eyes. I was alive, more alive than I had ever been. I arose, and saw that the Sun would soon rise over the mountains. Slowly, I climbed out of my truck and watched the Sun rise over the mountain tops, and cut through the mist that shrouded the mountain valley. I returned to my truck and started the engine. There was no noise, just the normal hum that my faithful Trooper had greeted me with for the past thirteen years. I then turned around, and started home toward my home in Providence.

As I said, I will not preach to you if you will not preach to me. I will not ask whether or not you believe in God, for that is a foolish question. I can not “prove” God’s existence, and I can not “disprove” it either. Some things do not need proof. The world is as it is because it is. Why try to explain it. As for me, I can say that I have yet to see “proof” either, but that does not faze me. I will never be “sure” of God’s existence, but I know that I can not risk the possibility that he is not real. Can you take such a risk?



Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Thanks.