The cross

Inside a dark night, my tired soul wandering, desperate to let go, the day’s faces are passing by, serious, demanding… suddenly, a cold wind cuts the summer heaviness, the night must flee this icy silence, my bed is moving, or am I falling? “Is somebody there?” I can’t see, but rough hands I feel around my neck… numbed by fear my heart stopped dead, the hands tighten, taking my breath… I\'m praying to the heavens: “please, help me, make him go away!” Seconds like hours, the night returns her warm embrace, my trembling fingers hold what the evil tried to steal… it is there, thank God! the golden cross, like Angel’s wings around me let noone violate my soul Weeks later, by candlelight, the grim story was told, of the Victorian lady who died at the hands of her raging groom here in this very room… Sybille(Sydney)Krivenko GISC2052924 2007