• Matt Brown

Woman in White

I watched her, this woman with long golden hair, this woman with smile so fair. She strode down the street for graceful and true, shining with a light that nearly blinded her from my view. Her dress was brilliant and white, adding to such a radiant sight. Yet there was an oddity to which I could not understand. Something that mind tried to comprehend.


To passersby, she would often whisper one word or two but they would only stare in disdain, the hatred written on their faces so very plain. Still, she continued on as if searching for a discerning ear, the need on her face so very clear.


I turned away, my thoughts swirling as I concerned myself with my own affairs. I had my own needs and cares. Yet the woman haunted my thoughts through the day. Her radiance and beauty hadn’t faded away.


In my mind, her visage had been so sharp and clear. If I were to confess I wanted nothing more than for her to be near. I long to gaze on her beauty and grace. Just thinking about makes my heart flutter and race.


After a time I found the woman once again, but she was different and not the beauty I remembered then. Her hair was faded, its the golden sheen nearly gone, her eyes heavy and withdrawn. Her dress so soft and white was tattered and torn as if she had been in a fight. Still, to passersby, she would often whisper one word or two but they would only stare in disdain, the hatred written on their faces clear as day.


Yet she continued in search for a discerning ear, though none would listen and I found myself shedding a single tear. The need on her face was so very clear. I turned away no longer able to look at such a sight, though my heart grieved for her plight.


Through the day, her visage still haunted me. Why were the others so cruel, harsh and unkind? How could they be so oblivious and blind?


It wasn’t until some time later that my heart finally did break. The vision of the woman had become more than I could take.


Her hair was matted, dirty and black. There were even bruises all over her arms, face, and back. Her dress was scant save for a few choice places and even as she looked as passersby there was nothing but disgust on their faces.


Through the grime, I could see the lines from the tears she had shed. The woman was barely alive and nearly dead. I held her close, my eyes filled with tears. It was then I suddenly understood the time between us had spanned for many years.


“Who are you? Why have they done this to you?” I softly whisper as she turns her head my way. She then leans in as if having something important to say.

“My name is Wisdom,” she weakly replies. “My abuse has come because instead of truth they have chosen lies.”

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