that greeted me was my living room in all of its morning glory. The sun’s morning rays kissed every inch of my spacious living room with love, giving the space a glow of innocence that couldn’t be matched by any other room. The most important aspect of this room? It was void of any other living entity but me. There was absolutely no tall, dark, and handsome Demon standing here, telling me he was here to turn me into a Demon.
Could it be?
“Oh my flying pigs,” I finally breathed out, placing a hand over my trembling and now relieved heart. I stared up at the ceiling with gratefulness washing over me. “Oh, thank you. It was all just a dream. Thank you, thank you so much.”
I raked my fingers through the curls of my long black hair. Quiet laughter poured out of me. The craziness of my own imagination floored me. This was the last time I was going to drink so much . I had always assumed that I could handle my liquor, but it was all too obvious that I had finally met my limitation concerning the “holy potion.”
Surely, hallucinating and envisioning a gorgeous guy claiming to be a Demon (and a Demon of Lust of all things!) constitutes me as not being able to handle my alcohol. Despite the fact that this brought me down a notch in the “coolness” ladder (as I was a bookworm to begin with and being able to handle large consumptions of alcohol was my only claim to fame), I had never felt more relieved. If you were strongly considering admitting yourself back into the mental institution because you thought you were crazy, you would be relieved too!
I couldn’t stop smiling as I breathed in joy.
The non-existence of Eclipse made me a very happy and sane girl.
With conviction that I was indeed not crazy (just a slightly disturbed and horny drunk with a wild imagination), I immaturely pumped my fists into the air with victory.
I couldn’t be more excited to begin my wonderfully sane, casual, and ordinary day.
If only I knew . . .
●●●
Sanctuary Shelter.
It was originally an inheritance estate bestowed to a pastor’s wife after the death of her wealthy parents. The estate was reconstructed and turned into a shelter in hopes of providing aid, moral support, and a sense of familial support for those in need. Located about an hour and a half out of the city, the shelter was a three-story estate that had ten bedrooms, two living rooms, and several large recreational areas.
The one thing Sanctuary focused on? Helping women who were victims of domestic violence. Sanctuary provided educational classes that gave the residents crucial job hunting skills and provided motivational seminars and support groups to help these women get back on their feet. It was a shelter that did wonderful things, and it was a shelter that I volunteered my time at every Sunday.
My primary duty? Help babysit and keep the young children entertained while their mothers were in various workshops throughout the day. In essence, it was the one period out of the week where I abandoned my typical routine as a college student and surrounded myself with the type of people I wanted to be with—the ones who could help get my week started on a positive note.
“Grace! Hi Grace!” A small and very cheery voice greeted me from the estate once I stepped out of the cab.
Struggling to carry several big shopping bags in each of my hands, I told the cab driver that I would be right back and closed the door with a little push of my hip. A smile bloomed across my lips when I turned towards the direction of the cheery voice.
I happily waved at seven-year-old Sony Lee, who had just leapt off the porch of the estate and was running towards me at full speed.
The morning sun was gone, completely lost behind the vast sea of gray clouds that had penetrated the sky with its murkiness. The sun was gone, but Sony more than made up for its absence with his bright yellow shirt and spiffy little khaki pants. The jubilant child illuminated under the
Could it be?
“Oh my flying pigs,” I finally breathed out, placing a hand over my trembling and now relieved heart. I stared up at the ceiling with gratefulness washing over me. “Oh, thank you. It was all just a dream. Thank you, thank you so much.”
I raked my fingers through the curls of my long black hair. Quiet laughter poured out of me. The craziness of my own imagination floored me. This was the last time I was going to drink so much . I had always assumed that I could handle my liquor, but it was all too obvious that I had finally met my limitation concerning the “holy potion.”
Surely, hallucinating and envisioning a gorgeous guy claiming to be a Demon (and a Demon of Lust of all things!) constitutes me as not being able to handle my alcohol. Despite the fact that this brought me down a notch in the “coolness” ladder (as I was a bookworm to begin with and being able to handle large consumptions of alcohol was my only claim to fame), I had never felt more relieved. If you were strongly considering admitting yourself back into the mental institution because you thought you were crazy, you would be relieved too!
I couldn’t stop smiling as I breathed in joy.
The non-existence of Eclipse made me a very happy and sane girl.
With conviction that I was indeed not crazy (just a slightly disturbed and horny drunk with a wild imagination), I immaturely pumped my fists into the air with victory.
I couldn’t be more excited to begin my wonderfully sane, casual, and ordinary day.
If only I knew . . .
●●●
Sanctuary Shelter.
It was originally an inheritance estate bestowed to a pastor’s wife after the death of her wealthy parents. The estate was reconstructed and turned into a shelter in hopes of providing aid, moral support, and a sense of familial support for those in need. Located about an hour and a half out of the city, the shelter was a three-story estate that had ten bedrooms, two living rooms, and several large recreational areas.
The one thing Sanctuary focused on? Helping women who were victims of domestic violence. Sanctuary provided educational classes that gave the residents crucial job hunting skills and provided motivational seminars and support groups to help these women get back on their feet. It was a shelter that did wonderful things, and it was a shelter that I volunteered my time at every Sunday.
My primary duty? Help babysit and keep the young children entertained while their mothers were in various workshops throughout the day. In essence, it was the one period out of the week where I abandoned my typical routine as a college student and surrounded myself with the type of people I wanted to be with—the ones who could help get my week started on a positive note.
“Grace! Hi Grace!” A small and very cheery voice greeted me from the estate once I stepped out of the cab.
Struggling to carry several big shopping bags in each of my hands, I told the cab driver that I would be right back and closed the door with a little push of my hip. A smile bloomed across my lips when I turned towards the direction of the cheery voice.
I happily waved at seven-year-old Sony Lee, who had just leapt off the porch of the estate and was running towards me at full speed.
The morning sun was gone, completely lost behind the vast sea of gray clouds that had penetrated the sky with its murkiness. The sun was gone, but Sony more than made up for its absence with his bright yellow shirt and spiffy little khaki pants. The jubilant child illuminated under the
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