The Suicide Merchant

At last, they stopped right in front of her. She opened her eyes, expecting to see an expression of curiosity, but there wasn't a hint of such a thing. What she did detect was a purpose. As she sat submerged in her own reverie, she could feel his arms string over her shoulders, wrap gently around her neck, and have his tiny body pressed against her.     Suddenly, a firm squeeze crushed the shell that held all her pain and allowed years of torment to unfurl. The cold, lonely sadness she had endured for so many years felt as if it were melting under the embrace of this little boy. It was all vanishing, slipping away like dry leaves in an autumn wind. Relief was pouring over her. In the gentle care of that child, the whole direction of her heart was shattering.                   At that moment, Veronica's head flipped back. Her mouth broke wide open to the sky. Her eyes were filmed over as white as the clouds. Her body shook, and her insides warmed with the tingles of several small bursts of electricity. It ran up from her toes, over her body, and out her fingertips. The child grasped her tighter as if he held on for dear life. Pictures began to flood into her head, ideas, and visions birthing, too numerous to keep the old ones alive. The familiar feelings of pain, anger, loneliness, and regret had no longer existed. There was no hopelessness. If anything, she felt reborn.