Friday, May 11, 2012


If I had to pick one word to describe Peter it would be dedicated.  He was dedicated first to his family, next to his God, and thirdly to his work.  Peter was a cabinet maker by trade.  He prefered when things where transparent so he loved using laquers and stains over paints.  Cabinet making was a family tradition.  He hoped his daughter Mary would take on his trade as he had no sons to pass it on to.  Mary was more interested in writing.  You rarely saw her without her dark red notebook.  She loved to copy down other people's poems as it inspired her to write her own.  Peter was reluctent to admit it but he knew she was quite the gifted writer.

It was a long day at work and Peter grabbed an iced cold beer from the fridge and sat on the couch to watch the news.  Just as he sat on the sofa and clicked the remote, the door flew open.  Mary was home with her notebook under her arm as ususal.  Peter turned to greet her and realized she had been crying.  "What's wrong baby?" Peter asked.  "I feel really sad and I don't know why", Mary said.  Her arms shook as she raised the notebook and passed it to Peter.  He smiled at her as he opened it to the bookmark.  "There is a list of names and dates", Peter smiled.  "These are special dates in their lives", Mary paused, "but I don't think they are good dates."  Peter's smile faded as the sadness crept into him as well.  "We must go see Priest Paul.  I will take you in the morning", Peter said.  Mary felt exhausted so she gave Peter a hug and went off to bed.  Peter continued to lie on the couch watching the news.  Out of the corner of his eye he kept seeing the red book.  It was like it was pulling him to it.  He picked up the book and started counting the names.  As he counted the last name, he heard it repeated: 144,000.  He clicked off the remote and all was silent.  Peter laid his head back and fell asleep.

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