The Sight

It was the seventh time that morning that he studied his face in the mirror. Neither this time could he find any traces of what he thought he had caught a glimpse of when his drowsy face had been reflected in the bathroom mirror just after he had left the warm quilt. Yes, he had taken a drink or two too many last evening. This had become a bad habit, he knew that much. But, after his wife had left with their two kids he had turned to alcohol for solace. Last evening had not been an exception.

There had been many a night where the excruciating pain had rendered him in a fetal position. The stupor helped him to forget. He still managed to carry out his work in a reasonably satisfactory way. The job which he had loved and which he had given himself to was now nothing more than a mean to pay his bills. The long hours had slowly but surely ruined his marriage.

He had been more curious than scared this morning. Now, however, he considered the whole experience as nothing more than an impression constructed by a brain affected by a bad hangover. All the same, he couldn’t quite let it slip. He had had mornings like this before where his head had been numb from a night’s alcohol intoxicated sleep, and when he woke nothing in particular had occurred. The more he pondered it the more difficult it became to pinpoint exactly what he had seen, or where he had seen it.

He went to work after two mugs of coffee. His breath was probably a lethal weapon, but he didn’t care. He would be working alone in his office until lunch when he would grab a sandwich at the café around the corner. From then on there would be several dull and tedious meetings in which he was obliged to attend. What he found peculiar during the day was how differently people now responded to him, more friendly in a way. As far as he could see he acted as usual. He was the customary uninspired self.

At home he microwaved his dinner and placed himself in front of the television. He had found a station that was broadcasting something which they called the grace gospel. He had never been a religious man, but the way those people presented the gospel had caught his attention. Last evening they had spoken about accepting Christ, and he had followed along as they had prayed something they called the salvation prayer. He hadn’t felt any different afterwards, and had thus renounced everything as a moment of foolishness. This evening the headline was Christ living in you. He watched a couple of minutes before he switched to a sports channel. He felt as though they had let him down.

The evening passed as usual until the urge for a glass of something became too strong. He went to the bathroom to empty his system before he would fill it up again with liquids that would render him unconscious of this world’s hardships. He cast a casual glance in the mirror as he went past, and then he saw it again. It was in his eyes. It was as somebody was inside him peeking through his pupils. Then it struck him. Well, to be more precise; it was more like a revelation. In his eyes he saw Christ. The one he had invited inside the previous day had now found a dwelling place within him, and he knew somehow that from now on everything would change.

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5 Responses to The Sight

  1. Megan says:

    This was beautiful Ole.

  2. Thanks!! I am curious, is this your imagination~ the story I mean? Or is this someone you know from experience??

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