Master Potter

by Jill Austin

  His penetrating gaze returns to the hearth, and flames explode in fiery tongues of orange and yellow at the glory emanating from His eyes. The blazing fire and wind envelop and transport Him heavenward toward holy communion.

  Fiery passion from the Father’s heart sweeps over Him as they run to embrace each other, completing the divine mystery of the Trinity. Softly at first, and then with gentle crescendo, a celestial symphony fills the heavens with rare and unearthly fragrances, touching time and eternity.

  CHAPTER THREE

  FORSAKEN

  Fleeing down the cobblestone alley behind the old tavern to the outskirts of Comfort Cove, Forsaken stumbles into the dreaded Potter’s Field. Moonlight illuminates the broken vessels and garbage heaped on this huge city of worthless refuse. Bloodied and bruised after another vicious beating, she is barely escaping with her life.

  Years of trying to fill the empty void inside her soul had led to a downward spiral of alcohol, men, self-loathing and bitterness. Penniless and out of choices, she moved into a shabby room above the fisherman’s tavern with a local brawler named Antagonist.

  Once the thought of such an individual would have sickened her, but years of compromise made sleeping with even the vilest of men acceptable.

  It wasn’t long before she became the target of his rage. During one of his many violent attacks he cracked her sides, leaving gaping wounds in her fragile, clay vessel.

  I’ve got to hide. If Antagonist finds me he’ll kill me! Gasping for breath and exhausted from running, Forsaken collapses to the ground, convulsing in loud, broken sobs. Wet ocean fog rolls in, slowly turning the Potter’s Field into an eerie, otherworldly landscape. The anguished cries of other broken vessels echo sharply across the lonely field.

  A terrifying demonic horde creeps out of the dark shadows and through piles of garbage, further wounding the already shattered vessels. Hiding in an open trench, Forsaken grabs her head, trying to escape the recent memory of Antagonist’s destructive words and the heavy blows.

  Forsaken had regained consciousness and was surprised to find Antagonist passed out on the floor. Reeling from the beating and her own alcoholic stupor, she stumbled down the stairs and out into the night. With no other place to go, her terror drove her down the alley and finally into this field of torment. Abandonment and hopelessness fell over her like a heavy blanket.

  THE GUARDIAN ANGEL

  Standing close by, a huge figure sadly watches Forsaken; she is crusted in mud, lying among the pottery shards and broken pieces of glass. He longs to help but cannot, at least not yet. The imposing angelic being, Valiant, has looked after her since birth. Somber and still, his features express the years of disappointment and concern over the many tragic choices she has made—choices that have culminated in the scene that now lies at his feet. Once hopeful for her future, he wonders if she will ever turn to Master Potter and be saved.

  Meanwhile, Forsaken’s heart pounds wildly. This is worse than I ever imagined! Not only do I have to hide from Antagonist, but what if the legends are true? Since childhood I’ve heard that Master Potter stalks the Potter’s Field at night and lures broken vessels to His home, only to hurl them into the Mountain of Fire. Once you enter this field they say you’re never heard from again. What if it’s true?

  Drained and exhausted, her body throbbing with pain, she falls into a fitful sleep. Demons dance in and out of her nightmares as she floats off in her alcoholic-induced stupor. Moaning aloud, Forsaken struggles in her sleep as nightmarish visions haunt her with images—her abusive father screaming into her young face, threatening to abandon her in the Potter’s Field.

  Near dawn, Forsaken stirs awake. Drenched in sweat, her dress clings to her broken and aching body. The rising sun begins to burn off the fog and beats down on the mounds of rotting garbage inhabited by swarming flies. Her mind reels with the reality of actually sitting in this appalling field.

  Streams of vapor rise from the refuse, creating a nauseating stench. She sees vultures circling, waiting for the last breath to escape from abandoned and dying vessels just like her. With trembling hands, she pushes herself up, determined to begin searching for a hiding place.

  From a standing position, Forsaken is now able to see the vastness of this city of refuse. Jagged mountains of trash, garbage and broken vessels are strewn as far as her eyes can see in every direction. Those vessels that survived the night begin to emerge from their hiding places, driving away the packs of stray dogs and rats who challenge them for scraps of rotted food.

  Looking closely at the different vessels she thinks, I’m just like those other broken pots that have been discarded and thrown away. My whole life is ruined. Look at me! I used to be so beautiful and now I’ve lost everything. This is what my father always said I deserved. I guess he was right! I’m going to die in the Potter’s Field.

  CLOTHED WITH COMPROMISE

  Hours drag on, and Forsaken eventually finds a discarded barrel and climbs in. Peering through the cracks, she sees hundreds of other shattered vessels carelessly discarded across the field. As her mind screams with tormenting thoughts about her many bad decisions, she tries to push back the guilt and shame by blame shifting and rationalizing them away. I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for Antagonist! Why couldn’t he treat me right? He’s just like all the rest.

  Trembling with fear, Forsaken feels the haze of her alcoholic stupor clearing. She crouches lower in the barrel, covering her ears in a futile attempt to block out the ceaseless, terrifying cries of tormented souls struggling to escape their misery. In the place of broken and forgotten dreams and dashed hopes, dark clouds of depression and the heaviness of despair descend upon everything in sight, covering the Potter’s Field in a death-like shroud. Spiritual darkness excites even more demonic activity, and depression consumes the field.

  WARRING OVER LOST SOULS

  The mighty angelic being adjusts his sword as he scans the dreary scene. His orders are clear: he is not to interfere unless Forsaken’s life is threatened. So he stands interceding, waiting to see what the end of the little damaged pitcher will be.

  In this chaotic environment, an insidious war over lost souls continually rages. Spirits of rebellion and jealousy breed division in an attempt to annihilate fragile relationships. The purpose: isolate the vessels and make them easy targets. Already strained ties between family and friends are severed and destroyed by the sinister minions, as relationships yield to the destructive grip of demonic bondage.

  HOW DID I GET HERE?

  As night approaches, Forsaken crawls out of the stifling barrel and bitterly mutters to herself, “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way! Just a few years ago I had everything. How did my life go so wrong?”

  Her thin, mud-splattered dress no longer conceals her bruises. Blood from the cuts on her forehead and arms has stained her tattered outfit. I used to be so attractive before I ended up on the docks. I always had a voice like a nightingale, and when I sang for the dinner parties at Madam’s inn, just the rustle of my beautiful gown turned every man’s head. Look at me now! Forsaken sobs bitterly as she touches her tender cuts and bruises. I’m such a mess! No one would ever want me.

  The intense fear of again being found by Antagonist drives her to look for a better place to hide. She slowly picks her way through the field, trying hard not to let panic overwhelm her. Once before she had tried to escape his controlling clutches, and he threatened to hunt her down and kill her if she ever left again.

  She sees movement ahead, hope is rekindled and she limps quickly toward another broken vessel. Drawing near, she hoarsely whispers, “Can you help me? I’m lost and thirsty. I just need a safe place to stay for a few days and then I’ll be traveling on. You see—I don’t really belong here.”

  DEPRESSION’S DESTINY

  The pudgy little mug laughs with contempt, “Oh, you belong here all right. I know all about you. When I worked for the village I occasionally enjoyed dinner with the mayor. That’s when I heard
you sing at Madam False Destiny’s Inn.” Sticking a fleshy finger in her face, he continues, “Everyone knew you were a cheap little gold digger—so don’t tell me you don’t belong here!”

  Stung by the harsh words, Forsaken retorts with anger, “Who are you to judge me? I wasn’t after Madam’s money. Besides, I don’t have to answer to you.”

  “Of course no one blames you, coming from the docks and all. I heard that after you got kicked out of Madam’s inn you became a drunk just like your old man.”

  Her shoulders drop and she hangs her head in shame, causing the gaps in her sides to widen and send jolts of new pain across her fragile vessel. Yes, she had come from the docks, but her natural beauty had opened doors for her. She once believed that she had a chance at being happy and cherished by someone special. Forsaken acknowledges to herself that she had become willing to do anything to escape from her alcoholic father.

  Still—it’s none of this dirty mug’s business. “You keep my dad out of it. I’ll never be like him! Besides, did you ever wake up wondering if there would be food on the table? Did you go to school every day with all the other kids laughing at your ragged clothing? You don’t know what it’s like to be poor! So who are you to judge me?”

  “Don’t snap at me!” steams the mug. “You think you’re the only one who had it rough? Just because I wasn’t poor doesn’t mean my life was easy. My folks gave me plenty of things, but they never loved me. I was the brunt of everyone’s jokes because I’m a squatty little mug. Why do you think they named me Friendless? You’re a low grade of clay, but at least you were once pretty and had friends.”

  Insulted, Forsaken spews out a stream of venom: “So, you think I’m ‘low grade,’ do you? I see you’re in the Potter’s Field, too. Why don’t you just get out of here? I’m sorry I asked you for anything! Just go away and leave me alone.”

  Friendless grudgingly kicks another broken vessel before shuffling away. Lifelong companions, demons of self-pity taunt him: “No one cares about an ugly, squatty mug like you, and no one ever will. You might as well be dead. No one would even know you’re gone.”

  Forsaken watches him disappear over a mound of garbage. “Good riddance to bad rubbish!” she angrily yells in his direction. Then she realizes she’s alone once more. Immediately, she wishes she had been nicer; after all, he was a man and maybe he could have protected her.

  FINDING ONLY FEAR

  The rising moon reflects the silhouettes of large, repulsive rats scurrying to gnash at the other devastated lives around her. Delighting in their cruel assignments, vile spirits embed their poisonous talons into the hearts and minds of their helpless victims.

  If only I had a drink to calm my nerves and take away the fear. Forsaken digs furiously through the rubbish looking for a discarded bottle with even a few drops of liquor left inside. Frustrated, she throws an empty one over her shoulder and hears a cry, “Hey, lady, watch what you’re doing! That hurts!”

  Spinning around, Forsaken is startled to see a chipped, stoneware sugar bowl. She recognizes her as the dealer from the private gambling club at Madam’s. The dealer had seldom spoken to Forsaken there, except to snap off a mocking, “Yes, Madam,” through clenched yellow teeth that invariably held a dangling, somewhat mauled cigarette. Turncoat’s movements were always brisk, and her skills with a deck of cards made lots of money for Madam. Her chainsmoking created a brownish-yellow hazy cloud of smoke and putrid odor that clung to each of the high-rolling gamblers.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I hardly recognize you now. The last time I saw you, you were dealing for Madam.”

  The dull little sugar bowl stops and studies Forsaken’s face. Placing her hands on her wide hips, she rasps, “Well, well. If it isn’t Forsaken, the little princess herself! You’re not so glamorous anymore, are you?”

  “Turncoat, please. I’m new here, and I need help. Someplace to stay for the night at least. You know I don’t belong here.”

  “Listen here, girlie, I might have been a low-ranking employee at Madam’s, but we’re equal here. You’re on your own. I can’t help you.”

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this. I thought we were friends.”

  “I was never your friend. You didn’t have time for me; you preferred the important people on your haughty climb up the social ladder. But now we see the truth of the matter. No, Forsaken, you’re in the right place. You belong in this garbage dump just like the rest of us.” Turncoat’s lip snarls up just enough to expose her yellow, tobacco-stained teeth.

  The demonically fueled words pierce Forsaken’s freshly wounded heart, releasing a horde of vile, slimy demons to assault her. Spirits of self-hatred attach themselves to her, driving their sharp talons deep into the tender flesh of her heart and mind. She stumbles further into the Potter’s Field. Humiliation and guilt hover over her, battering her with painful memories. Forsaken drops her head into her hands despondently as she succumbs to their vile demonic games. Meanwhile, her addiction is screaming inside of her, driving her in a frantic search for relief.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE LOOKING GLASS

  Frightened at the prospect of spending the night in the open field, Forsaken finds a discarded wagon wheel and slumps down next to it, vowing to stay awake. But in seconds she falls into an agitated sleep.

  The great angel, Valiant, her unseen guardian, moves silently through the night, stopping by her side. He tenderly smoothes her wet, matted hair and imparts strength to her fragile frame. Undetected, he recedes back into the shadows, casting a gentle, amber glow into the darkness. He is ever aware of his orders concerning her and prays again to the Father on her behalf.

  Moaning in her sleep, Forsaken jerks suddenly and awakens. She pulls herself up with her hands and braces her back uncomfortably against the wheel. Running her swollen tongue over her teeth, she is aware that her bruised, foul-tasting mouth burns with yesterday’s bitter whiskey, cigarettes, vomit and dried blood.

  Picking up the handle of an old, shattered hand mirror lying beside her, she stares at herself in the remaining fragments. Tears well in the corners of her eyes and stream down her cheeks as she studies her distorted and cracked reflection illuminated in the dim moonlight.

  She barely recognizes the woman looking back at her. Brown hair that once looked like soft silk is wildly matted with thick mud and dried blood. Dark, beautiful brown eyes that had once caught the attention of every man in her path now burn with the red soreness of alcoholism, sleeplessness and endless, convulsive crying. Worst of all is the dull deadness that stares back at her from eyes that once sparkled with bright hope. Her empty heart burns with fear, disgust and screaming need. She runs her dirty hand over her once soft and beautiful face, now deeply lined. Each line carries an ugly memory of the hardness of abuse and age. Her youth is squandered—forever lost.

  “I vowed as a little girl that I’d never be like Dad. How did I turn out like this? I just wanted to fit in with the crowd at Madam’s. I never knew that first little drink would lead me here.”

  A LOOK INTO THE PAST

  Her eyes are drawn back to the mirror. Dim figures emerge and scenes from her life appear like a haunting stage drama. The luxurious dining room of Madam’s inn comes into focus along with the clinking of fine china and crystal goblets. Soft conversation and laughter fill the elegant candlelit room.

  Forsaken is wearing a beautiful, rose-colored gown of the finest European silk, trimmed with ivory lace. The plunging neckline and skin-tight fit show off her hourglass figure. Her long skirt sways gracefully with each elegant step as she walks toward a grand piano to make her singing debut. Trembling with nervous energy, she scans the many faces in the dining room until she finds Madam’s reassuring nod.

  Violins and cellos join with the piano as her lovely alto voice stirs romance in the softly lit room. She is exhilarated by the cheering crowd’s standing ovation. Sweet acceptance washes like waves over her lonely soul. As she looks into the exuberant cro
wd, she vows that she will do whatever it takes to keep this wonderful feeling alive. She curtseys, throws a kiss to the crowd and leaves the stage. This is what I’ve been searching for my whole life!

  A wealthy gentleman presents her with a single red rose. Putting his arm possessively around her tiny waist, the handsome escort takes her to his private dining table. Pulling her chair out, he kisses the back of her neck, sending a rush of adrenaline through her quivering heart.

  Champagne bubbles into crystal goblets, as the room toasts her successful debut. Still lost in the sweet memory of that night so long ago, Forsaken continues staring into the mirror shards and sees spirits appear around their table—spirits she never knew were there. She watches in spellbound horror as a black spirit of alcohol addiction buries his jagged talons deep into her tender heart.

  The scene fades into a smoky haze, and Forsaken snaps back into her wretched reality. She wipes the tears from her red, swollen eyes. That’s where it all started. He was the first of many men who said they loved me, only to throw me away when someone else sparked their interest. All I could do was drink the pain away.

  Years of memories rush into her brain like a flood of pain that Forsaken is no longer able to drown with alcohol. She begins to see the harsh reality. Even those she had previously thought of no consequence have now rejected her. She finds herself swirling though a dark abyss of hopelessness and black despair.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  FROM RICHES TO RAGS

  Shifting her weight to ease the pain in her side, Forsaken feels a hard object under her hand, half buried in the rubbish. Digging it out, she uncovers an old pocket watch with a shattered crystal. The one remaining hand points ominously to midnight. Painful memories of another gold watch flood her mind. It was the night Mayor Lecherous approached her.