The Place I Most Want To Go


Before you read this short story, allow me to offer a brief intro to my reasons for writing it.

I belong to a small writer’s group here in Oregon. Each month, we have a short story contest with a different topic. The contest is meant to encourage concise writing, so the stories are 300 words or less. October 2012’s topic was “The Place I Most Want to Go”.

I unexpectedly lost my only son just over two years ago. I know that other parents who have had their children die will fully understand why I most want to visit this place. Perhaps all who have lost someone close to them feel the same way.

In love and peace,


The Place I Most Want To Go

The place I most want to go is not on any map. Based on hope and historic teachings that such a place really does exist, it is embedded in belief and controversy.

There, I could fly to a majestic mountaintop. Looking in every direction, I would survey the most perfect landscapes in all of eternity. The colors are vivid and bright, such that no human eye has seen. In a moment, I could whisk myself across the lands to a new beautiful place where the oceans roar and warm beaches spill across the land, all the way to forever. Blue streams of gentle moving water serve as the home for my worries. One by one they would wash away, never to be seen again.

That place is abundant in love and peace. There are no wars, and no children are being harmed there. Upon their arrival, each soul is returned to perfect health and happiness.

I will find him waiting there for me. He is waiting for our family too. We will sit at a table and eat, talk and play the games that remind us of traditions we maintained across time.

That place is far from here. There is no road I can take. No plane leaving the airport can return me to my home afterward. The tickets are one-way only, so I cannot go.

Someday I will find my way to that place. On that day, there will be tears from those I leave behind. But there will be smiles waiting for me on the other side from a 6’6, red-headed angel. He will welcome me home.

Copyright 2012, Jana Brock. All rights reserved. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

About Jana Brock

We don't see things as they are. We see things as we are.
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