Beyond A Beautiful Thing, is a contemporary women’s metaphysical & visionary fiction novel.

  Desperation and sadness made her lips quiver, as her cheeks scrunched up into her brown eyes.  Serena was in the midst of her repeated daily rant, sat on the cold black and white tiled floor of her kitchen, directed angrily towards the one who never responds.

     “God, I can’t take this anymore, why won’t you intervene?  I don’t know how much longer I can keep on going, because all I feel is sadness and loss.  Why can’t I be happy, what about me?  Yes me,” she screamed.  Her temperature rose, boiling with resentment at his unfair lottery based on worthiness, answering the prayers of those who already had much to be thankful for.

     “What do I need to do before you make yourself known?  Come on, just bloody do it, strike me down or…,” she stopped as she placed her hands into a praying position, clasped like a Buddha, “give me enlightenment that all those spiritual people speak of.  Do something for God sake,” she said, mocking him as she held her posture.

     “Anything at all, that takes this pain away.  You are the only one who knows my secret thoughts inside my head.  I don’t know what to do,” she cried, as her voice trailed away into a whisper.  Feeling as though she were drowning in her tears, it was difficult to swallow her manifestations of resentment for his lack of guidance or love.

     Her perceived prayers had begun at four thirty this morning, as she sat in the garden and spoke to him in the least antagonizing way she were capable.  She had asked for the usual forgiveness for her sins.  Then she politely demanded that he bring her a handsome husband who was rich, financial freedom thanks to her handsome rich husband, and a large farmhouse or cottage to house her new children, which were again gifted by her handsome, rich and now extremely fertile husband.

     Then when the sun then rose, so did her anger and as always she changed tactics, to instead chastise him for being useless.  Neither method of prayers warranted a response, although it did not prevent her from habitually entering the sweepstakes of prayer answering, on a daily basis.

     She released her hands and flung them into the air in defiance.  Her voice now returned with anger, and her tears refused to fall to her cheeks in protest.  She pushed through the waterfall of her emotion, to float up above the waters of despair, sailing now towards hatred and arrogance.

     It was her hope that if she provoked him enough through dissatisfaction at her blasphemy, that he would eventually respond.  She said, “What kind of a God lets people suffer?  How are you the almighty and all-knowing; you don’t even know what my purpose is?”

     Her conflicted mind was more active than it had ever been, and it was a secret depression that none of her friends knew of.  They just thought she was pitiful for never having found love, and they commiserated her as she did herself.  They certainly did not see of any cause for concern, as they did not understand the cause.  They saw only its effects, which she manipulated them into believing was as a result of searching for happiness, by way of a man.

     They grew tired of her single women tales of adventure, and of how the next man was the one to save her, with his fairy tale charm, and a wealthy kingdom to match his superiority.  Behind her back she was mocked for being unlovable and out of touch with the reality of love.  Therefore they never dug too deeply into her single mind, because it was a monotonous storybook of unhappiness, without a successful conclusion.  They were happy to entertain only short chapters from the book of her love life, while they continued to embrace long term husbands and cherished kids.

     Nevertheless Serena was pleased at her friend’s lack of interest at her unhappiness, as it ensured she kept her truthful truths hidden from the world.  Which was why she could not relate to stories of relatives, thinking their loved ones suicide was inevitable.  For not one soul knew of her secret dark thoughts, through fear of being saved.  She could not risk telling someone, in case the option would no longer be available, and she did not want to see sense.  Instead the only observer to her meltdown would be him, the one who never responds, because he is too busy listening to everyone else’s prayers, to answer hers.

     Having calmed down she stood up and glanced in the direction of the paracetamol, waiting patiently in her medicine cabinet.  It conveyed it were the only option that would silence the voice of doom for good, so that she may be free from a world in which her existence was meaningless.