I’ve told you a few times that stories aren’t my forte. But every now and then something worth the while is produced. And I really mean every now and then, then being possibly years in the future. Here’s the last story I wrote….in 2010. This piece was written for a competition and won 2nd place. The prompt, “Wake, let us rise, and shine” was a line from King Short Shirt’s calypso.
Amazingly enough this piece wasn’t a piece that I put together with hard work and determination. Rather it came to me late one night as my head hit the pillow. The story was so strong in me that I had to get up and write the story. I went over it of course, but oddly it didn’t need any major re-working.
I could probably write more of these with faith and writing when such ideas come about but I go to sleep too late to stay up after putting my head on the pillow and allowing sleep to seep into the main section of my mind. Imagine being awake for at least nineteen hours and then having a story idea come to you after falling into bed and finally getting my mind to come to a state of calm.
Let Us Rise
“You woke me yesterday telling me you’re leaving. But I can’t help with your fears. I can’t dry your tears, so tell mom and dad of the monsters in your bed, the nightmares in your head. Let them be your beacon.”
“Sister, I woke you yesterday, so that you’d run with me. I need to protect you from what I’ve seen.”
“Protect me? I thought it was a dream broken by the sunlight. But I’m wrong.”
“This nightmare lives in the day and dies every night only to regain strength daily and exceed yesterday’s.”
“So what shall we do? We are too little to move alone.”
“Momma’s trapped in this too. We have to go without her.”
“What about Daddy?”
“…he will not understand.”
“Sarah. I do not understand.”
“I cannot tell you here for fear that the walls will repeat it, that the halls will vibrate it.”
“Tell me quickly on this paper.”
“I cannot write it there where it may bleed onto the sheets.”
“Then write it on my skin.”
“I cannot write it into your being for fear that your heart will scream the truth or that you’ll live the tortured hell I’ve been through.”
“Sarah, tell me. Sarah, tell me. Ring the truth in me. So that I can rise and walk with you.”
“This might be me walking away alone from this friendship but I will not leave you behind to suffer another’s pain.”
We grew and we stayed there. I became as my sister, without voice. In the silence of torture we lived.
I learned that my mother wasn’t crazy just afraid, to lose us as she lost her mother. So we lived this hell in peace, without interruption because all they saw was reflection of perfection.
My sister died a gruesome death. They all said she fell.
I wonder how they truly explained her battered insides, the marks around her arms and neck.
I love her dearly. I remember her clearly and the words which she said a year and a day today were mom’s exactly.
“Wake. Let us rise…before it shines.”
Was it worth your read? This piece is one I like quite a lot but it’s one that receives mixed results from readers. What’s your say?