From far away, she heard the mournful appeal of the conch
shell calling her to join the battle. She
knew she had to answer. She knew she had
to leave her predictable life, her safe life, and be part of this fight. She had no choice. It was fight and die. Or die anyway.
But when she tried to step forward she found herself bound
to the wall by a thick sheet of plastic that covered her naked body. The more she struggled, the tighter it held
her. She felt helpless.
The call of the conch shell, closer now, filled her with
dread. The battle was getting closer,
inching toward her. She could hear the
cries of the dying now. There was no
mistaking the fear in the voices that speared her heart, no different than the
sharp blade that would surely reach her soon enough.
“I’m coming,” she shouted over the growing din and pushed
harder against the restrictive plastic. It
did not give.
Desperate to save everyone, she started tearing at the sheet
with her finger nails. Every tiny tear
she managed to make, instantly healed itself. She tried to pull the pins out of the
wall. They held fast.
This makes no sense, she thought. It’s just plastic. I’m stronger than plastic.
The fighting grew increasing louder and closer. Panic started to eat away at her mind. She could hear herself screaming in
frustration and fear. Any minute now,
the enemy would find her. And kill her.
She had to get free.
She had to. But how? If only the sheet was paper instead of
plastic… If only she had the conch shell.
She could call upon Peace. She
could save the world.
With a fierce heave, she threw her weight into the binding
sheet. Unexpectedly, it started to give. A small tear opened up just above her
breasts. She pushed again, harder. The binding tore a little more.
If only it was paper…
She realized that the plastic was changing. It was transforming a little more every time
she thought about it being paper.
“It’s only paper,” she said out loud. “It’s only paper.”
And with a final thrust the sheet tore away and she was
free.
The conch, she thought.
“The conch,” she said. “I have
the conch.
Like magic, it appeared in her hands. She lifted it to her lips and blew into
it. A long, doleful resonance filled the
air. She blew again. And again.
And again.
“Peace,” she called. “I
call down Peace!”
After a while, she grew tired and with tears in her eyes she
let the conch shell fall to the floor. It
shattered on impact into a million glistening shards that flew up, forming a
cyclone. The spinning shards, like
miniature razors, soared up and outside into the midst of the battle.
The enemy grew fearful and began to fall back. A few who thought they could stop it, ran
toward it only to be cut mercilessly down.
She stepped outside, too, and looked out over the battle
field. The destruction was
horrific. The people were nearly
defeated, but the enemy was retreating. The
cyclone of conch shell shards continued to spin wildly, forcing the enemy back
ever farther until, at last, there was silence.
The silence turned to darkness. The darkness turned slowly to light.
And as the light grew stronger, so too did the people
heal.
And she woke up knowing that transformation comes from
within. There is nothing that she cannot
overcome.
You get this week's Wildly Creative Award - congratulations!
ReplyDeleteThe call of the conch...powerful...
ReplyDeleteThis is epic ..........
ReplyDeleteThank you for a masterpiece of creative power, moving us through vivid points gracefully!
ReplyDeleteWeapons real and perceived...I feel I've entered into your dream and love losing myself there.."turned slowly to the light"..and a cathartic awakening!!
ReplyDelete