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God created her. He was hers, she was his. As he breathed life into her soul, churning the dust on the earths’ surface he whispered, “You are ‘mine’ ”
On the first day, she awoke she reached for the edge of the ground, careful not to break the barrier. Walking forward, her weak feet easily adapted to the grass and she headed away from the light. Further and further she noticed the grass turn a deeper shade of brown. There lied an olive tree, and because of her exhaustion she hid under it from the exposure. She let herself rest against it, taking a piece of a branch that had fallen off and put it close to her lips. She smiled, the olive tree collapsed. She chocked away the urge to cry, the tree suffocating the blood circulation in her legs. Pushing the trunk away, she stood on her two feet and walked away.
The second day, she stumbled upon a broken down house next to a well. It had been days since she had last drank. Thirsty, she reached out to the rope, pulling the bucket that now seemed as if it weighed 100 lbs. With persistence, she fiercely pulled up the bucket knocking into the sharp point from the rusted well. The rusted nail had pierced a long fine line along the right of her arm. She did not cry. She did not become frustrated. She whispered, “Why?” She walked slowly to the front of the ancient house, resting her head on the doorpost. Reaching for her arm, she placed her arm on her wound gathering the traces of blood flowing from her arm. She had an impulse. She withdrew the blood running down, and drew a cross on the doorpost.
The third day, bruised and weak she knew she had a long journey to go so she continued to walk. There, a familiar presence. She felt it like no other and knew exactly what it was. There was no other thought, so she ran.
Ran.
Ran.
At the end of the road there was a cave. She stopped noticing the voice had left. But there was something different. It was no longer there. AT ALL. She broke down onto the ground sobbing and crying out. Cursing, pounding her sore hands onto the ground into a rage. Until after a few moments she stopped.
It was back, one second of peace she would never again feel until the end of her life.
HE whispered “Open your eyes”
She did.
- by whatafxckingnerd |
- Fiction
- | Submitted on 03/06/2010 |
- Skip
- Title: "Mine"
- Artist: whatafxckingnerd
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Description:
A religious interpretive story C:
I wrote it when I was feeling rather depressed. But I hope it's enjoyable!
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DON'T TELL ME IT MAKES NO SENSE.
It's FIGURATIVE && INTERPRETATIVE language!
sank yew honies (: - Date: 03/06/2010
- Tags: mine sinners religion interpretive figurative
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Comments (4 Comments)
- Shades of Greed - 01/08/2013
- It was good at the start but it starts to get blurry at the end.
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- LunaAkitylasaraleen - 10/02/2011
- I like that the reader can feel the significance this piece held for the author, even if it wasn't intended for us. That's a very nice touch.
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- colorshitsuji - 03/22/2010
- I'm not a religious person at all, but that was wonderful reading. 5/5
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- thegozi498 - 03/12/2010
- not bad i like it but it doesnt say anythingg about a voice before...
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