MC's Whispers

Whispering Silences

Archive for the tag “survival”

Un-wilting

un-wilted rose

©MCD

The rose had entered her home on an anniversary. She was delighted because she didn’t expect he would remember, or more, that he would bring her something to celebrate. Instead, he surprised her with a beautiful crimson rose and a romantic dinner at a beachside restaurant.

Although every girl loves flowers, there is the downside that they don’t last too long. And unless you allow them to dry up so you can keep them a while longer to remind you of a lovely memory, most flowers simply wilt away after a few days. If you’re lucky, they may last a couple of weeks. But that’s pretty much it.

But this rose was different.

Five months later it was still there. Standing firm and tall in its square glass vase, not having dropped a single petal. The only thing that changed was that it’s colour had become darker.

She was amazed at how it persisted. And she boasted about it to her friends, secretly hinting that it was a sign of a strong and loving relationship.

He was happy to see her eyes glow every time she looked at the un-wilted rose. But he reassured her it did not mean that others wouldn’t follow. It was just that where they come with deep emotion, they survive for longer.

That’s usually the case with most things. When you take care of them they endure.

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Five minutes to survive

http://newoctobersky.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/breathe.jpgIt’s a wonderful feeling when you are finally able to loosen the chains that so tightly gripped your insides that you were unable to breathe. Robin knew it well. She was an observer. A person who would closely study human behaviour, the way people socialize among each others, their characteristics, their hand gestures, their unique movements. She was also the kind of person who gathered anger inside of her like a hay ball picks up speed. And it could easily become the cause of her consternation and, worse, suffocation.

All she needed was five minutes every few days.

It was a requisite that enabled her to lash out on everything and everyone that bothered her. To blatantly express whatever was on her mind, without prejudice, without fear of being criticized, and above all, without the constant need to restrain herself lest a “diplomatic incident” may emerge.

It was five minutes of pure and unabashed liberty.

They passed by quickly, almost with a single breath of air. It is surprising how much one person can maintain bottled up inside of them. Out of fear of what may happen if those thoughts became externalized. Out of concern that others won’t understand them. Out of simply the lack of the right person to listen.

But those five minutes were vital for Robin’s survival. It was the time when the toxin could be released, the noose could be relaxed, and oxygen could freely run back into her veins filling her heart with a deep relief.

It was the five minutes we all need to stay sane, to relax, to remind ourselves what truly matters. And to just let it all go. No matter how difficult it may be.

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: Survival

The Archer

https://lh5.ggpht.com/l9mykkNXAk5GQA2yRa3ml5CrenDBghDsjINP5cjEvy0WuPFIb4oJ7ZB1w9MLURSBp-hk=w300The bowstring tore his cheek as the arrow flung to hit the hanging branch. He was trying to outrun the voices behind him, and every few paces he would turn and try to find deterrents to block their way. It was already getting dark and it was easier now to get lost in the woods. That served to his advantage. No-one knew the forest as well as he did. It was his home.

They called him The Archer. All they really knew about him was that whatever he stole, he would replace with something else. So, for example, if he stole a loaf of bread the one day, the next he would repay with a couple of fresh apples. He didn’t want to be considered a thief after all. And he always signed his name with a capital “A”.

But no-one had ever seen him. Despite the fact that he moved among them daily.

His mother was an Amazon, tamed by a Lord. Their marriage was a demonstration of how powerful love could be. But also of how profound. For when she got sick, he drunk his fortune away, and with it his son’s future. The boy was soon orphaned and left to fight for his own survival. All he knew how to do was use a bow better than anyone. He was very young when he was forced to discover the world, and the people of the village looked upon him with a mix of pity and fear. They would give him chores and various errands to run if they had any, but the pay was minimum, if at all, and the boy could not survive on that alone.

No-one seemed to care how he managed or where he lived. That was private business, or what they described as “personal issues”.

So the boy often disappeared as quickly and as easily as he appeared.

But no-one ever associated him with The Archer. He had become a legend, a sort of myth that made the forest and the nearby village an attraction. He became the terrifying story parents threatened their children with to make them behave. He had become a ghost despite still being alive.

He carved his own bows and arrows, made his own home, and by now knew all the places food could be found in plenty. He lived poorly but managed to gain all the necessities life handed abundantly and was satisfied with how well he fared. What he hated was the look in the villagers’ eyes. As The Archer phantom, he saw fear, prejudice, and loathing. So many negative feelings for a being they hardly knew. And as the boy, their eyes reflected sorrow, shame and sometimes compassion. But that is not what he wanted. All he desired was some kindness, someone to invite him into their home and share a warm meal with him. The boy, just like The Archer, simply wanted to be accepted. But in his own eyes, that was the most difficult feat of all.

That darn Monday

i_hate_mondays_womens_dark_pajamasWhichever way you see it, Monday is the day the “work week” begins, the one that abruptly wakes you up from your Sunday slumber, the one that flinches on every fibre of your being drowning you into pessimism, depression and melancholy. It is usually on Mondays when your existential dilemma takes hold of you. When you decide to start a diet that usually only lasts until noon. That you realise that nothing truly ever is wonderful.

In many languages and traditions, Monday’s etymology means “day of the moon”. As if we needed yet another reason to go “luney”. Combine this with being a young woman, with trying to settle in and being hindered by all the constant moving around, and with it being “that time of the month” and there you have it. A hormonal, over-agitated, nervous wreck that can get ticked off with the slightest out-of-tune chirp.

It is difficult surviving Mondays. You know you have at least another four more days to go. Plus the looming threat that in just seven days you will have to go through it all yet again.

Heck, Garfield is a cat and he so ardently declares he hates Mondays. What should the rest of us say?

The tunnel

TunnelShe first saw him on a sunny day, in a field strewn with golden hay. He gazed into her eyes with a smile imprinted on his face. She blushed and smiled back, eyes sparkling like diamonds in the sun. He came closer and let his fingertips brush against her arm. She chuckled and lowered her gaze.

Ahead was a tunnel. It mystified and intrigued them at the same time. It was one none had traversed before and it conveyed a sense of foreboding inside them, of exploring the unknown. It made them feel excited, sending shivers down both their spines and rapidly increasing the beats of their hearts. Their hands locked and they entered. Together.

The tunnel was as mysterious and unnerving inside, as it appeared from the outside. It smelled of roses and lilies and offered them food and drink and luxuries to fill their heart’s desire. At first. For later, no-one was to expect what would ensue.

It was surprisingly brightly lit for a tunnel. They realized only too late that it was their own glow that provided the light.

When the first storm came they had nowhere to hide. The tunnel had only one exit and that lay straight ahead. There were no sidesteps, no alcoves, to shade them from the wrath of a suppressed storm. Yet they never let go of each other’s hand. Even if they held on by a finger, they still held on.

After the storm, peace and calm soon followed. And everything seemed to return to the bright, tranquil path in which they had commenced their journey.

“I thought we’d never come back from that one.” This was the first thought both had, grateful they still had each other.

But they soon grew tired. Of walking. Of waiting. Of expecting. It seemed that they were looking for a way out that never came. It was not yet even in sight. And the storm returned. Heavier and more forceful than the first. Everyone told them to be aware of storms and the lightening, but no-one ever warned them of the thunder that came along. For the bangs were deafening and shuddered the very center of their hearts.

They survived yet again, but it was not the same. Something had been broken inside and they could no longer enjoy the tranquilities after the rain, as they first did. Yet they still held hands. Even as the tunnel darkened more and more.

Three years, seven months and 19 days they spent in the tunnel.

When they finally found the exit at the other end, they felt the last winter snowflakes splash onto their nose. It was a pleasant coolness from the humidity from which they emerged. They smiled, but it was a crooked smile. One almost forced. The melancholy released from their prolonged sigh wafted in the air around them. And in the second blink of an eye, the sun appeared from behind the clouds, restoring its light on their darkened eyes. But it could no longer retain the glow of their souls.

They had surfaced from the tunnel seemingly unscathed, but inside, they would never be the same again. They were not the same people they were when they entered. He looked in her eyes and searched for that initial sparkle, but it was gone. And she could no longer fix a smile upon his face. They could not recognize each other anymore.

And that is when it happened.

Their hands unlocked and drifted to their respective sides.

The pain in their heart was more than they could ever bear, but all they could do was struggle to go on.

Yet they always vividly remembered their tunnel journey with its memory forever engraved in their souls.

The tunnel experience made them stronger, for it too made them wiser in the ways of this world.

 

Also part of Daily Prompt: Use It or Lose It

22 December, 2012

Zepper-sunrise-over-the-niveous-city-of-bonnSo apparently, the world has not ended. At least not in the disastrous-end-of-the-world-all-time-catastrophe that everyone was expecting. So for the systems to be all up and running and this post to be online, and you to be reading it, means we’re all still here. And we still have to face the challenges that lie ahead.

All this worrying, agony and anxiety for what will happen come 21 December 2012, however, has worn me out! Do you know how many outfits I had to go through to find the right one? And I still don’t know if what I chose yesterday was appropriate for the end of the world… Then again, I think now it is time to take a vacation! I think you should too! After all, we did survive the end of the world…

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