Excerpt from Kamea
It was a dark and wet night. There was some meager light afforded by the full moon as it struggled to penetrate the fog and gloom of the Dominion of Darkness. Locke had forced Moncha from the warmth of the fire until she came back with some water to cook for his friends. Smarting from his cutting words and a reckless shove, she was now feeling her way through the dangerous, dark forest. She felt as if the trees were moving to stand in her way, and every shadow was hissing at her to go no farther, yet she pressed on. She had no choice.
As she neared the spring, she recalled the day she had seen Saoirse. It was just a year ago, but it seemed like an eternity. Moncha had all but convinced herself it had been a fantasy. She had never spoken of it to anyone. She had played with the memory in her thoughts, like one special jewel in a lifetime of rejection and shame.
“What if it had happened? What if Saoirse really had been rescued from this place? What if she was free? And what if someone – someone big and powerful and good – really did know about her? What if he was merciful? What if he…” She stopped walking, and her eyes searched the dark sky as she whispered, “What if ... he loves me?”
Her voice didn’t seem to penetrate the gloom around her, and she began moving her weary feet again. Her life had not changed much since she had met Saoirse. She had tried for a while to be “good,” but had failed again, falling back into old patterns. Things seemed about as hopeless today as they had the day she had met Saoirse; when she wondered why she could never change, could never be what people wanted. She took the mirror out of her pocket and, even though it was dark, she could make out the same image she had always seen. She saw her wicked, worthless and shameful face. She sighed, put it away and continued on..
She arrived at the area surrounding the spring. It was muddy from the rains of the day. Why Locke insisted on having water from the spring when they could have caught rain water, Moncha did not know and did not dare ask. She crouched down to fill her bucket as she had done for as many years as she could remember. It had always, always been her job to fetch the water. She despised it.
“Could you get me a drink, too, please?” (1)
Moncha looked up with a gasp and dropped her bucket, her heart pounding in her chest. It was a man’s voice, and here she was, unprotected and alone with him in the dark. She was gripped with terror as she turned to face him. But when she saw him, her fear turned to wonder and curiosity. He was different from the men she knew. She couldn’t explain how. It wasn’t his clothes, or his height(2), but there was something peculiar about him. Maybe it was his eyes. His eyes seemed to shine with something. Something kind and light.
He smiled as he repeated himself, “Will you give me a drink?”
...to be continued...
(1) See John 4:1-26
(2) See Isaiah 53:2
From pages 9-10 of Kamea by Jeri Howe.
It was a dark and wet night. There was some meager light afforded by the full moon as it struggled to penetrate the fog and gloom of the Dominion of Darkness. Locke had forced Moncha from the warmth of the fire until she came back with some water to cook for his friends. Smarting from his cutting words and a reckless shove, she was now feeling her way through the dangerous, dark forest. She felt as if the trees were moving to stand in her way, and every shadow was hissing at her to go no farther, yet she pressed on. She had no choice.
As she neared the spring, she recalled the day she had seen Saoirse. It was just a year ago, but it seemed like an eternity. Moncha had all but convinced herself it had been a fantasy. She had never spoken of it to anyone. She had played with the memory in her thoughts, like one special jewel in a lifetime of rejection and shame.
“What if it had happened? What if Saoirse really had been rescued from this place? What if she was free? And what if someone – someone big and powerful and good – really did know about her? What if he was merciful? What if he…” She stopped walking, and her eyes searched the dark sky as she whispered, “What if ... he loves me?”
Her voice didn’t seem to penetrate the gloom around her, and she began moving her weary feet again. Her life had not changed much since she had met Saoirse. She had tried for a while to be “good,” but had failed again, falling back into old patterns. Things seemed about as hopeless today as they had the day she had met Saoirse; when she wondered why she could never change, could never be what people wanted. She took the mirror out of her pocket and, even though it was dark, she could make out the same image she had always seen. She saw her wicked, worthless and shameful face. She sighed, put it away and continued on..
She arrived at the area surrounding the spring. It was muddy from the rains of the day. Why Locke insisted on having water from the spring when they could have caught rain water, Moncha did not know and did not dare ask. She crouched down to fill her bucket as she had done for as many years as she could remember. It had always, always been her job to fetch the water. She despised it.
“Could you get me a drink, too, please?” (1)
Moncha looked up with a gasp and dropped her bucket, her heart pounding in her chest. It was a man’s voice, and here she was, unprotected and alone with him in the dark. She was gripped with terror as she turned to face him. But when she saw him, her fear turned to wonder and curiosity. He was different from the men she knew. She couldn’t explain how. It wasn’t his clothes, or his height(2), but there was something peculiar about him. Maybe it was his eyes. His eyes seemed to shine with something. Something kind and light.
He smiled as he repeated himself, “Will you give me a drink?”
...to be continued...
(1) See John 4:1-26
(2) See Isaiah 53:2
From pages 9-10 of Kamea by Jeri Howe.
