by mishelledih, published 1 month, 3 weeks ago
Amid the shifting shadows of the darkened window, locked in the perplexity of mankind, tears scalded my eyes. So what if I quit? I asked myself quietly, deep in my thoughts. I was tired of stumbling and why couldn’t God get to me? Just like the sea keeps kissing the shore line no matter how it pushes her away, I kept hoping for a chance to show the world the power of God’s breathe on me no matter how it kept turning me down. Well maybe I underestimated myself too. I walked to my bed and lay down. Just then, a message beeped my phone… it was Bognet. Bognet was a baker. Large-nosed man, muscular, dark and tall with brown eyes too. “Hey, just came across this today, perhaps you would love to give it a shot”. My eyes went gazing down and there was a picture below. I couldn’t read it as the writing was too tiny for my phone to display; only thing boldly seen was “CALL FOR WRITERS”. Immediately, I got an understanding of what it was but not this time again. I wasn’t in for that, entirely. Not after being disappointed a lot of times by such competitions. I dropped the phone without a reply. Back to my thoughts,” what if this one was actually different”? I thought. But I was tired of asking the same question over and over again with same results of failure. I decided to give no such thing a shot after thinking. At least, I had no time to waste as it always ended up with same results. The lights went off suddenly as though it knew I had to sleep.
The sun was so bright and shiny; it smiled at me as I got up from bed. I picked up my phone ignoring the beautiful view of nature. I had a missed call from Bognet, “he was trying to know if I got the message or not, obviously”! I said to myself. Just as if he was expecting my call at the moment, Bognet picked the call immediately I dialed his line. “Guess you saw my message, you’re in right? You should be honestly, you don’t know what an opportunity it is” I kept rolling my eyes side to side as Bognet kept talking. “I’m not in”!!! And no one, not even you is making me… “You always wanted a chance to show the world what you have, you have one and you’d just let it slide this way”?? He interrupted before I could finish talking. Funny, he ended up scolding me and I got lost hopes back. I thanked him and decided to go for it. Yes!! Show the world everything, my dreams, the life I always wanted.
In the evening as God made it, full of energy and positivity, I got my computer, my fingers got busy till late night. I wrote about whatever revolved around my life and my thoughts. I completed my piece and submitted to the website where it was to be submitted. Just after a week, I was declared the best writer of the year. Oh yes!!! You don’t believe it, do you? Bognet was so proud of me, “we did it”! And true, there’s more to Bognet than you know, but I’d keep it my little secret.
“Without an intimate loved one, we can quickly spiral down into self-pity. It is difficult to talk ourselves out of a down mood alone. We see life only from our own perspectives. When we pity ourselves, we have someone to point out the blessings that really are present in our lives, mine was Bognet. All great change is preceded by chaos, an indication that you are changing and revolving. Recognize the beauty in your own lives as gratitude. I found the beauty in the chaos of my life. The beginning of finding the beauty in chaos starts with a search that starts on the inside of us. Finding beauty in my own chaos starts with realizing there is a problem… and also starting with realizing that God has made me for a unique purpose. But if we are afraid of our own mess, we wouldn’t attempt to clean up anyone else’s mess, at least not with pure motives”, I replied the interviewer who asked me challenges I faced becoming the best writer of the year.
The air exploded with applauds and everywhere was crowded with photographers, interviewers and journalists. I was on TV, it was all over. Bognet, Family and I were so excited. Just so you know, I found the beauty in my chaos.
BY MISHELLE NERAT DIH.
by soulute, published 1 month, 3 weeks ago
You must have heard of the story of a beautiful woman; whose full beauty was never noticed nor seen until the juice from an Apple bite became the education of good and bad. So you must have heard the story of Eden. But you have not heard all. Not the part told by imagination. The tale of chaos in Eden.
The hairs of Time were now grey with age. The Sun was becoming a little bored of drawing circles. Generations of time had raced on, stopped, and begotten more time and more time. Many tales were now dust, dead with the characters that lived them. Crushed under the action of new tales edging out for survival. But the tale of Eden still lived on; in Adam’s journal. Passed through countless minds and hands. Adorned in the beauty of the tatteredness of time. In it was Adam’s plan on how to re-enter Eden and get to the tree of immortality. So a new tale had begun. A continued tale rather; for the quest for immortality had been a long journey that stained the very fabric of time. But this time around, the stain itself was the power-hungry Aain and his group of shady figures. And after many years, the only thing standing between Aain and Eden was the missing Adam’s journal. Stolen nights ago from his abode.
The sky was deeply breathing night. Flace pulled his gaze unto a clock on the wall. It was almost midnight. He closed the almost shredded journal he was reading. It was covered in the rust of time. How long? He knew not. But he could guess it was very valuable. For in just two days, the nameless old book about a man and some weird garden had shattered his jolly life. He had missed a date with his dream girl, had almost gotten killed, and was now hiding in an old house he knew nothing about. If only he knew what made the journal valuable; he could earn some cool cash from selling it. Tired, he carefully wrapped the journal in a fold of cloth and placed it underneath the hard pillow he was going to use. He then laid down with half-opened eyes, expecting trouble before morning.
The specks of sunrise gradually coloured Flace through a window caked in a layer of dirt. He closed the journal again for the fifth time that morning. Those dark figures that chased life out of him two nights ago could not have done it over just an ordinary journal. The voice of the bleeding old man kept ringing in his head. The same old man that gave him the journal and signaled his death with two words, “protect it.” Flace had been on the run since then; trying his best to know more about this mysterious tree mentioned in the journal. A sudden shattering bang at the door threw Flace from the short nap he was beginning to drown in. In an instant, he found himself standing before four hefty men significantly missing the tiniest hint of a smile. Cornered in total surprise; his heart beating furiously as though it wanted to flee from him. He grabbed the journal and made a sudden dash for the open window. A clean dive through it and Flace found himself in the waiting arms of another hefty guy. Held tightly by his jacket, he was unprepared; but getting caught was not part of his plan. He slipped right out of his jacket and dashed away from danger, and away from the journal he had placed in his jacket.
Aain's quest was finally becoming a success. The most sort after journal had been retrieved from Flace’s jacket. Their desperation was finally paying off for the journal contained directions to Eden itself. By the next day, the location of Eden’s entrance had been found, hidden in the heart of nowhere. All that was left was to follow the directions on the Journal’s map. The paranoid group journeyed for days under the guidance of what Aain could decipher from the journal. They were armed to the teeth, ready for whatever resistance would be in Eden.
Meanwhile, Flace had watched and followed closely from a safe distance since his last encounter with Aain’s men. Days had passed; days of preparing himself for the perfect moment to strike. The journal was his to protect; a task he had failed at already. But he was not going to let Aain get anywhere near whatever treasure the tree in the journal had to offer. He watched closely at the roaming men; like a herd stomping behind Aain. They had stopped suddenly and were now trailing in a single file behind Aain. It was just a normal trail of weird-looking people until Aain varnished. And then the guy behind him at the same point where Aain had. And then the next, and another and another; continuously like they were walking into an invisible cave. “It must be the entrance,” Flace said to himself racing from his hiding place as the last of them varnished. He saw nothing unusual at the spot apart from series of footprints that all ended at the same point. Flace followed the footprints and soon found himself stuck in what seemed to be an unending shock of amazement. Before him, was the beauty he could not describe.