I sit on the field, children racing past me shouting and screaming.. I wish they wouldn’t waste
their words when so many had lost theirs. I talk in my head. Chatting to an angel who flies
about my shoulders, taking in every word. We call our voices our ‘Powers’. However, I don’t
think my voice will ever be as powerful as hers is. Or at least not anymore. Not when The
Rock refuses to make way for my voice that longs to tumble as it once did.
I know my voice is powerful. I remember when there was no rock and it could freely tumble
and cartwheel out. I remember when I spoke with ease and never had The Rock. The Rock
had come so suddenly I had had no chance to use my strong, powerful voice to shout. To tell
it to leave, to tell it to shatter, to tell it to please please please let go as it buried itself deep.
Deep in my throat that had once been a beautiful passage for My Power to burst from my
lips. My Power being my words that I had once taken for granted.
I know I wasted My Power. When I used it for insults and arguments. I never stopped to think
about each word I said. Instead I let them explode out and crash onto the floor. Explosions
that never thought about the damage that mocked My Power that I took for granted.
The Rock came a while ago, while I lay in my white bed, the monitors whirring nothing
compared to My Power that hid in my head. I lay there, thinking about the voice I used to
share with my sister. We would chatter and argue and bicker and laugh about everything our
Powers could grasp onto. But now we both lay in white beds, hers of angel feathers, cradling
her like a baby. A baby soon to grow its Power, words not yet knowing the streams or floods
possible. My flood had come the day her bed grew wings. I felt like a helpless babe myself
when it came, its vicious waves drowning me down, drowning My Power. I saw my sister’s
bed of wings steal her away and then came the rock. An inner earthquake I could not
subdue which rattled rocks down my throat, scratching the sides of my once beautiful
gateway, and lodging itself there. Blocking My Power my sister could never have again.
How dare her bed of wings carry her up into the sky. What if she fell? Why did they have to
steal her Power too? Couldn’t I have kept it? A record player of all our stolen words that now
burnt away, ashes in my heart.
I know I no longer lie beside her angel bed. I know her wings have left the bed and formed
delicately on her fragile shoulders. Yet I still don’t know how to let My Power out again.