On the Weightiness of War & Peace

“Can I pray for you?” She asked, watery eyes unwavering.

“Back up, NOW. Stay in the designated area!” His muffled voice was strained under his mask and gear.

She opened her palms and bought them level with her elbows.

“You don’t even have to close your eyes...” she included before she closed her own and bowed her head.

“GET BACK! If you do not comply you WILL be arrested!” He screamed, lifting his shoulders up to his ears as he aimed with his firearm.

She took a deep breath that seemed to cool the air around them. The wind picked up and suddenly, all was still.

“Dear God, let your rains fall and bring peace.” She began.

The sky overhead crackled despite the sun. Clouds out of nowhere roiled overhead to block the brightness, and thunder cracked again. The temperature dipped noticeably.

“I said, BACK—“ 

A massive bolt of lighting flashed somewhere behind and illuminated the street. Protesters and agents alike jolted, some yelling in surprise at the massive thunderclap that followed.

The agent's eyes widened, unsure how this was happening. He trained his eyes back onto the girl, whose head remained bowed.

“You see us, oh Lord” she continued.

“Anger, powerlessness, injustice, rage, families, unmet expectations, division... dashed dreams. All of these lie between us and embroil us in the darkness below.”  

The rain came like a marching crowd, noise far off until it was rushing toward them from further up the street. It poured, dropping like sheets onto those still in the street.

A few ran for cover. Most remained where they were.

“Wash it away, wash it away, wash it all away. Until nothing remains but peace.”

As the rain got heavier, there was a collective weight that pressed on anyone who remained in the street. The soldier felt as if he was carrying several bags of sand. It reminded him of precious places he’d been, struggling through mud with grit on the back of his tongue, nose to the dirt, breathing quietly as he waited, flattened against the ground beneath him. 

He felt heavier. He held his spot in line but he was confused.

Confused, and suddenly, immeasurably tired.

…

• An excerpt from the creative short, The Protestor’s Prayer, a hope in what remains unseen between all living things.

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