Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: TRAVELER (01/28/16)
- TITLE: Bexley's War
By Trace Pezzali
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Sweeping her eyes like a torch she strained to find a solution through the waves of toxic smoke that rode the desert winds. A root to pull herself out with, perhaps, or a tree branch… Through the fluorescent haze appeared a pale face, body-less, drained of blood by the cut throat. “Emerson!” she wailed at the dead man. His eyes beseeched her silently, then he receded back into the smoke.
Vulgar grunts pierced the quiet from all directions. A crisscross of lights swept the twilight. Snorg! The sucking sand now reached her hips and she resumed her struggle, unable to think rationally but for a desperate cry.
“Oh Lord, get me out of here.”
She gasped upright out of the dream, grainy asphalt hard underneath her and a barricade of cardboard boxes around her. That’s right – I’m here. Oh Praise God! Even the stinky garbage spilling into the alley from an overturned bin was pleasant.
Until she remembered what escape had cost her. She ached then for her mum’s arms around her, the ssshhh of her breath in Bexley’s hair. The last words her mum had spoken at Bexley’s goodbye two years ago echoed in the alley space.
“You are your father’s daughter.”
And Bexley, fearless traveller, had strapped on her backpack and promised, “I will find him.”
But Bexley had failed.
She reached for that same backpack now, its newness long worn and, despite its few contents, heavier than it had ever been. Inside it, an empty water bottle and nothing to eat, a scrap of a cardigan, and a book which she pulled out. She traced around the acid burns on the leather cover, awed anew that her captors had allowed her to keep the small bible – her lifeline.
She placed her hand over it, and whispered:
“God, take away this nightmare. Let me forget. I want my old life back, to be safe here.”
In front of her mind’s eye paraded the prisoners mining Netlom Scum on Tercies. Subjected to the Snorg beasts’ vicious sport under the burden of backbreaking work, the weak soon perished. Those few strong of spirit, Adley, Broderick and her love, Emerson, were slaughtered in the escape attempt. Their deaths now rendered useless all plans to defeat the Sovereign Star Conglomerate.
Sorry, Emerson, but I’m not you. Perhaps you could have done it on your own.
Of their own accord, Bexley’s fingers rifled through the thin pages of the book. When she looked down, everything was blurry except a few lines. She mumbled the scripture:
“I have seen the troubles my people have suffered in Egypt, and I have heard their cries when the Egyptian slave masters hurt them. I am concerned about their pain, and I have come down to save them from the Egyptians.”
Oh, thank you, Lord. You have it covered.
But then with a slap, realisation struck her. If God was talking to her, then she was Moses. She threw the book onto the ground as if bitten by a snake, and again words leapt out at her from a new page.
“But now if you have a purse or a bag, carry that with you. If you don’t have a sword, sell your coat and buy one…”
Her guts spasmed, and before she could stop herself, Bexley bent to the side and vomited clear bile. She wiped a shaky hand over the spittle clinging to her bottom lip.
“I will be with you. I AM WHO I AM.” A voice spoke loud between her ears. Her blood froze in her veins, her world suspended. Bexley could not grasp the reality of His voice.
In time, she stood, her legs nearly giving way beneath her. With a deep breath, she hardened her spine, and stepped into His Will.
(Exodus 3:7 – 8 NCV, Luke 22:36 NCV)
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