Dreamweaver - age 35
The turtle was still and seemed to be carved of a dark gold
marbled shell. It was a very special turtle; it was not an Olive Ridge,
but another amazing species whose name barely slipped my tongue. It was a
beautiful creature of about three feet from head to tail. Its eyes looked at me
sagely. It nodded its head once or twice and tried to flipper away slowly on
the concrete ground. I watched it from behind the gates of my home as it made
its way to the garden.
I was in a gathering of friends and strangers. Each one
engaged in some interaction with their objects of attention. I surveyed the
scene made up of a variety of books on a large table. I was drawn to the books
both familiar and new. Some of them I would collect, most are given away for
free. There is a series of ten books which I was looking forward to reading so
I put them in a stack and thought to collect them after the gathering was over.
I looked back to the turtle and saw a man kneeling with one
hand on its shell. The man was hunched over it and to my horror, he cut open
the turtle’s shell from the side. No! I was too late, the turtle was dead and
its body sliced open. The man would make a meal out of its meaty body parts.
Someone must have heard me for a crowd gathered and an uncle seemed really
angry and upset at the man too and rushed forward to stop the man. It was too
late, the turtle was gone.
I was upset and crying. A boy came over to comfort me. He
sat down to my right and took my hand. I could not see him clearly through the
tears but he tried to console me with his soft words. He would make it better,
he promised. He said something to the others around me but I did not pay
attention in my grief for the turtle taken by a man. All I remembered was his
touch on my shoulder and his hand interlaced with mine.
His presence was soothing and he never left my side. A part
of me was grateful for his deep concern and a part of me was fearful of the way
he was taking control of the situation. It seemed the people around him
responded to his words and his presence. They seemed to visibly draw back when
we approach. His touch never left my arm. I felt strange being in this circle
of two.
A hobo of a young bedraggled man starved and wild looked at
me, and then at him. He scowled. I knew this man despite his unruly looks and
uncouth manners. He was once a great mind but now seemed reduced to cowering in
front of the boy next to me. He was afraid. I offered to pay for his meal. He
sneered at the offer, one eye on the silent boy next to me. What happened to
you, I asked, you who had so much to give the world, and so much potential to
serve.
He took the food but refused to owe me or the boy any
favours. He would pay for his own meal, he said disparagingly eyeing both of
us. As you wish, said the boy who shrugged off the hobo’s petulant attitude.
The boy turned away from the hobo who took the chance to make eye contact with
me; your boy is a fire starter, he warned mouthing the words silently but they
rang loudly in my mind.
I held eye contact with the hobo as I hugged my boy closer
to me but I was not sure if it was to distract the boy from turning around to look at the hobo or in a
vain sign of my protection. I know, I mouthed back to the hobo; we are all fire
starters. He slunk away in displeasure as I buried my face in the boy’s
shoulders.
He was a fire starter. He held tremendous power in him that
complemented my own. I recognized that and he knew about my ability too. We make really
beautiful music together, he once told the others, we are more powerful as one
than two. He took me to another room where children were playing with some
kittens and puppies.
A white malisque fur ball climbed up on me, extending all
its baby claws to show off, determined to scratch something. Poor baby cat, I
thought, this was not the place to show your innate ability to survive or they
would declaw you. I would bite, meowed the baby fur ball as ferociously as it
could. You could die, I told the small ball of white fiery determination. Then
I would be reborn into another body, the kitten scrunched its nose up confidently,
I would be number 87-68 and I would grow more powerful with each rebirth; just like the turtle.
