-Believe In What I Say

[Words to Image. An image that captures my attention prompts me to create a quick short story about it. It is my interpretation of what it says to me. I imagine, I write]

Every morning, just before the rise of the sun, Jack would venture out into woods, drop to both knees and beg for guidance and forgiveness. The great horned Nepthaleel stood in the distance and listened to his words. Jack hung his head low and wept as he kept repeating himself. He pleaded for knowledge to fully understand how to approach this dilemma and that problem. Every morning was the same routine. And every morning Nepthaleel listened intently.

On this particular day, a morning fog had pushed across the river and blanketed the area surrounding Jack. He begged and pleaded, as always, but this time the great horned Nepthaleel decided to inch closer. He could easily hear the words but desired to inspect this stranger a little closer, he who kneeled daily.

Jack called out, "Please, please, please."

But he was unaware that he had company. The horned being had gotten closer than he had ever been. Jack continued.

"If you would only help me-"

His words were interrupted.

"Why is it you constantly beg?"

Jack jumped but never stood. The sight of such tall horns was more than he was prepared for. He was speechless.

"I ask, why do you feel the need to kneel and cry here, every morning. Have you no insight on what troubles you?"

Jack still held his tongue. The creature stepped in even closer until he towered above the fearful man. Jack stared at Nepthaleel, his features not that of a human's.

"Speak. Why is it you ask such things? And who do you ask?"

Jack silently questioned if he who stood before him was the one he called to. But he wore not the image of what Jack had envisioned. He was dark and harsh and everything he had imagined were none of these things. He mustered up the breath.

"I implore, because I know I am heard. And he who hears me will answer if I am consistent."

"I hear you," Nepthaleel said.

"NO! My words are not meant for you. This is not the way it is-"

"I am the only one here, always here, listening to you. How do you know who is meant to hear them? Am I not here? Am I not listening? Who else listens? Does the fog still hide them?'"

Jack could not fathom the thought of what he was proposing. He sank in posture a bit.

"Nooo. This cannot be true. You are not who I pray to, day in and out."

Nepthaleel leaned down and asked him, "How would you know?"

He immediately stood tall and spoke with authority.

"What do you desire?"

Jack was silent.

"Guidance and understanding?"

Jack remained silent.

"Forgiveness? These are words you speak, often."

Jack said not a word. Nepthaleel stared at the man and questioned his silence.

Why do you constantly beseech things... but not respond when what you ask for can be given to you? Do you really desire these?"

"Yes!" Jack replied before he even knew he was.

"Then why?"

How could Jack state that what he saw was not what he wanted to see? And where would his belief stand if he asked but did not have faith that the only one to step from the forrest did not fit the image? He struggled to respond. Nepthaleel grew weary of waiting.

"You would do better to stand, walk away, and never return than to drop to your knees here and say everything but nothing. What has been asked is not truly wanted. You must believe and you do not," he said while leaning down to get his point across. "You believe in nothing but your own words. And they fail you."

The great horned Nepthaleel turned to walk away but paused. He did not look back but spoke his last words.

"Better yet, continue to beg into the trees. Stay until they hear you. And when the wooden gods speak back ... tell them what you wish. Perhaps they will be easier to look on. "

Nepthaleel disappeared into the fog. Jack thought about what had just happened and what might have been. He questioned his beliefs and his actions.

The sun rose and burned the morning fog away. Jack stared at all of the Elm, Oak, and Maple, their mighty trunks dripping from the morning dew. He lowered his head and repeated the words he always had. And his voice was belief enough for him.

[Receive this as you will. I write it for creative pleasure only. But if one thinks about the weak stances people take on different issues, and the slothful attitudes they possess in living what they believe, one can see that many do enjoy the sound of their own voice. For some, that is enough. We can be better than that.

Please, 👍, 🗣, ➡️, and consider following my works. Peace ✌️]