The battle raged on.
Noise, confusion, smoke, tears…a cacophony of unwanted stimulation.
It never ended.
The smells remained in his nostrils.
The grit clung stubbornly to his shoes.
The feeling of filth, of being constantly dirty, he could not shake.
The sense that he had done something very, very bad was worse than all the tactile memories combined.
He went home, but the battle raged on within him.
There was no light. A plethora of other sensations, and yet there was no light, no visual. Only darkness.
But then… there was color. Just a tiny piece of colored glass filtering light from…
…from somewhere else.
And the cacophony calmed.
The bit of color gained shape…
And the smell subsided.
The shape had texture…
And he brushed the sand away, finding himself clean.
The light had meaning…
And he found forgiveness.
What was once a cacophony became a chorus surrounding him, a physical presence of sound that buoyed him.
What was once a stench of the unwashable became a fresh new breeze.
That sand that was once an irritation was blasted by some incredible energy into clear smooth glass.
The loathing was simply gone.
And he was no longer at war.
This was written for the prompt for Write on Edge. It isn’t related to anything else. The prompts this week were the picture above and the video below. I started out thinking of a soldier (or a man with some other conflict) finding peace, and equating the stained glass (representing a chapel) with the sanctuary found in a woman’s arms.
It turned into something else.
I’m too tired tonight to look and see just what it turned into, but I’m sharing it anyway.