Sister Love

I have purposely been seated at a table littered with plastic-coated sheets of scriptures penned by the apostles Ezra, Nehemiah, and Soloman. Oh, don’t get me wrong, not the Bible’s apostles; I’m talking about the three founding brothers of the Heavenly Women’s Retreat two miles off Jensen Road.

Note: only women occupy the chairs; their eyes focus on Ezra’s wife, Annabelle, obviously swollen with child. Her seventh?

Rumor? The baby is Soloman’s.

I won’t read these “scriptures.” I won’t be brainwashed or convinced to join the cult.

What will I do? Rescue my sister. Annabelle will sleep beside me tonight.

The Sisters Three

Today Pegman took us to Coniston Water, Lake District, England. I took a stroll around and found this picture. Thanks, Karen and Josh, for providing another great idea for a 150-word challenge.

As children, my sisters and I danced among these stones, singing the praises of gods we did not know while wondering why anyone should be guided by spirits they could not see.

Rayana, the eldest. A beauty with a voice filled with the music of one-hundred crystalline bells.
And a mind that held world-knowledge that surpassed each of our elders.
Oh, her many qualities swayed armies.

Clarene, the brave. Villagers compared her strength to that of our most powerful axman. Her gentleness to the heart of a dove.
When war broke out, she was our fiercest defender and most compassionate healer.

What were my qualities? Selfishness. Anger. Revenge. All wrapped up in ocean-blue eyes and golden hair. As were we all.

So, I warn you, the next time you sit, mead in hand, do not ask our elders how the village survived for lies will drip from their tongues.

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