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Prophecy (1 Viewer)


Senior Member
I was 12 years old the first time the needle broke the skin. I heard a man say “there is no hope”. The next few years of my life I would fulfill his vision and make the man a prophet. Then I would hear him say “certainly no hope”. As I continued onward in the path to assault, destruction, and terror he began to tell the world to see how his prophecy could not be denied. Somewhere dark and alone I would wonder if a man can change.

When my best friend was killed I cried. I had not been there. I had turned slightly before fate swung its bastard hand. I watched the leaves swirl in the wake, rearranged across the fields and on. There watching the shifting patterns I wondered if a man could change.

When my son was born I was amazed by the miracle and scared of the consequence. He was beautifully innocent and naked. I was sad he had been left here with only the old leaves tumbling in the wind and crumbling at the edges. Afraid I raced to the edge of life and looked across that dead black sea. I screamed the prophecy and challenged fate whose hand, it seems, was too weary to pay me any effort. The thought of my son saved my life. Ashamed of such a foolish journey I turned and walked a path alone. A hundred miles turned under my feet yet still there I stood and I wondered if a man could change.

Time past and I found myself standing on the bluff of a hill looking across the tops of trees and across the river and across a field to a house, a home that was never mine. The blowing leaves had gone and new ones came, none the same as before. The rocks below were far and I wondered how far they had to be and if they were as true as the prophecy. I looked back to the house and wondered if a man could ever change.

Step after step the journey home never ended and I walked on with my son in my arms. I did not find err in the prophecy but the sun shined on days it didn’t rain and flowers grew where there was nothing more than cracked dirt. Step after step my legs grew stronger and my focus sharp. I had grown confident in the path. Sure in my footing I would not deter and no man could change my mind. I watched my son grow and play and laugh and I thought now with wonder, if a man could change.

Once the sun found a flower of its own distinction. She reflected the sun and warmed my cheeks and we walked along the path together. My heart rose and the aroma of life dizzied my head as the journey brought us to an open field in the slumbering daylight. Slowly we danced, softly she whispered for me to stay. I looked at the path over her shoulder and wondered if a man could change.

A beautiful soul once told those of us who are blind that if you stare at a closed door for too long you will miss another that had opened. My longing for the path I had set before her was my distracting wretch. As I lay watching that door I left her wondering alone, and in the night a one hundred and fifty year old echo would cross behind my staring eyes, casting my shadow to the floor forevermore. My gut clenched tight and my heart begged die with her twenty three years. I sat alone in the night bawling like a child and wondering why a man would never change.

In my darkest days and heavy in heart my son would save my life again as he wrapped his tiny arms around my neck and held my sobbing head close. In his fragile gesture I learned the path was never made to walk alone. The steps would be heavy and slow in the days and years that followed. Yet everyday there would be a reason to lift my head from the pillow of death and take one step behind another. In the night I would watch the stars sleep and wonder if a man could ever change.

My son is now older than his namesake ever was and almost as old as that beautiful breeze that passed so quickly. I watch him grow and learn and think and breathe and wonder. I watch my colors changing in the fall and know even now that my leaves are falling away and blowing on to the places where tumbling leaves travel on the rolling breeze. I smile once in a while and think of the prophet whose name I can not remember and wonder if a man can ever change.


Senior Member
A few mishaps here that a good copy editor can clean up in a few minutes, but nothing significant should be changed.

This is good.


Senior Member
excellent stuff.
try reading it out loud, then marking the places where you stop to take a breath, and putting some kind of punctuation mark there. a comma, a full stop or something. dont go overboard though. some of those unbroken sentences work well to build up some pressure.
but then who am i to criticise, i cant write like this!