🍁🍁🍁
Dance
🍁🍁🍁
The sun settled on the horizon, its orange rays casting a warm glow on the land of Moab. A few stars were spotted in the sky, promising a deep night.
The golden statue of Chemosh stood before Barak in the sanctuary he built in his home. Incense burned, a smell pleasing towards his god, one that would chase out the evil spirits.
Little flickers of holy fire burnt in golden stands.
When Barak stepped into the sanctuary, he was barefoot. He locked the doors behind him, releasing a tense breath.
The royal clothes his wife adorned him in, the colour of purple and gold, were constricting, but still he knelt before his god.
For a while, he didn't say a word. He couldn't find any. He simply listened to the sound of his breathing and smelt the scent of the burning incense.
It was moments like these where he wished, Chemosh would rise from his sitting position and come to life. Moments where he'd wish Chemosh would speak, say something, even if it was one word.
But the golden statue of Chemosh remained still, golden, and he bowed in reverence, submitting his wishes to tradition and how he had always known things to be.
“Bring back honour to my name,” he finally spoke, and his words were met with a deep silence.
When he once confided in his wife Adira about the insecurities he held in his faith, she said, "Just believe, only believe."
“I've become a laughing stock in the nobility. Although not to my face, I see it in the way they look at me, in the way they smile. Surely, if it wasn't for my stature, wealth, and influence, they would have made a complete fool out of me, robbed me out of my titles, and more… ”
He looked at the statue, pleading with it inwardly, to rise, move, speak—anything.
“Bring back joy into my life. If I'm not angry, I'm stressed. If I'm not stressed, I'm tired. If I'm not tired, I'm angry. Adira feels it, too. I know I could be a better husband, a better father.” His eyes watered, his chest tightened.
“I remember a time when the sound of laughter and music would fill this home. Now it's all painfully silent.. Please, Chemosh, forgive her, forgive my daughter —” Barak’s voice broke, and the tears fell, the sobs wracked his body.
For a moment, he allowed himself to be weak, giving in to the suppressed pain that he'd been carrying for over a year.
The failure of his daughter was his failure
The loss of his daughter was his loss.
In a way, ever since Dalia’s death, with whatever happened on the mountain, Ruth died too, and her death was his as well.
In the end, all his prayers were wrapped around Ruth, If she were to be arrayed in honour, then it would be as his honour.
He held back the rest of his tears, wiping his cheeks and nose, strengthening his softened heart and soul, regaining his power.
When he lifted up his eyes, holding on to the temporary peace, he saw what brought dread to his soul.
Just believe, only believe.
YOU ARE READING
Ruth: Reimagined
Romance"I want you to belong to someone Ruth." Adira said, her voice softer. "I want you to be able to breathe in a world where everything is placed on a woman's chest, on her back and tied to her legs and then she's told to be beautiful, to be good enoug...
