Ruth: Reimagined

Hair

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Hair
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"Marrying you saved me the loss of many battles."  Elimilek once said, "When I'm hopeless, I look at you, and you give me that smile, like everything's going to be more than alright– you give me hope."

Naomi’s cheeks flushed at his words, bringing his hands that were entwined with hers to her heart. "It's easy to hope when I have you."

"No," he shook his head.  "This is all the wonder of who you are. You are a star, you know that."

Naomi laughed softly, witnessing the tears that glittered in his eyes.

"Yes," Elimilek uttered, "I am convinced. You've managed to shine against the darkness. I thought that I would die the day my mother died, that there would be no life left for me, but Naomi, you have given me hope."

"You are strong, Elimilek, more than you know."

"Maybe," he said, then. "Promise me something."

She held his gaze, waiting.

"Never blink out, no matter how deep the darkness."

~🍁~

Naomi was shaken by what could've happened to Ruth. The guilt ate her up all night, and she tossed and turned. After an hour of that she  would check on the women, and find them fast asleep, on a mat in the dining area, holding on to each other, the oil lamp still lit, a gentle glow.

It was while she was in bed, tossing and turning in the dark, her hair, got in her mouth, wrapped around her neck. She fussed over its length, tying it into a messy bun again, then she felt like crying— Gathering herself, she undid the bun she made.

Running her hands through her long brown hair, she sighed. It wasn't as voluminous as it was before. It lost its shine, too. She ran  her fingers through her hair, remembering how Elimilek would do the same, mindlessly, yet tenderly.

Remembering how, when Mahlon was a toddler, he'd reach for her hair and twirl it in his hands enthralled. Then there was Chillion, who would sometimes eat her hair as a baby, gurgling happily. On the verge of tears again, she gathered herself, releasing a breath.

She got up abruptly, finding a lamp and setting it a light. Walking out of her hall, through the darkened hallway, she checked on Ruth and Orpah one more time, and then she left, opening Orpah's door.

She looked through all of Orpah's things in a haste, searching, yet she could not find it. At her wits end, when she was about to give up, she saw it glinting, underneath the bed, its tip showing. Naomi bent to pick up the dagger. Then she quickly tidied up the mess she made, leaving the room in a hurry.

The mirror was old, the reflection not as vivid as she would have hoped, but it was enough. The glow of the lamp made it better. She held the dagger in her trembling hands, the tears burning her eyes— the noise of her memories, of the guilt, of the pain, overwhelmed her, caved in on her.

"Enough." Naomi said, firmly silencing it all, the tears trailing down her tears. The last of them.

And then with a firmer hold on the dagger, she held one side of her long hair in her hands and slashed with the dagger, it fell to the floor, a silent death, messy, each cut, like a a shard of glass being pulled out of her wounded heart.