Saturday, 27 June 2015

Vision by Denise Sparrowhawk

Amelia still isn't sure what it was she saw that day exactly, but she has long since stopped talking about it. At first, bursting with wonder and excitement and curiosity, she told everyone she met. Her words spilled out, tumbling over themselves in a gabbling torrent, the description warping and buckling under the weight of so many, many words! Her hands flew here and there, trying to catch the words and put them into better order. People were kind at first, listening, their eyes bright and interested, but then the shadows came, clouding their faces. Gentle hands would hold hers, a single finger placed over lips to stem the flow. Gradually the listeners became less friendly, their eyes filled with dark clouds as soon as she began to speak of it. Hands rough and hard, brushed her words away. She stopped talking. Instead she hugged the memory to herself, and waited. One day it would come again, and she would be ready. She would know. And the others? Well, she could not help them. They should have listened better and tried harder to understand.

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