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Plink

Photo credit: Ilco

Photo credit: Ilco

A stone drops. It plinks in the water and leaves tiny ripples that are swallowed by the next wave. Steadily sinking, the stone enters the darkness of the abyss. The water is frigid here—the pressure suffocating.

Creatures blind and grotesque guard these forgotten waters. In blackness inconceivable, the stone silently hits bottom, and an invisible cloud of silt rises. The stone—small, round, and indistinguishable save for its smoothness—remains forever lost.

~

When did I begin to sink? As a little girl shattered by a family divided? Yes, that’s when I let the bitterness stretch its arms around my soul.

Still sinking, the light faded from view as I realized God and evolution cannot coexist. There is no God, I lied to myself. In that vacuum where God was figment, sin ceased to be. I plunged through bitter cold into the darkness of drugs and promiscuity.

I sought to fill the void where God had reigned by embracing the occult. Candles burning, I chanted incantations that joined me to witches throughout time. I couldn’t see the gnashing creatures that swam circles around me.

Choosing to deny my God did nothing to deliver me from the wretched chains of guilt. Self-inflicted wound oozing, I wrote in my diary, “She punishes herself and bleeds.” Striking bottom, I sought death.

How could light reach through fathoms of water darker than blindness? And yet the light of hope pierced through the waters and made me want to live. I should have been that stone lost forever—save for love so powerful it conquered death.

~

I am on a boat, the Fisherman with me. A stone falls into the water—plinking. “Go after her,” says the Master.

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