|
Why I Write
When I write, I draw on my experiences as a woman with a painful past, a rapturous wife and mother, a world traveler, and a spiritualist. For me, writing is an art form. Like an artist, the work becomes more than I imagined it would be. When I set out to write a story with a particular idea or character in mind, words I cannot claim as my own flow from a magical and mysterious place through me and onto paper. The work takes on a life of its own; it is living art. The process fascinates me, satiates me, and makes my life more meaningful.
Please read my stories! If you would like to offer me feedback on my work, please click here and sign up for a free membership: https://heftynicki.Writing.com
I hope to see you there!
|
15 For 15 Entries ~ June 2010 #698349 added June 6, 2010 at 9:16pm
Restrictions: None
Climb ~ June 6
Alia swam with all her might, clutching the gourd in one hand and pulling herself up through the deep water with the other. She kicked hard one final time and her head broke the surface. Gasping, she pulled gulps of air into her searing lungs.
The other six initiates reached the shore with their gourds, and Shaman Pintar pulled each out of the deep canyon water and onto the rocky shore. When they had fallen into formation, shivering despite the windless heat and dripping water down their naked bodies, Pintar addressed them.
“Fanna is a sacred lake. Its waters are blessed by the gods. Let its powers infuse you.”
At his words, Alia upended her gourd. She didn’t look at the other six, yet her movements were identical with theirs. She’d seen this ceremony only once before, but it was ingrained in her memory. Her mother had been an inductee, and served the Pintar for many moons. Her sudden death had shaken Alia to the core. When Pintar bestowed upon her the honor of taking her place, she’d thought she’d heard wrong. This moment was no less surreal.
The seven initiates poured the silt they’d collected at the bottom of Fanna from their gourds into their hands. Reverently, Alia smeared the silky brown mud onto her face, breathing in its pungent, metallic odor.
Pintar raised his arms, signaling they’d completed that task. Alia dropped the gourd as her hands fell to her side.
“Your final task is the most difficult and will test your spirits of resiliency. When you have completed it though, you will be blessed by the gods and ready to serve our people by my side.” He turned to the face of the canyon wall behind him and pointed up. “There, at the top of that ridge, hymka grows. It is the most important medicinal plant we use, and we only harvest it from there because the closer it grows to heaven, the more potent are its powers. Return to the village only when you have filled this basket with it.”
Alia put her arm through a loop of hemp rope, tied to six other ropes all connected to a woven bamboo basket large enough to transport an adult goat. It scratched the delicate skin of her shoulder. The unconscious wish that she was covered by a protective robe flitted across her mind. She banished the thought immediately. I will be strong, like my mother before me, she chided herself. With the others pulling on their robes, Alia reached up for a handhold on the mossy, vertical face, and they began their trek to the top.
|
© Copyright 2010 NickiD89 (UN: heftynicki at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
NickiD89 has granted InkSpot.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
