Round One: Shaken
Round Two : Shaken 2
Round Three : Shaken 3
It was raining hard. The writer could not sleep.
"It has been three days without sunshine. Only rain. Not just rain but strong storms. Well, thanks God, for at least, not strong winds with these waters."
The writer was watching the dark sky by his room window. In his heart, he was talking to God.
"Why my Lord? Was it really for climate change?"
His attention was called by a sound on the floor. It was the pen. Despite the strong sound of rain, the fallen pen was able to beat its sound.
The writer smiled. He saw a fallen paper with a note on it.
"Those whom I love, I rebuke and discipline. So be earnest, and repent."
There the writer believed he got his answer.
"Yes. We, humans, are guilty of these climate changes."
He took a deep sigh, sitting himself on the chair of his working table by the window.
As always, as soon as his head touches a headrest, sleep follows...then he dreams.
The strong flush of the water thrown on his face woke him up. As he opened his eyes, the writer realized he was embracing something round. He lifted his head a bit and found out he was on the ocean!
"How come I get myself here?"
Then the water moved, by impulse he held himself tightly to the object. He realized there were handrails on both sides within reach. He grabbed them and held on to them. At the same time, he felt a chain by his middle body. He was tied to the object!
"What is going on?"
Then he felt his feet, with his rubber shoes on, hooked into something. He was safely tied to the object. Safely?
Still, he could not understand nor remember what had happened before. He just felt the water rising, moving up and down like tidal waves. What was weird, he didn't feel wet! He wasn't cold. His body felt fine.
"What is going on?"
He kept on repeating. Several times. Until finally, he stopped and just relaxed himself embracing the object.
"The object?"
His attention was called by what he was embracing. Suddenly he was shaken by a big sound from the sky.
"Not too long came thunders. All flying objects of elongated flames having shapes of nuclear missiles keep coming back and forth each other. So heaven cries."
He heard those words from nowhere. But the voice was familiar to him.
"The Pen!"
He was right. The pen was actively moving on a paper while the writer was snoring with his head rested on the headrest of the chair by his writing table where the pen was working.
"Thundered air spitted rays of flames like electricity hitting below. Then loud shouts of death can be sensed, not just from where the elongated flames fall."
The voice continued.
"The Pen."
The writer said to himself again and cracked a laugh. He rested his head on the object as a form of resignation.
"Oh my God, stop that pen from playing with me."
He silently, unconsciously prayed.
"Not yet."
Those were not the voice of the pen. He lifted his head to look up. Two rays of thunders crossed themselves like an "X" in the dark sky.
"Okay, okay. But keep me safe."
He feared, but then managed to relax. More words followed from the voice of the pen sounding from nowhere.
"Oh, lights! Come to me!, many pleaded;"
"Share your lights, bastards!, are also heard;"
"Father in Heaven, forgive me!, shouts others;"
"All different languages coming from every corner of the earth."
"Only, but only ones, from the matchsticks, nothing can be heard. Just quietness and peace seemed to be present in them. No one can reach them, nor wind nor any blows can turn them off."
Then the voice stopped.
Feeling relaxed holding the unidentified object, the writer felt asleep. He could not remember whatever was the last word spoken by the voice. By the pen.
A strong sound as if landing, woke him up. This time there was no water. Instead, mountains around him. And a long elongated missile he could not identify where from in which he was tied in the middle. He laughed a bit. He was the only human around. Was he human? He even asked himself.
Even before he could figure out what was happening then, another stronger sound came.
This time, he really woke up from his dream.
The strong thunder sound woke him up, made his sleepy head jerked from the headrest. A thunder struck the sky as if someone up there just made a bowling ball strike. He quickly closed the window panes. Took a deep sigh, turned on his radio on top of his working table, then got up from his chair to get something to drink.
"The rising waters, biggest waves ever of the oceans have reached the chambers of guarded missiles of powerful countries..."
The writer stopped from leaving and sat himself back again to listen to the news. A hearty laugh came out from him as he finished listening. He looked at the written story on the paper on top of his table. The pen rested itself in the last line.
"Reign my Lord! Reign! And God rules the earth."
(c) bbayonito20/bethbciar
