Shaken 4

 

Round One:   Shaken

Round Two:   Shaken 2

Round Three: Shaken 3

Round Four:

"Only, but only 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 blow can turn them off."

"Aahhh!"

Those strong horrific sounds were heard from those who had risen up from the mud after the sudden fall of that big wall like water that had fallen on the living earth.

After the waterfall, the ground was just full of mud.

The humans were able to open their eyes and take out the mud that filled them up. Some eyes turned red, others yellow and few turned green.

"They were like the traffic lights of the streets."

The writer said as he was seated cross-legged like Aladdin in his magic carpet, but holding a pen and writing his story on a notebook.

As he was talking alone, the pen released itself from his fingers to be converted into a big size equal to him and stayed standing beside him and gave a question.

"What do you mean like the traffic lights?"

The writer shook his head watching the craziness of the pen and smiled.

"The traffic lights red commands to Stop. The yellow to Slow Down and the green To Go."

Then he switched his attention again to the event happening below, as his carpet was flying above it, the earth itself.

"Just watch them."

On earth, the human beings turned to look at each other. Only those with the same color of eyes could see each other, but not the others with different colors. They felt strength, knowing they were not alone. They united themselves into a community.

The only thing they could see in common was everything all of them had just witnessed. Everything that was happening to the matchsticks above them.

Slowly, the matchsticks were coming down and each one started to change into another form.

First, clear glass walls were formed into a tall squared size closed box; inside of each, a matchstick.

Distinct reactions came out from the witnesses below as not all of them were seeing the same thing.

The red colored eyed could see the matchsticks turning into humans in white long tunic clothes with their eyes looking up with red tears flowing in their cheeks. Their hands were all clasped in praying.

"Oh my Lord, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell and lead all souls to heaven."

Non-stop they repeated the same prayer all over again.

The humans with the sored red eyes have theirs burning like fire and started to pick up the mud and threw them hardly against those inside the glasses. From their lips came out all kinds of insults, full of hatred and rage.

The writer gave a calm look to the pen. He picked it up again as it had already turned itself to its normal size and was lying on top of his notebook. So he continued writing.

All those with the same red eyes have the same reactions.

Meanwhile, the writer decided to concentrate on other colors.

The yellow eyed have witnessed a burst of sunlight coming from the inside of the clear glass walls.

"Show me, my Lord, let me see your light so I may follow you."

Those words they prayed.

Then from the glass a voice was heard.

"Knock and the door shall be opened; seek and ye shall find.."

The event made the writer grin. He put down his pen to clasped his hands, closed his eyes to pray as well.

"Create in us a pure heart, O God. Renew a steadfast spirit within us. Do not cast us away from your presence nor take your Holy S´pirit from us. Restore in us the joy of your salvation and grant us the willingness of spirit to sustain ourselves."

As he finished, all the yellow eyed said Amen.

The writer went back to his pen.

This time his attention was called by shouts of joy.

"Praise be to God! Hallelujah!"

They were the green eyed who were seeing a different revelation from the rest.

Before their eyes, they could see the clear glass wall opening itself. Inside it they could observe the full white cotton clouds and feel a good sensation from them.

"Your sins have forgiven you."

The writer was affected by the shouts of joy that he made a sudden move that almost made him fall.

Well, he did fall from his bed. As usual, he fell asleep writing a story. He remembered he was about to sleep when the pen he forgot to take out from the back of his ear, fell on the notebook he left before on top of his bed.

"In case an idea strikes my brain, that is why I have you my notebook to share my bed. But the pen, of course, must be here too."

He seated himself then against the bed's headrest and started to write. His sleepy head won him over till he fell off the bed.

He reviewed his written story and found a title. Shaken 4.

"Just like me, shaken by this pen."

Finally, he left his pen and notebook inside his bed's table.

"Now sleep, really."

And he did.

@thepen20/bbayonito20

Shaken 3

 

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

@bbayonito20(Tap to Author's Profile)

Shaken 2

Round 1 : Shaken

Round 2: Shaken 2

 

"My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken."

The writer put down his pen and checked his bible as to the reference of the scripture just written by the pen.

"It is Psalm 62:1,2"

He saw such a response even before opening the book. So he went on writing.  

All over the earth becomes quiet. Only those words coming from nowhere are heard. Each time they are spoken, the dissipated lights become stronger. But there aren't any humans in those flames of lights that seemed to be coming from the match sticks.

The lights from the match sticks went higher. They settled themselves in the air, high enough for humans on the darkened earth not to reach them.

"Oh, lights! Come to me!", many pleaded;

"Share your lights, bastards!", are also heard;

"Father in heaven, forgive me!", shouts others;

All speaking in different languages coming from every corner of the earth.

Only, but only ones from the match sticks, nothing can be heard. Just quietness. Peace seemed to be present in them. No one can reach them, nor wind nor any blows can turn them off.

Not too long, a nerve breaking sound is heard all over the earth. A strong, rushing, roaring and angry waves of the ocean!

"Water!"

All humans on earth are enveloped with indescribable fear as they hear the terrifying sound of water coming unto them.

The big waves joined together became a big white wall before their eyes. The big wall gave a second of flashing light, but only to fall on them and trample all who have seen it!

Loud shouts of death can be felt all over; not just from the white wall of waves, but the enormity of fears in the soul of men.

Then slowly, the water started to leave. Slowly.

The earth became quiet. For a long while no sound can be heard anywhere.

All stepping its soil are fallen, wet and dirty with mud. 

Eventually, one by one, humans started to rise. They hardly recognize each other. All covered with mud, stumbled on top of another and most of all, darkened inside their soul and full of anger.

Slowly, words are heard again from nowhere.

"Find rest, O my soul in God alone; my hope comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken."

 Before it could occur to the writer to consult his bible about the scripture just written, the pen has already responded.

"It is Psalm 62:5,6."

So the writer just kept on working.

A second after those words covered the air, a louder sound, joined and a strong force came from humans on the earth.

"Aaaahhhh!!!" 

It was an angry, uprising, revoltous, and horrifying sound coming from those who got back to their feet as they just recovered themselves. So many of them!

"Stop!"

They shouted looking at the lights on top of their heads. Their eyes were flashing with fiery red, full of hate in them.

They picked up their muds and threw them up in the air to the lights, but none could reach them. The failed efforts made them more anguished than ever.

"How can we all not understand?"

The writer threw his pen on top of the table, feeling upset of how the story was going.

"How can we not comprehend the messages of Nature?"

He left his table, opened his window and felt the sweetness of the night while looking at the twinkling stars in the company of the bright moon.

After a while, he recovered his temper. He decided not to continue writing, but opened his bible.

"You, O Lord, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light."

Without him knowing, the pen moved and pointed to the lines of scripture he was praying with eyes closed, in the opened bible on top of his table.

It was Psalm 18:28.

And continued writing to give the final message of the story.

"The Lord thundered from heaven; the voice of the Most High resounded."

Finally, the pen called it a good night for his writer after writing the reference of the last scripture which is Psalm 18:13. 

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Shaken 3

(c) bbayonito20/bethbciar

@bbayonito20(Tap to Author's Profile)

 

 

Shaken

Out of nothing the day 

becomes night;

All lights, all kind turns off;

Only darkness covers the earth;

And only loud cries can be heard.

Suddenly, little sparks of 

dissipated lights appears 

everywhere, but very few.

Lights that are like the flames 

of a matchstick are far enough 

from each other.

There’s been an “Oh!” from 

all over the earth. 

Movements, loud and 

fast are heard. 

All moving towards those 

sparks of lights 

nearby really fast, like running.

Loud cries of stumbles 

in the dark;

Angry shouts of insults 

even more;

Desperate crying of fears 

from children,

Women and olds fills up the air.

To everyone’s surprise 

and amazement, 

Big long elongated objects 

of fires 

Have filled the air from 

east to west, 

And vice versa, as if fighting 

each other.

The darkness stand still, 

stuns and 

Paste itself in, like forever.

While the sparks of 

matches lights

Lowers down from its place.

Yet, their lights keep burning.

There is a sense of fears

and trembles in the dark, 

murmurs of prayers

from the places of matches 

are heard alone.

Loud cries of desperation 

rules the earth.

“Oh, lights! Come to me!”, 

many plead;

“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 seems to be 

present in them.

No one can reach them, 

nor wind nor any blows 

can turn them off.

Not too long comes thunders. 

All flying objects of elongated flames 

having shapes of a nuclear missiles 

keep coming back and forth each other.

So heaven cries.

Thundered air spit  rays of flames

Like electricity hitting below. 

Then loud shouts of death 

can be sensed, 

not just from where the 

elongated flames fall.

The writer’s hand shake so hard, trembling that it can’t 

keep writing. 

The paper where his story is written 

has been erased by the tears from his eyes.

“Heaven forbid! God have mercy!”

 

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Shaken 2

@thepen20/bbayonito20