The Blackwidow’s Test

At one point in our lives, when this world shower angst towards abundance, we will be humbled by our inability to rationalize. And I thought reason alone exists. Achieving it has failed me in the process. My transformation was beyond control, even against my will. I don’t even know what procured it. It started that day..

I prayed that suffering would not live another day. Dynamics of neurons nor reserved intellect became just another invaluable penny in the pocket. That tint of warmth grew into flame of anger you would be scared to measure. I could only imagine tremors of human capacity. That point you could be worst than a serial killer or a leviathan of dictatorship. It was a feeling I was meant to experience momentarily. Subsided by subconscious faith.. without much effort of reknown. It was a moment of fighting to live or dying with a purpose.

The next few days were more than I could imagine. A friend, plowed artfully with philosophical orientation challenged my belief in God.. Historical accounts.. eccentricity of society’s own vendetta on existence.. all humored the basis of my conviction. Not even by the second.. not by slightest urge.. have I doubted my faith. Am I another mundane mutation of human evolution? A probable causality of reason and faith it is, just as he claimed.

So I decided to attend the weekly mass which has been barely since puberty. In some unknown impulse, I stopped by a coffee shop to write my bucket list. A foreign stranger shared a table and asked me out for a coffee after our respective preoccupations that time–him for a shopping and I to move on with writing. After a light exchange of contrasting perspectives, he insisted to hang out at a bar where he regularly sings reggae. Few minutes later, I was there. The night was toying my indifference. You could easily point me by being the stiffest in the pack. Alcohol amplified regarded hormones to reduce resistance. I had to stick with water and iced tea. Epic of motion instinctively connected to rhythm of hysteria. Each on every angle, I was just there watching. Some demented souls would occasionally ask if I could light their smokes. Then there were plots of eye contact, or blinding shots of camera taken purportedly. All are standing premises of possible engagement. He attentively paid attention, craving to know unnatural distance. All I could I think of was–I’ve been here and this was me. He drove me back to my apartment waiting to hear when he’ll see me again. I wasn’t sure and so the safest was “maybe.”

So I started thinking what came out of this pursuit. I thought there was this old self and now. I realized I have never changed. I knew what I have been since I was a kid. My path might be a connivance of choices and fate. No one knows.In the advent of premeditated end, I grieved for those who were hurt and had forgiven those who had done the same. From here on, shades of dark faded in the name of truth–to persist in faith.

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Abby Mabb

Snarly female. Occasional book reviewer.

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