WALLS
The walls were so ancient that even the graffiti was
protected. Children ran heedlessly past them to school, housewives climbed the
steps carrying bags of groceries, men walked along with their attention on their
phones.
But Sarah noticed them. Sarah was old enough to have been
that schoolchild, that housewife, long ago. Now she walked slowly, trailing her
arthritic fingers over the old walls, feeling the weight of history, the grief
of many thousands who had died for possession of these walls, her menfolk among
them.
To Sarah each stone shrieked, ‘I am only stone – I am not
worth those lives!’
And still people are fighting over possession of places. Why cannot they live in peace, those who profess to love God? He is the same God, whatever we call Him, however we worship. Ask the mothers whether they think these wars deserve their children to be used as fodder.
Thanks are due to Rochelle for the photograph as well as for hosting Friday Fictioneers this week!
To those outside a conflict, it always seems impenetrable why both sides don't just choose peace. To those inside, they always believe it's more complicated than that
ReplyDeleteSo true, so sad..
DeleteA touching tale, Liz. Why, oh why?
ReplyDeleteThe only comfort is that the majority of people think us. Unfortunately that doesn't stop the minority from spearding hatred and violence.
DeleteSadly, not.
DeleteOn the one hand it remains a mystery, on the other, it is human nature. Shall the two (mystery and human nature) ever reconcile?
ReplyDeleteI fear not in my lifetime.
DeleteShe represents the reality of all the ordinary people trying to live ordinary lives in peace. There are billions of us. Well portrayed here. As Neil comments, however, the larger reality becomes more complicated. Sadly.
ReplyDeleteThe slow release of those abductees is another kind of warfare.
DeleteVery profound, beautifully wrought. Well done.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Sandra.
DeleteThis is beautiful, and I am inclined to agree with Sarah. I often wonder if so many wars would be fought if mothers were placed in charge.
ReplyDeleteI will always think like a mother.
DeleteDear Liz,
ReplyDeleteThe eternal question "why?" Nicely written.
Shalom,
Rochelle
The question has been asked for centuries yet nobody has come up with an answer that satisfies me.
DeleteExcellent!
ReplyDeleteThanks!
DeletePoignant Liz, when you boil it down to the fundamental reasons, the 'why?' makes even less sense. Well done.
ReplyDeleteYou are right, Iain, and thank you.
DeleteSimply but not so simply.. life
ReplyDeleteSo true.
Delete