From The Desk of David

You said your words what my most quiet insides barely whispered, and you screamed them with such fiery passion that you didn’t seem to care who you burned. You were the dragon, and I was the helpless townsman. Standing brave and tall, ready to fend you off but your hot breath was no match for me and my iron dagger. I was burned, and you attempted to apologize for what you had done, but it still didn’t fix my charred, broken body. But I can’t strike back. Morning has come, and it’s time to throw off the daggers and cloaks and bask in the Daylight. They say that Daylight will heal all wounds. It’s said that this Daylight possesses the power to make one whole again. But if I’m honest, I want vengeance. I want to strike back—to find justice for my pain—all of it. Even the pain you didn’t cause. I didn’t care where justice was found, I just wanted it.

But then something caught my eye. It was Man. And it wasn’t hard to see that He has faced His own share of pain and hurt. He approached ever so calmly. He could see the look within my eyes. He held out His hand, and that’s when I saw it. I saw the scars, no, they weren’t scars. They were holes. Holes filled with clotted crimson. The Man would go on to tell of how a group of people’s own vengeful thirsts causes His pain and how it was foretold centuries ago. He said because of His suffering, justice had already been served. I didn’t need to strike back. I didn’t need to hurt the dragon. The Man would go on to say that all I needed to do was stand in the Daylight, find healing, and then go and tell of the healing power of The Daylight. Because it would be my words that would be vengeance for my pain—not justice. Not hurting someone else.

So then as the Man left, I would pull down the hood of my cloak, breath in deep, close my eyes, and sit ever so stilly in the Daylight. It took time, but slowly the burns and scars began to fade. I unfastened the buttons around my neck that was holding the cloak in place and let it fall to the ground. I wouldn’t be defined by the things I wanted anymore. I would be defined by the things I loved, or maybe I would be defined by the things that loved me.