Energy's Miracle
A story about a woman and the power within her that she sees as nothing more than an inconvenience.
“I don’t like these fancy clothes.”
A young woman says flatly. Currently she’s sitting across from a journalist at an unknown location in East Africa who’s being her interviewer for a national news segment about her. She messed up once in public by showing her “power” by accident and now? She’s here. She’s here because if she wasn’t, she is subject to be prey for all the government organizations, individual groups of people, or any solo person who’s out to seek her power.
How idiotic. As if attempting to capture her will get them anything but seriously injured. Something about the way energy works in her body doesn’t fuck around with retaliation when she’s threatened.
In this moment, the interviewer asked about her clothes. She expresses her disdain for them then expresses the views of those in the African spiritualist tribe that gave them to her. They’re currently the ones protecting her, teaching her about her power, and of course, worshiping her. These fancy clothes are her “protective robes” as they called it.
“They also gave me this “Divine Child” title. I hate that too.” She adds in response to the interviewer when he asks how the clothes she hates relates to her title. She’s making it a point to not answer questions in full depth, just focusing on what feelings the questions make her think of. No need for the public to get even crazier about her by adding more information to their theories. The interviewer nods with an understanding smirk then goes to ask why she is called The Divine Child to them.
“...They said: “It is because reality obeys your silence, and the earth listens when you speak.” Whatever that means…just sounds like a poetry line to me.”
The interviewer blinked, about to respond until the studio lights suddenly seemed to hum a bit lower, a subtle vibration rippling through the floorboards. The energy wants a turn to speak now. She quiets it by continuing.
“I told them my brain feels like a radio tuned to every station at once.” she continued, pulling at the stiff, heavy material of her elegant robes. “I told them that when the room gets too loud, my mind completely locks up and I can’t speak. I told them it’s just a shutdown. Yet these elders...they smiled and told me that “when my voice goes quiet, the ambient noise of the world dies with it.” More strange poetry stuff.”
She looked down at her hands, her fingers tracing a pattern in the air. As she did, the studio’s teleprompter flickered, its scrolling text dissolving into a brief, geometric wave before stabilizing.
“I don’t think it’s magic.” she said flatly. “I think my nervous system is just wired too much. When I get overwhelmed and rock back and forth, I’m just trying to stay grounded…and the night I arrived at their valley, a herd of elephants walked straight into the village. Everyone was terrified. I was just so overstimulated by the noise that I screamed. The entire herd immediately dropped to their knees, pressed their foreheads to the dust, and stayed perfectly still until I stopped.”
The interviewer’s stared at her in response as if he was looking at infinity. He leaned away from her slightly. The water in his glass on the desk was rippling quickly as the glass remained still. Tiny concentric rings rippling outward from the center. “So... you’re saying you possess some kind of... kinetic or empathetic control?”
“I’m saying I have sensory issues.” she insisted, genuinely annoyed by the grandeur they were all forcing onto her. “The lights here are blinding. If I stare at that studio lamp too long, it bursts. It’s a physical reaction to stress. My internal electricity spikes. It’s an inconvenience.”
Right on cue, the heavy spotlight directly above them flared an intense, blinding violet, the glass casing fracturing with a sharp crack before the power died, plunging the stage into a tense twilight.
In the dimming light, she looked entirely unfazed, a young woman simply trapped in uncomfortable robes.
“I see a defect.” she whispered into the sudden quiet. “They see a vessel too small to hold what’s inside it. I think I’m broken. They think the world is just too fragile for how I was made.”
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