Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Knife In Hand

When the Warrior in me is forced to draw her knife in defense, it is an extremely difficult process to lower her guard again...  

She paces in agitation.  Her tranquility at least momentarily shattered.  She chastises herself for her carelessness and surveys again and again the perimeter.  She questions her judgement.  Was she so wrong?  Where did she fail?  She thought nothing could get through.  She thought they were finally secure and protect, insulated from threats.  Yet that little something she had thought harmless had slithered its nasty way to the edge of the sanctuary she'd found for them and grazed her from a distance with a messy flesh wound.

Bandaged, blood stained, and angry, the itch to suit up in armor claws at the back of her neck.  The urge to grab her shields eats at her instincts.  The need to have every weapon close at hand stalks her soul.  With another deep breath, she holds back from those defensive habits trusting the perimeter to hold.  Yet, the warrior is a bitch.  She resents the wound she suffered and thirsts for total resolution.  She aches to hunt and destroy. To see the carcass bleed out and burn.  However, she holds back again, knowing unnecessary drama will only cause further chaos.  

It is not herself that the warrior seeks to defend.  She knows she can endure anything and everything.  She'd been tested through fire and hell.  She'd survived pits of darkness so deep the inky blackness forever stained her soul.  She'd been tortured and broken yet crawled her way inch by inch away from her captors.  She will never break or shatter again.  It is them she must protect.  

The precious little girl.  The warm, giving woman.  The insatiable whore.  They are her weakness.  They are the ones she protects against pain and harm.  They are the ones that would suffer agonizing destruction.  She is their last and only defense if the strong perimeter she'd found failed.  

While battling their own nervousness, they all try to reassure her, so she'll put away her knife.  Everyone wishes things to simply go back to normal.  The child's soft pleas barely penetrate her thoughts.  The woman's hopefully reasoning a distant murmur as she runs through her mental checklist.  The whore's silent acceptance and withdrawal a harsh reminder of the costs.  What they want, the warrior doesn't know how to give.  She fears being lulled into a false sense of peace like before, and the cost could be them whom she holds so dear.  

The warrior closes her eyes and prays for clarity.  Then, with her knife still clutched firmly in her hand, she once again scans the distance for other threats she doesn't understand.  She doesn't know what she needs to see, hear, feel or know to lower her guard again.  All she can do is wait until their safety is once again unquestioned and in the meantime follow her only mission...to defend and protect.  

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