Twitter Prompts – Plays: #3, “pillar”

“Lot’s Wife, or Nabat”

Before we see her, we hear thunder. We see lightning.

She stands erect. We watch her. She feels her children walk away from her. Her neck is in agony. She stares back at her past, at a burning town, but is frozen. She cannot move. She is statuesque. Her life flashes before her eyes.

We see, we hear her daughters shrieking. We watch them vanish. We hear the laughter of God. We hear thunder. We hear flames. We hear children, we hear farmers mourning their losses. We hear the chaotic noises of the world rise to their crescendos and fade. She watches all of it. She sees every event happening, wanting, but helpless.

Time passes. There is stillness. She is alone. A day passes. A night passes. Two days pass. Two nights pass. A week passes. Two weeks pass. Three weeks pass. A month passes. Two months pass. Six months pass. A year passes. Another year passes. Another year passes. Another year passes. Another year passes. Another year passes. Another year passes. Another year passes. Another year passes. Another year passes.

Wind blows. Sun shines. Rain falls. Snow falls. Storms take place. She remains still. She becomes stagnant.

One day, little by little, grains of salt fall slowly from her body. First from her fingers, she begins to crumble slowly, collapsing to the floor, settling as white dust. The last to crumble is her chest. The last to disintegrate are her eyes.

. . . .

. .

.

The dust of her body moans.

We see her daughters. They speak.

“Her name is Adit. She was our mother.
Who’s to say one shouldn’t be judged by god, but why so coldly?
So quick to blame a woman for a man’s work.”

They sing:

“They blamed her for breaking the laws of god, for ratting out her husband, for siccing a city on him,
But stories are only interpretations and history has never been kind,
Adit Lot,
You only wanted to see what you’d’ve left behind.
The choices we make when we are young are not the ones that serve us well,
You lived in a world that was never kind,
Adit,
It was Lot who left you behind.
It was God who left you behind.
It was us who left you behind.”

The daughters disappear.

The dust of Adit’s body cries softly with the remains of memory, of tension. It moans and sighs with the release of so much passage of time.

The dust of her body blows away.

Time passes.

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