“Have to hold on to you, Prophet,” The Child said, busying herself with the rope.
“I see. Is that why you’re tying the rope around my ankles?”
“Sure. I need to sleep. You said so yourself, and I can’t sleep well when you’re not on the lily pad.”
“But, I’m on the lily pad, Child.”
“I need to make sure that you stay on the lily pad, Prophet. Don’t want to wake up, and you’re gone.”
“And the rope is going to hold me here?”
“Maybe, maybe not, but least, I’ll know when you move, and I can haul you back.”
The Prophet chuckled.
“Sleep, Child. You don’t need the rope.”
“You promised me a story, first.”
“I didn’t promise you; I said, I’d tell you a story.”
“What the difference?”
“Between promise and said?”
“Yep. There’re the same to me.”
“When I say something, Child, I do it. That’s better than a promise.”
“You mean your word is better than a promise?”
“Child, what I say I do.”
“Well…I’m not so sure,” The Child said.
“What are you not sure about?”
“About untying the rope. I’d rather hold on.”
“Oh, I see. So… you’re ready for your story?”
“Ready, Prophet.”
“Once upon a time, a dream found good soil in a Child’s heart, but….”
The Child, lying in her corner of the lily pad, suddenly loosened her grasp on the rope and crawled over to the Prophet’s imprisoned ankles.
“What are you doing, Child?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m untying you. If your word is better than a promise, I have to let you go.”
She crawled back to her mat.
“But The Child was afraid of her dream,” The Prophet continued saying, and The Child began to snore.
Shalom,
Pat Garcia