Conquering God

If only for a moment. The feeling is indescribable. Like being frozen between two, very different, worlds and lacking all ability to crack the ice that encircled me. Scared. Stuck. And nearer to death than ever been before.

The start was an initial clash, that rumbled like thunder, delivering with it a ringing static that penetrated my ears and quickly filled every inch of the inside of my head. I squeezed  with every ounce of might I could dig up, bursting blood vessels throughout my entire body that would, eventually, induce a noticeable instability in his stance. I struggled to lower my shoulder, dropping it into the center of his chest, as an aggression, like a flame, started in my toes, quickly spreading up through my feet, legs, core, and bursting through my squared off shoulder like an explosion into his chest. The strike is felt, shifting his weight from certainty to the fluctuating balance that would dance with us both for hours. The taste of blood inside my clenched jaw would become a backdrop that would endure throughout the night. The exhaustion that so feverishly spread across my body was almost unbearable, but somehow, I held my grip around a seed of hope, which turned into a spring of determination, then into an ounce of grit, in sequence but all at once, as well. Which can only be described as piercing conflict. Bouncing in and out of consciousness, recognizing the inescapable fact that my twisted body was trapped in the clutch of a violent embrace. I pushed with all my might against his arms.

Despite my most sincere efforts to break his grasp, it only appeared tighter with each passing second. I relinquished my struggle, but only for a moment. I dropped my body and turned with a snap, sliding down his chest like rain runs over a dry rooftop. In breaking free from the stranglehold against me, I felt his hands slap the skin of my neck as they landed, securely, one after the other. The hand that created the universe, formed man and beast and placed the stars in the sky. This glorious, righteous, ageless, all-powerful hand, so strongly clenched around my throat. We pressed on. Grappling and rolling into the early hours. Shifting our weight into the other, delivering the greatest blow our might could produce.

A golden light of the morning ever so subtly crept it’s way into our proximity, shattering the darkness and finding us, both, exhausted. My hands shared in the relentless squeeze of the cloak that fell across his chest. My grasp could not be released. He shook me ferociously in an attempt to disconnect from our entanglement. I pulled myself up his body climbing onto his shoulders and pinning him to the ground like a nail fastens a piece of wood into place. We both gasped for air and trembled in total depletion. My eyes fell upon his and he knew that I would not release him until he favored me. A mighty wind exhaled through his nostrils and his chest rose then slowly deflated.

My mind began to fade into a graphic clarity. An awareness suddenly overcame me that had not been known until that very second. I immediately felt this desperate urge to know who he was. My lips began to move, casting words from my mouth saying, “What is your name?” He said nothing. No lyrical response. But I heard his words louder and clearer than if they had been spoken aloud, saying, “Why do you want to know my name?”

I felt completely paralyzed. I couldn’t push away or pull myself any closer. I couldn’t blink or breathe, or even think. The tarrying daze was quickly fractured by the shrieking pain that grasped my hip. The paralysis was flushed away and promptly replaced by the raw, throbbing affliction within my side. My senses returned in garish fashion. I felt everything. I tingled with a type of cold numbness from my waist down and could not stand to my feet. He lifted himself up onto one knee and, after taking a momentary pause followed by a deep breath, stood on shuddering legs. Looking down upon me, he said: “Today . . . you struggled with God, and have prevailed.” I shook, and though the knowledge of his identity was new to me, it felt as if I had known of it all along.

In the blink of an eye, he was gone. But the dislocated hip, harbored within my side, would present a type of anguish that I would hold forever. I see the wound as a trophy. An award, granted to no one but me. I believe that is what he intended. To be an ironic form of a gift or token. One that will accompany me regardless of where I lay down at night. A reminder of who he is. A reminder of who I am. The flesh and bones that challenged all-mighty God and prevailed, if only for a moment.

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Short Story
writing JAaronTyler
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