Personal Narrative: The Collision

Long ago in a land once known as the United States of America, in a time where everyone had freedoms that no longer exist today, religious freedom had no price. Back then, everyone was free to practice whatever religion they pleased. That all changed the day the continents collided; an event that was much later given the name the Collision. For a time, there was peace but even a tentative peace can’t last forever. Only days after the Collision, the Vatican City sent its troops out across the newly formed continent. They had been authorized to destroy any and all resistance to the Conversion, the name the bloody event was given so that it could be celebrated. From that day forward, any person or family who was not Catholic was either forced

The rest of us, who Converted only to save our lives, continue to practice our own religions on Saturdays right under the Pope’s nose in underground Mosques, Synagogues, Temples, and Churches. A war has been going on since the very first Conversion Day, but its members now hide below ground where those above cannot seek them. Those underground know these freedom fighters as the Resistance, but to those above ground we have no name and no identity. Such was the world I grew up in. This world has known only fear, pain, sadness, and bloodshed. One that celebrates the bloodshed that created this continent. The one that claimed, through the prophesies of a gypsy woman, I was her savior the long awaited Black

Light meant dawn. Dawn meant I had to get up, which I did reluctantly. My bed was warm and the predawn air was cold. All I really wanted to do was crawl back into bed and sleep until the Conversion Day bells called everyone to the town square. Unfortunately, crawling back into bed would not help my family make ends meet. So, in the watery predawn light I dressed. When I had finished, I pulled my honey-gold tresses into a ponytail and snuck past the twins’ room, peeking inside as I did. I knew that they would be asleep until the bells woke them, but it gave me a sense of security knowing that they were still asleep. As I slipped into the front hall, I removed the Stetson my father used to wear on days like these from its hook on the wall and his Colt 45. The Colt was for protection as much as it was for show. I slipped it into its holster on the belt and fastened it around my waist. As I stepped from my house, I closed my eyes and inhaled the sage scented air, just as my father had every morning before a mustang hunt. I closed the door and ran to the barn, eyes wide open. I flipped on the light and let all but the eight horses for the showcase and the two I would need for this morning out into the large pasture. Once the showcase horses had been fed, I went to Night Wings. Though I knew I shouldn’t take my time brushing him, I just couldn’t help myself. This was mostly due to the fact that he had been my brother’s horse and any time I worked with Wings I felt close to