Amitiel, the angel of truth, with a mirror in her hands, appeared before me in a dream.
Look, said she, though not a word came out, nor a movement from her lips. In the mirror stood a little girl, knelt by her bed in earnest prayer. Who is she, asked I, though i could not make a sound, and what is it she asks? Solada, came the silent reply, and she asks to be able to hear. With a swift motion, the angel touched the ears of the girl now asleep.
Look, repeated the angel, as images flickered like an old slideshow. Came to life one did, of a man and woman in heated argument, beer bottles strewn around the room. Solada's family, said the angel, of violence.
Up flashed another image, this time of a playground full of children, not one of which was her. Solada's school, came the soundless voice, of unacceptance.
Yet another image came alive, of a lady waving her umbrella at Solada, the lady white, Solada, black. Solada's world, floated the voice, of racism.
The images vanished, and revealed, was Solada huddled in a corner. In heartbroken tones she wept, the merest breath of which could melt any stone. MAKE IT STOP, cried I, TAKE IT AWAY! With sorrowful eyes, the angel said, Solada, she who listens. To the silence she tunes her ears, for protect her they do from the hate.
Desire, said the angel, her eyes blazing like coals, the flame that burns in all man, only the heart can contain. Keep it buried deep within, lest it engulfs you in a fearsome fire.
