She had a way with words. Each syllable seemed to roll off of her lips, as if she had invented them. Each word was placed perfectly in order; none were missing, none were unnecessary. With the way that she spoke, she could command an army and bring victory, no matter who was the enemy. The most guarded person could reveal his darkest secrets to her, just from listening to the comfort that her words carried. She could have stood up on a podium in front of the world and told the countries to be at peace, the thieves to return their stolen goods, the kidnappers to release their hostages, and all would obey because her voice had compelled them to do so. It was like magic, a need planted in the minds of individuals telling each one that her command was their own wish.
She could control the world.
She was afraid to.
She knew what she could do. People would obey, nature would bend, and God would bless her every word, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to accept her gift. It was the fear of speaking the wrong words, even though it was impossible. It was the insecurity that ruled her life; a voice had once told her that she was only loved because she told others to love her. The same voice told her that she was not worthy of her gift, and she should abandon all hopes of using it before it was ruined. This voice, though much smaller and more insignificant than her own, ruled her life because it fed on the fears that slowly ate away at her soul.
She thought that the voice spoke the truth. She listened to it and followed its commands. Little did she know that the voice was leading her somewhere dark, a place where she could be surrounded by those that gave her comfort and strength, but she felt small, alone, and weak. She was not aware that darkness surrounded her until she found herself wanting to speak, but could not. She began to question her decision of listening to the small voice in her head. She began to see the hole that she dug herself and then jumped into. She began to build a ladder.
She found the words that she needed, tucked away in her eloquent mind. She spoke each word as though her life depended on it, which essentially it did. The hole was deep and dark, and the ladder was strong, but not strong enough for her to climb it to the surface. She needed help. She called with her voice, and she listened.
At first, no one came, and she began to abandon hope. No one could hear her, and no one would come because the fragility and vulnerability in her voice was loud and clear. No one would come to save a voice so weak, the voice told her. You are too weak.
And then the world came.
The world came and gave her the words that she needed. The world came and blessed her with more than enough words to fill the hole, to block out the voice, to build a ladder.
The ladder was stronger now, and it bore her weight easily. She climbed, higher and higher, wavering at some points, almost falling at others. Each time her foot slipped, or she grew tired, the world called to her, voices proudly calling to her, admiring her strength, her love, her courage. Each time, she would climb higher.
And, eventually, tired and broken, she reached the top of the hole.
And the world cheered.
Each person clapped and chanted her name, hugging her torn and weak body. Each person told her how they loved her. They smiled with honesty on their lips and adoration in their eyes. She wondered how she could have ever doubted the world’s love for her as they stood her and told her how she was loved, and the voice grew quiet.
The voice was still there, and the hole was still deep and dark.
They never disappeared, and they never would.
But now she had a ladder.