The Quiet In Her Hands

Today, October 6th, is when the Nobel Prize winners are announced.

The announcement of the Peace Prize follows shortly--with the eyes of the world on the winners.

Peace is lived, not viewed—through the eyes of a child.

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Home was alien to Eunice; it was her first time back there after years of documenting conflicts in war-torn countries.

The house remained as it was when she left her parents and the neighbourhood—a decrepit riverside garden, walls overwhelmed by creeping bougainvillaea,

Yet, the vibrance of the flowers locked the eyes of the young photojournalist.

The creeping vines throbbed with an unrest that mirrored hers—

Permanent and unresolved.

She stepped into the garden as though it were a shattered fragment of the world she now knew—chasms of chaos.

Even in the silence, she recalled the roar of broken cities.

She breathed in the still air and shut her eyes.

Broken buildings.

The holler of exploding bombs.

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Eunice tried to realign with life as it should be—

Normal and uneventful.

Bomb free.

But falling bombs and the cries of motherless children were stalkers she could not shake off.

Her camera lingered, untouched, on a shelf.

She volunteered at a local community centre, trying to forget the unsettling images she had captured for Life magazine.

Images with an unrelenting grip.

Then, she met Tomo.

The five-year-old was hard of speech—his drawings spoke for him.

Louder than the spoken word.

The children he played with drew to his silence.

The surreal calm of the mountains and lakes he painted.

Children who played together, the colours of the skin and mind linked---

Not a barrier.

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On an afternoon at the centre, hollers that kissed the sound barrier.

Human tsunamis formed in the city streets, swallowing buildings.

A fire had consumed a building nearby.

Screams.

Anarchy.

Fragments of Eunice's mind.

The nightmares she had borne, that her heart now unfollowed.

The photo journalist within reached for her camera, then stopped.

Realisation gripped her arms.

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One that she followed. She helped to lead the children in two lines, an adult picture of calm, down the fire escape.

Firefighters doused the raging flames in a matter of minutes.

She helped to bring the charred garden back to life—to a place of reflection, community, and shared stillness.

And came to know that peace couldn't just arrive; it had to came in parts, with gestures of gratitude, sincerity, and above all—

Tolerance.

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Eunice left the camera behind, an unwanted memory puzzle piece, forever.

She had to live, not capture, stories of peace.

Her eyes fell on Tomo, sketching a dove in the garden.

The world she left behind raged, but the garden buzzed with gentle truth.

And the quietest persons— and moments—held the greatest power.

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For Mikeydred's Octoberon Challenge: