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BURNING THE CROSS
The dreams won't go away. Mom has tried everything: psychologists, medications, therapy, hypnosis, sweat-lodges, and now she feels I need God. And that's why I'm here.
Mom has never been a religious woman, but my "condition", as she calls it, seems to have sparked a new faith in her. Perhaps she is afraid.
I'm afraid. What if God doesn't help and I need to be "put down?"
Ah, "put down" sounds so calming compared to its actual meaning. "Sweety, Fluffy has to be put down." "Unfortunately if a loved one is possessed by a demon of the like, they have to be put down," is a line from a book Mom has been reading. I was curious. I cried last night.
This morning Mom was excited, though. It made me happy to see her so alive and glowing.
She talked and laughed with me about nothing in particular on the drive over to this church. And left me at the room where the youth group meets.
The other kids seem to like the man preaching in the front, especially the girls. They stare at him and seem entirely engrossed in what he is saying. "Why did you decide to preach?" a girl around the age of fifteen asks him. She is prettier than the other girls.
He smiles at her, "I just knew my purpose in life was to hang out with you guys and our God." This makes everyone smile, except me. He is weird. Not like most preachers. Odd, his comment would've gotten him ignored or made fun of if it weren't for... If it weren't for what?
He makes me uncomfortable and I don't know why. His every move makes my skin prickle. I feel a sharp pain in my spine and shoulder blade.
Black.
Sophee, Sophee, what are you seeing?
"That man, he won't let go of her. I hurt everywhere.
Sophee, you need to wake up.
"But it's not a dream. I can't."
Find the gate. You will wake up when I count to three. One. Two. Three.