eyes but he buried his head in his hands to prevent that.

After that, he kept pulling

at the rubber band across his wrist.
The dismissal bell finally rang and students arose in unison and were nearly
halfway through the door. At last, freedom.
“Hey Mr. Rune, do you mind if I could talk with you for a minute,” a voice asked.
It was Ione Buchanan. 
“Right now? I don’t know Ione, I have things I have to…get…you know,” Tristan
said. Tired and full of angst, he was not ready to stay another twenty to thirty
minutes explaining an assignment or going through the gradebook. 
“Oh, that’s fine. I just had some shots from the dance last week from the Pictures
Club that Ms. Grant thought I should show you,” Ione said.
“Ms. Grant?” Tristan asked, raising his head on his wrist. The new guidance
counselor. Why on Earth would she refer Ione to him, of all people? 
“Yeah, not only is she an amazing guidance counselor but she does a great job
leading the Pictures Club too. Anyway, I figured just showing her my shots would
be enough but she always mentions your keen eye and unorthodox opinions, so she
suggested that I should pass them to you and get a…second opinion,”. With a deep
breath into his chest, Tristan made his best attempt to not unveil his exasperation. 
“Uh, okay, yeah,” Tristan said, nearly hesitant. He got up and walked over to the
front of his desk where Ione was and sat on the edge. Surprisingly, the pain of him
sitting right on the ledge of the desk was enough to keep him awake. 
“Here are a few,” Ione said, opening up her tablet. It was a merry go round as an
oncoming array of multiple images flashed forward of different students, teachers,
and administrators at the recent Homecoming dance. Pieces of colors came and
went. Some faces were recognized with clarity and distinction, some were just a
blur. The more pictures he saw, the more agitated Tristan became. He imagined
how the students felt when they were told to sit and watch a presentation film. On
and on the slides went. 
“Yeah, uhh…Ione. These, these all look fine. I really don’t think there’s much
expertise I can offer,” Tristan stated, smirking for a quick moment in hopes to send
her off. “Maybe we could both just head out,”
“Going somewhere?” Ione asked, noticing his consistency to avert his gaze at the
clock. Tristan turned to her, dumbfounded. 
“N-no. No no. Just keeping an eye out,” he answered. Not much to Ione’s
satisfaction.
“You know, I was just as surprised as you were when Ms. Grant told me to show
you these photos,”
“Why’s that?” Tristan asked.
“I assumed that you were like other teachers. You’d have your favorites and only
pick ones whose pictures you liked the most,”
“What would make you think that?”. Ione shrugged, keeping her stance on
Tristan. 
“Nothing. But I can tell, every teacher has their favorite,”
“Okay,” Tristan muttered. “Ione, look it’s been a long day for me. For you as well
I’m sure. So I think now would be a good time for us both to leave and we can pick
this up another time,”
“Just wait, before you head off I wanted to show you one last photo. I think you’ll
really like it,” Ione said confidently. She slid through all the way to the end and
managed to find what she was looking for. “This,”. For a moment, she placed
herself at his side and showed him the photo he was aching to see. From that same
night. Homecoming. There were no students cheering and drinking the sour punch.
It wasn’t a teacher saying something corny over the mic. It wasn’t even the school
trophy, but rather a mysterious display of him already engaged in what seemed like
a passionate kiss with Bo Adesina.
Bo was another student in his class and as some liked to mention, the only African-
American girl in the whole academy.  What was happening in the picture was
nothing more than an honest mistake. More so on Tristan’s part than Bo. 
They were in the class, standing in the same spot as he and Ione were. The class
was dark and there was only light from the shades. Tristan had only gone back to
get slips for another teacher and apparently Bo was already there. She said he
messaged her to meet them, but Tristan claimed he never did. He could barely
remember what they were speaking about or how it started. But he could remember
how it ended.
“I think you’re an excellent student and a great person Bo. But you have to believe
that yourself. You have to do the work,” he said to Bo that starry night. Within a
moment, Bo grabbed his face with quickness and planted an innocent kiss on his
lips.
“I–I’m so–sorry. I’m..” she stumbled. Tristan was at a loss for words. Stunned he
was and utterly confused. Yet, he didn’t want her to be instantly full of regret.
Without hesitation, Bo sped out of the classroom and probably out of the school.
When Tristan returned to the gym, he never saw her again. 
“Where did you g—“. 
“Nnhn,” Ione said, backing up with quickness. Locking her phone, she pressed it to
her chest as if it were treasure. And in her case, it actually was. “Not so fast,”
“Wh–H–?” Tristan asked. Opposite of what happened that night with Bo, where
there were no words, it was like the words were speeding up throat like vomit but
wouldn’t come out the right. His heart dropped in the abyss of his stomach, his
mind became a tornado.
“You know, I honestly thought being assigned to the Pictures Club, I would hate it.
Being around a bunch of geeks in retro living out their serial killer fantasies hiding
out in the darkroom. But I’ve learned so much. It’s so amazing what photos you
can capture when you have a different lense.”
“Ione! What in God’s name d—
“I told you. I was assigned to take photos from the dance. So many highlights, but
this one is definitely my favorite,” Ione said calmly. “You know there are types of
lenses. There’s standard, specialty, wide angle, telephoto, and macro. In my
opinion, macro is the best. It really zooms and captures the whole photo. I never
would've thought handling a camera other than my own could be so informative.
Now I’m supposed to show these to Ms. Grant by the end of the week so she can
clear them,” Ione said, grinning. 
“Ione, I beg of you. In the name of God, I need you to give those photos back t–”
Tristan said, reaching out for the tablet. 
“I think it’s a little too late to call on God now. I’m giving the photos back to Ms.
Grant,” Ione asked.
No!” Give them to me,” Tristan pleaded, realizing his voice was too loud. 
“But Mr. Rune, these photos don’t belong to you. Technically, they’re part of the
Pictures Club and are meant for Hillstone property, You know, yearbook, websites,
things like that,” 
“Ione,” Tristan said, using everything in him to lower his voice. He was up from
the edge of his desk and wanted to step closer to Ione, but held back to avoid any
other kind of accusation. “Please, whatever it is that you want…I will give it to
you. But you cannot turn that picture in,” Tristan begged. 
“Well that depends on you,” Ione said.
“What do you mean?” Tristan asked, his head pounding.
“Yesterday, I overheard you on the phone with someone. Sounded kind of
heated,”. Tristan could feel drips of sweat falling down his chest underneath his
tank top under his shirt. “Loan officers can be a pain in the arse, right? And I’m
sure they’ll be highly unlikely to make offers with a pedophile,”
“No Ione listen, that picture isn’t what it looks like!” he charged. “You’re taking it
out of context.”
  “I so don’t care. And I’m sure the police won’t see it that way either,” Ione said.
Her hazel glowed with mischief. “But here’s my proposition. Now, my grades are
always the best in the class, but my ranking isn’t up to par. It’s below your favorite
student apparently,”. Bo? “Bo. And because of that ranking, she’ll be likely to be
nominated and win the Scholar Award at the end of the year. She’s only been in
your class for a few months so that doesn’t seem all that fair. I need you to change
that. Higher my ranking and lower hers,”
“Wh—? Ione, what is wrong with you?! You think this is some kind of game?”
Tristan whispered angrily.
“Well, it is. My game, that is. And you’re gonna play by my rules. And either you
win or you lose,” Ione stated.
 “Io–I can’t just change scores like that. Deadlines are coming up. Grades have
been finalized,”
“So un-finalize them,” Ione stated. “I know you’re new here and all but it’s not that
hard. I’m sure you have access,”. Tristan breathed hard. “I have $100,000 just
resting in my family account waiting to be spent on whatever I want. Or, I could do
some good with that money,”. Tristan looked at her confused. “So you have one of
two choices, higher my marks and I help you pay off your house and whatever
other payments you need to take care of and you can avoid foreclosure or you
don’t and I can take this picture of you and Bo straight to Dean Rowan,”. Tristan
mumbled with agitation. Deal with the devil? Or risk losing everything he has? He
couldn’t think of any rebuttal to get him out of this. He had to do what he could to
preserve himself and the future of his well-being. 
“Okay, fine,” he caved. “I’ll….” Tristan started. His lips quivered with hesitancy.
His heart rose with fear. Not of what was about to be done, but his decision that
was about to be made just in a single moment. “I’ll change the grades,” he said
slowly. 
““Isn’t that wonderful,” Ione said. “And from now on, you don’t put final marks
until I see them,” Ione said, her eyes straight into Tristan’s. 
Tristan couldn’t explain it, but his heart felt crushed. He couldn’t let that image get
out. It would ruin him. And Bo. Yet, his home was a priority at risk. As far as he
was concerned, he was between a rock and a hard place. 
God, what do I do?, he thought. He couldn’t wait for an answer. Things were on
the line. 
A home he could find anywhere, but his reputation would remain unfixable and
would stay that way no matter where he went. Or could it be the opposite? Perhaps
he could move somewhere else and keep his clean cut persona. But he knew he
couldn’t do that. He couldn’t leave. Where would he go? Back to Australia? No. 
It was done. No. He could go back. No. That didn’t seem like a good possibility.
Ione smirked her thin glossed lips and finally walked her way out of the
classroom. 
“Have a nice day Mr. Rune,” she finally said. As the hinges closed and the wooden
door slammed shut, Tristan winced with pain as he felt his heart drop. 
The Gatekeeper
Submitted into Contest #159 in response to: Set your story in a world where the
currency isn’t money — or at least not money as we understand it.... view prompt

Lorilyn Roberts
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CHRISTIAN   FICTION   COMING OF AGE

Ivan, the gatekeeper, summoned the young lad, Leonid Portnoy. Having just turned
21, Leonid was now considered an adult according to the village’s laws. The
majestic sun hung over Ivan’s shoulder as he stood next to the gate. Gently rolling
hills and pleasant valleys surrounded the obscure town. At an undisclosed location,
it was the only city in the world where people didn’t have to work if they didn’t
want to, and everything was provided to its residents for free.
Hidden City would remain hidden as long as Ivan was its gatekeeper. For decades,
he had protected the village. As the oldest living resident, Ivan didn’t know
everyone in the village, but everyone without exception knew Ivan. And while his
life was coming to an end, he had never shared the secret to his longevity.
A stranger visited Ivan when he was young and gave him a book. Then the stranger
told him some truths that made him shudder. Ivan never saw the stranger again,
though he searched far and wide. After all these years, Ivan never shared what the
stranger told him. Now, the sick man sat beside the gate with the setting sun at his
back. How many more days would he be able to perform his duties? He had
summoned Leonid Portnoy to appear before him. Where was he? The perfumed
flowers along the fence lifted his spirits. Ivan glanced at his watch and massaged
his fingers to warm them. So much to say, Ivan mused, but so little time.
The hour was late, and Ivan admitted he had a sense of dread. Perhaps Leonid got
off work late. Maybe he didn’t see the summons. Life changed for all the young
people in Hidden City when they turned 21. A house and car were awarded to each
resident if he had been a good citizen. Money didn’t exist. If a person wanted
something, all she had to do was request it, and in 30 days, she received it—free of
charge.
Many thought Hidden City was just folklore. But almost everyone who believed it
existed wanted to live there. A few souls knew its location, but entrance was
forbidden under penalty of death.
By contrast, nobody from Hidden City ever wanted to leave. Why would they?
Everyone was rich, could have whatever they wanted, and never went without
food.
Ivan began to cough and reached into his robe pocket for a throat lozenge. He
hoped to silence the cough before Leonid arrived when he would need to talk. The
ongoing cough was a reminder of the progression of his disease. He would not
escape the ravages of its curse despite outliving everyone else in Hidden City.
But at last, Ivan saw Leonid approaching in the distance.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Leonid said as he neared. “I stopped by the store on the way
home. Only when I arrived did I see the summons.”
Ivan waved his hand dismissively. “No problem, Leonid.” Ivan pulled up a chair
and pointed. “Please, have a seat. I have some business to discuss with you.”
Leonid complied immediately. “Am I in trouble?” 
Ivan laughed. “Of course not. You are one of the most trusted young men, and…”
Relief crossed the lad’s face that the gatekeeper wasn’t going to reprimand him,
but when Ivan stopped midsentence, Leonid leaned in. He didn’t want to miss
something important.
Ivan bit his lip, unsure of how much he should tell Leonid. There was no guarantee
the young lad would agree to his business proposition, and if he didn’t agree, the
information he shared could put Leonid at risk.
*~*~*
Leonid’s life had not been easy. Both of his parents died before he turned twelve,
so he had been raised by various families in the village. That was typical because
most people died before age thirty. If someone lived to forty, that was unusual.
Leonid didn’t know how old Ivan was, but the fact that he had white hair made him
seem ancient to the lad. Ivan had no power beyond his duties as gatekeeper, but his
old age earned him great respect.
Leonid’s thoughts returned to the present. Why had Ivan summoned him out of the
thousands who lived in the city? He anxiously waited for Ivan to finish his
sentence. Soon the sun would settle below the hills. Leonid did not like walking
around after dark, especially when it was such a long walk back to his apartment.
“…and what?” Leonid asked.
Ivan glanced around, perhaps making sure no one could overhear their
conversation.
“Leonid,” Ivan said, “I want you to take over my duties as the gatekeeper of the
village.”
Leonid stared at Ivan in disbelief. To take over the duties of gatekeeper seemed
way beyond his abilities. Not that it was hard, but the prestige that went with it, the
trust of the government and the people—plus it was a full-time job. Ivan’s house
was beside the gate. Did that mean he would live in Ivan’s house? And what about
Ivan? Did he not want to be a gatekeeper anymore?
“Why do you want to step down from being the gatekeeper?” Leonid asked. “It’s
the most prestigious job in the village.”
Ivan’s eyes appeared sad to Leonid. Perhaps Leonid didn’t want to know the
answer; he regretted asking the question.
But Ivan didn’t wait this time to answer. “Leonid, I’m dying. I have the cough of
death, and you are the only one I trust to take the job of gatekeeper.” He waved his
hand. “I know the government will find someone to replace me if you don’t accept
my offer, but who knows if the appointed person might be dishonest. The outside
world is very different. Money is needed to purchase things like food, cars, and
gas. A greedy person who wanted to get rich could do so easily at the expense of
the folks who live here and abscond with all that wealth outside the city gates.”
“What’s money?” Leonid asked. In Hidden City, everybody had plenty and needed
nothing
Ivan pointed to the barbwire fence. “Beyond that fence and gate, people live a long
time. They don’t die young. So supplies are limited and there isn’t enough food.
Land is expensive. That’s why everybody wants to come here. They know the
residents can have everything they want. However, if the government allowed
visitors into the village, Hidden City would be exposed for what it is, and the
landowners don’t want that to happen.”
“Has anybody ever left Hidden City?” Leonid asked.
Ivan shook his head. “Anybody can leave, but they can never return.”
“Why is that,” Leonid asked. “I’ve never understood why.”
Ivan lifted his head toward the heavens. “Leonid, there is a cost to freedom. In
Hidden City, no one is free. And although everyone’s life is shortened, the citizens
have everything they need. Nobody goes without.”
Leonid’s heart focused on Ivan’s words; everyone’s life is shortened. “Why have
you outlived everybody, Ivan? My parents died before they reached thirty.”
“I can answer that only if you agree to be the gatekeeper,” Ivan said.
Leonid stared across the fields outside the barbwire fence. What was out there?
Leonid knew he only had two choices. He either left Hidden City forever, or he
became the gatekeeper. He knew his conscience would bother him too much to
turn down Ivan’s offer and remain in the village.
The truth was, Leonid had already contemplated leaving. He felt drawn to go —
unlike his friends. Leonid knew the folks outside Hidden City lived longer. Once a
week, supplies would arrive, and the delivery guys were often older—at least older
than anybody in town. What would it be like to be free—but where would he get
the money? That seemed important to the outside world, even though he didn’t
know what it was.
Leonid had shared these thoughts many times with his friends and never
understood why they were so disinterested. Why was he different? Finally, he
replied, “Let me think about it for a day.”
Ivan nodded. He reached inside his mantle and handed something to the lad. “I
want to give you this book. I want you to keep it, but don’t let anyone know you
have it. It’s forbidden in the village.”
Leonid took the book from Ivan and examined it in the dim sunlight. “It’s ancient,
isn’t it?”
Ivan nodded. “It belonged to the previous gatekeeper. He gave it to me before he
died.”
Ivan’s words scared Leonid. “Suppose I decide that I want to leave the village? Is it
forbidden”— Leonid pointed beyond the gate—”out there?”
“Only by those who hate the book,” Ivan said. “But don’t worry about that right
now. Go home and read some of it. Then come back tomorrow, and we will talk
some more.”
Leonid bid his new mentor farewell. He had much to think about, and the book was
thick—there was no way he could read it all in 24 hours.
When he returned home, his cooked dinner was waiting for him, and the aroma
whetted his appetite; he had selected his meals the previous week. Tonight he had
salmon—a rare delicacy in the village—with rice, asparagus, and cheesecake for
dessert.
After finishing, he made himself comfortable in his favorite chair and pulled the
book out of its protective covering. On the front cover were the words, “Holy
Bible.”
“So this is a holy book,” Leonid whispered. Holy books were not allowed in the
village. He opened it, and written on the cover page were the words: “True
freedom is spiritual. John 8:32. ‘And you will know the truth, and the truth will set
you free.’”
For the next few hours, Leonid read the words in the holy book. He thought about
Ivan’s words, the barbwire fence surrounding Hidden City, and the gates that Ivan
protected to keep outsiders from entering. As far as Leonid knew, nobody had ever
left the city, but could they? And why couldn’t they return?
If freedom existed outside the barbwire fence, why would anyone want to come
into Hidden City? Was it just curiosity? 
But Leonid had one question the Bible didn’t answer. Perhaps it didn’t matter, but
why did the residents of Hidden City die young and those beyond the barbwire
fence live longer? And why had Ivan lived longer than everyone else?
That night Leonid tossed and turned in his sleep. For the first time, he felt an
awakening. For years, questions had filled his mind about things that no one was
allowed to talk about; could Ivan answer his questions? And if he did, would that
make Leonid obligated to become the next gatekeeper?
Unexpectedly, the concept of freedom loomed large in Leonid’s mind. New
insights from the Bible and Ivan’s words pricked his soul. Leonid remembered, the
Hidden City rulers told the citizens they lived in paradise as special people. Was
that the truth?
The lad turned on the lamp next to his bed and opened the book to re-read Ivan’s
words: “…the truth will set you free.”
***
The next day at about the same time, Leonid returned to meet Ivan. Ivan appeared
much older than the previous day, reminding Leonid that Ivan was sick. Leonid
still didn’t know what to do, but he didn’t want to disappoint Ivan, who had chosen
him to take his position.
“Greetings,” Leonid said.
“Thank you for returning,” Ivan replied. “Did you have a chance to look at the
book I gave you?”
Leonid nodded. “My eyes have been opened to things I never thought about
before.”
Ivan smiled. “The truth will set you free. You can be free even here in Hidden
City, where you are not free.”
Leonid pointed beyond the gates, but before he could ask his question, he saw a
man approaching. “Look.”
Ivan stood to greet the outsider. “Can I help you?”
The man said, “I am a journalist, and I wanted to interview the gatekeeper of
Hidden City.”
“That’s me,” Ivan said, “but I don’t do interviews. Besides, you aren’t allowed to
videotape or take pictures. You can read it right there on the fence sign.”
Ivan glanced at the fence where Leonid perceived a hidden camera. “And I need to
inform you, we are being watched,” Ivan added.
The man simply said, “Thank you,” and walked away.
Ivan said to Leonid, “On the fence in multiple languages is written, “No entry, no
trespassing, no filming, and no photography.” That’s why I am here, to ensure the
law is followed.”
Ivan began to cough, taking several minutes to get his voice back. “So what do you
want to ask me, Leonid? My time is short, and I need to know tonight if you will
take my position as gatekeeper. I may not live another twenty-four hours.”
It took some time for Leonid to recover after hearing this revelation. Dozens of
questions swirled in his mind. Before his mentor died, Leonid needed to know the
answer to one question that only Ivan could answer. “Ivan, why have you lived so
long, and why does everyone else here die young?”
Ivan nodded. “Yes, I knew you would ask that. I shall tell you now as it weighs on
me. Many years ago, spent nuclear waste was dumped here and contaminated the
area. Certain parts of the village are more polluted than others. It depends on where
you live and how much radiation exposure you receive as to how soon you will
die. Those who receive the most radiation die first. Me—I never enter the village. I
am the gatekeeper, and this is where I stay. I am at the rim of the exposure, on the
border between where it’s safe and where it’s not. I’ve lived almost as long as
those outside the village.”
Leonid’s eyes widened. “You mean we live on a nuclear waste site?”
Ivan’s countenance fell. “Yes, that’s what I mean.”
“Why would anyone want to enter this wasteland?” Leonid asked. “That doesn’t
make sense. If the people of Hidden City don’t know about the pollution, then they
don’t know to leave.” Suddenly, Leonid felt like all he wanted to do was get as far
away as possible.
Ivan replied, “Leonid, there is a cost to being free. Throughout history, many have
died in the pursuit of freedom. But some people don’t want freedom. They want to
be taken care of by the government. They want possessions. They don’t want to be
productive citizens. Perhaps they are lazy; perhaps they are just unmotivated. But
in return, unwittingly, they receive death. A famous American once said, “Give me
liberty, or give me death.’”
Leonid tried to comprehend everything Ivan told him, but his words were so
packed with meaning that understanding them all at once was difficult.
“What about you, Ivan? You know all of this, yet you choose to be the gatekeeper.
Why?”
“Do you remember the passage I quoted in the book?” Ivan asked.
Leonid nodded. “I memorized it. ‘True freedom is spiritual. John 8:32 ‘And you
will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.’”
“You see, Leonid, I am free, even though I live between two very different worlds.
The freedom I have comes from the words in that book, and no government or
person can take that from me.
Leonid focused on Ivan’s words as he continued.
“My home is not here; I’m just a gatekeeper. Many people pass through, and I can
share these truths. That is my calling. Because I protect the gate and do my job
well, people trust me, and with age comes even more respect. What’s most
important is the truth in the book set me free so I can share that truth with others. If
you believe the words in the book, you will be set free, too, no matter what you
choose to do.”
Ivan gazed into the heavens. “Soon, I must go to the place where eternal truth
resides, and I will meet the gatekeeper who died to give me eternal freedom.” Ivan
paused. “Does that make sense?”
Leonid nodded. “And I bet they have no need for money in that place, do they.”
Ivan laughed. “You get it, Leonid. I knew that you would. There is no need for
money. The debt to live there has already been paid.”
“By Jesus?” Leonid asked.
“That’s right,” Ivan replied.
Leonid stood and walked over to the barbwire fence. He ran his fingers along the
razor-thin edge of the wire. He noticed, perhaps for the first time, the rolling hills
and wildflowers clinging to the rocks in the distance. Survival was difficult where
freedom reigned.
Leonid turned toward his village, studying its kempt pathways and modern
structures. He contemplated his two futures. Then he faced Ivan with his decision.
“My freedom comes from above. Let me take the mantle from you, and may I
grow in wisdom to become as righteous as the gatekeeper who died for me.”
Ivan smiled. “Bless you, Leonid. You will make an excellent gatekeeper.”

You Need Service Credits

Regina Highborn stood to her feet, took a deep breath, looked around, and shouted,
“Hey, where is everyone?” “Can’t you see I need help?” “It’s probably tea time!”
Ean McMurphy popped his head up from beyond the hill in the distance. He turned
back and surveyed the land. Then, a hand slapped him on the back and said,
“Sounds like we got a new resident today.”
“Sure, but I am not taking on any new disciples,” Ean replied. “I believe it’s
McDuncan’s turn.” “She only has eight and needs at least two more.”
“Right!” “But, will you make the necessary arrangements?” O’Rear said. Danny
O’Rear supervised over a hundred residents and was no novice to these
proceedings. He had gained experience before coming to New Ireland. Now he is
highly respected for his wisdom and knowledge.
Regina Highborn was frustrated by the lack of attendants. It appeared she’d have to
take matters into her own hands. She looks in her pockets and can’t find her I.d. or
bank card. She searched for no money and other personal effects. She has nothing
to pay someone to attend to her every need. She has never been without money, a
credit card, or some form of payment.
“I must have lost everything when I came through that wormhole, or whatever it
was.” “But, I am sure when I speak to the person in charge, they will clear
everything up and realize who I am and my importance and position.”
Then a crowd gathered around to see the newest member of New Earth carrying
on. 
“Hey, just a minute.” “Who do you think you are carrying on in such a manner?”
Hagan said.
“Yeah, there’s no place for such a commotion around here,” said Clarence
Kennedy.
“Well, where is here, and where is the person in charge?” asked Regina.
“That depends on what you mean by in charge,” said Ean McMurphy. “McMurphy
is my name.”
“Highborn, Regina Highborn.” “Is this Ireland?”
“Well, that depends too,” said Clarence.”
“Ok, I have had enough of this chit-chat.” “I need a cup of tea, and no one has
come out to greet me, offer me tea, or find my accommodations.” “I demand to see
your superiors.”
“Well, right now, I’m it,” said Ean. “Then there is Danny O’Rear, who oversees
about a hundred of us.” “But, McDuncan will be your supervisor.”
“I don’t need a supervisor.” “Do you know who I am and who my husband is?”
“Of course we do.” A lady stepped forward, offered a hand, and introduced herself
as Matilda McDuncan. “Nobody is married anymore.” “But the man known as
your husband in Old Earth, Old Ireland, Aiden Highborn, is over in New Cork.”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Cork?” “He was from Dublin, and his family had been living near Tara for
centuries.” “He despised Cork.” “Well, I bet he is Lord over a large plantation.”
“Not hardly,” replied McDuncan. 
“Say.” “Here, I have some money somewhere.” “Hey, you Matilda, where is the
bank?” First, I need to make a withdrawal, and then I will show you who I am.”
“Haa ha ha.” Matilda McDuncan and some others laughed so hard they started
coughing and holding their bellies. They bent over and rolled on the ground as if
they were suffering from convulsions. 
“What is so funny?” “When I made my will, I told them to bring all my gold,
silver, jewels, and half of my money to the cemetery.” “I left the other half in the
bank.” 
“Just a minute,” Hagan said. “We all know what you did.” 
“Yeah, you didn’t leave any for your children, the poor, the church, or the
widows,” Kennedy said. “You left nothing for old Katie.”
“How’d she get here, anyway,” asked Sheamus McGoo.
“Now, now, stop questioning the ways of the Master.” “She must have been
merciful to someone, or else word wouldn’t have come down to be merciful to
Mrs. Highborm.
“The Master?” “Do you mean there is someone over all this?” asked Regina.
They explained to Regina Highborn that the Master lives in the Middle East. She
continued to look for her money and offered to sign a promissory note to pay later.
Then a strange thing happened. Several people brought out light refreshments and
asked Regina what she would do for them.
“Do for you?” “I don’t do anything for anybody.”
Matilda McDuncan stepped into the crowd and exclaimed, “There is no money
here, only service credits.” “The people that served you are like everyone here in
New Earth.” “They are servants.” “We have no money here, no need for it.”
“Didn’t you read the Word?”
“Oh, yes, the Bible.” “Well, we had a few copies around.” “That was for the
servants to read. My parents read those parabolas to me when I was a girl.”
“You mean parables.” “Well, it’s a shame you didn’t pay attention.” “Your money
and gold and other valuables are rotting away in the various vaults where you left
them,” Matild McFuncan said. “Here we serve, that’s all.”
“You mean all of that teaching about serving was real?” “But, I thought they were
just good stories to help us live better lives.” “You know, that whole moral thing.”
“Moral thing?” asked Ean.
“Missy, we all have served, but the supervisors like Ms. McDuncan or Danny
O’Rear knew how to serve back in Old Earth.” “Sadly, I just worked, paid my
bills, and cared for my family.” “But, I never helped the poor, gave to the church or
anything like that. So, I am a small supervisor over two or three.”
Regina High born continued to inquire about money and how things were run. She
was stunned that there was no money. “What about the gold over there?” She
pointed to New Dublin, and Hagan answered, “Oh, that’s how all the cities are
decked out.” “Some people’s houses are like that, but yours is that simple little
cottage down there.” “The Master said that was all you had earned.”
“Oh, I never thought I would be without my money.” “How do I get service
credits?” Regina asked.
“By serving.” “You serve others and help build the kingdom here.” “But, if you sit
around and do nothing, then you don’t eat and can’t participate in fun activities.”
“People will not serve you if you don’t serve them,” We all serve the Master by
serving each other,” Matilda McDuncan answered.
“I don’t know how to serve.”
“It’s simple.” “Ask your neighbor if they need anything and do what you can.” “As
long as you are serving someone, everything is free.” “You can’t keep anything for
yourself.” “When you get up in the morning before you have tea go to your
neighbor and offer them tea,” said Clarence. “The Master sends special servants to
give you rewards from time to time.”
“Yes, here in New Earth, everything runs on service credits.” “The Master adds
them to your account every time you serve.” “Serving supervisors is at the lower
end.” “He likes it when you serve someone with less than you,” Matilda added.
“Unfortunately, you have a zero balance in the area of service credits and
rewards.”
The economy of New Earth was unique. Yet, everyone still wondered how Regina
Highborn got there. Her family had held titles in Scotland and Ireland for centuries,
and now she was in an Ireland that looked like Old Ireland but was different. 
No banks,  money, and no bartering. Just servants, serving and being served and
moving up and down the chain of command by how well they served. They traded
in service credits, and that made no sense to someone of Regina’s position in
society and culture.
Regina had many more unanswered questions. She thought about The Master,
where he lived, and whether she would ever see him. Then there was Mr.
Highborn. How could he end up in a place like Cork? Still, she considered whether
or not this might be the other place. The thought of doing menial tasks for just
anybody seemed repulsive.
Yet, now that she understood, it seemed liberating in an odd way. She no longer
had to put on airs and brag about how much she had to prove herself. She was
important. She had a position, and it was necessary. There is no need for money.
They needed her for what she could do, not how much money she had or didn’t
have. 
“Service credits!” “It almost sounds like Socialism,” she said.
“Oh, no, honey,” Matilda said. “It’s nothing like that.” “There’s no room for God
in any of that, and besides, everyone is truly equal here and loves the Master.”
“The supervisors are responsible for teaching and disciplining those under them.”
“So, they are still servants.” “No, the governments of Old Earth would not last long
here since their goal is to rule and not serve.”
Then Regina was carried to her lowly cottage at the foot of the old hill known as
Tara, where her ancestors had once ruled in Old Earth. Someone else had a castle
or big mansion up there, and it did no good to complain. She would start at the
bottom and serve her way up. She can’t trick, bribe, or buy her way into that big
house. 
Besides, she wouldn’t know how to train others. Regina requires much teaching,
and it will take time for her to adjust. But that’s all she has now, time.
“By the way,” Wilmer Kelley said. “Does anyone know how Ms. Highborn made
it to live among us?”
Everyone stares at Wilmer like little kids anticipating an answer. No one had a
clue. Everything Regina Highborn said and did demonstrate that she didn’t belong
in New Ireland or anywhere in New Earth. 
“Do you remember that lady that came here who died in pregnancy with a daughter
named Katie?” “The one who died at Highborn manor.”
“Oh, her.” “Right.” “She was already old to be child-bearing,” said Sheamus.
“Well, Regina Highborn took and raised that child for her own.” “She promised he
mom she would take care of her.” “She sent her to school and then married her to a
man named Earl or Duke.” “But Katie is happy,” said Wilmer.
“You mean Ms. Highborn has a heart?” “Well, she did at one time,” Sheamus
answered.
Matilda said, “Perhaps she used up those service credits in Old Earth, and her love
of money caused her to arrive with a zero balance.”
There’s a lesson for us all. Mind how you go, and be particular. Get some service
credits.

The Bribe of All Bribes

Submitted into Contest #159 in response to: Start your story with a character
accepting a bribe.... view prompt
Howard Seeley
FOLLOW

 10 likes   15 comments

HISTORICAL FICTION   DRAMA   CHRISTIAN

As much as Judas tried to understand what happened the night before, he couldn’t
fathom why Yeshua wouldn’t declare himself the king of the Jews. “The timing’s
perfect!” he thought. “The crowds have never been bigger. A few members of the
Sanhedrin are supporting him, even if they are doing it secretly. So, why doesn’t he
take the next step?” The answer to this riddle eluded him.
Flustered, Judas decided to wander through the market square to take his mind off
his troubles. The squabbling between the vendors and customers distracted him
and eased his mind. Still, he is wary of everyone. Though the crowds supported
Yeshua and his followers, there were those who marked him as troublemaker and
posed as a threat to his wellbeing. Sadly, he couldn’t ger the same feeling of
comfort from being with the other apostles, for he didn’t trust them.
For the past three years, he has listened to them gossiping among themselves
saying, “Judas this and Judas that.” Rarely would they say a good word about him,
but he had nothing to complain about. For what they said was true. He was a
swindler, thief, and unknown to them, even a murderer.
Because of this and along with his paranoia, Judas decided to keep a low profile
and try to keep out of everybody’s way. As Judas walked in the market square, he
saw travelers from all around the known world. The Passover celebration drew the
Jewish community from all corners of the earth and along with the haranguing,
gossip flowed like the Jordan River.
The most talked about subject of the day was the coming arrival of Pontus Pilate.
Rome was going to ensure civility was present, even at the cost of innocent lives.
The words spoken of Pilate were those of anger, and even hate. But their shifting
eyes held the look of fear. Pilate would have been pleased to hear this.
Beyond the Pilate rumors, Judas also heard zealots were planning on an uprising at
the Golden Gate. “Just what we need. More rabble rousers and Roman guards to
squelch them, along with countless innocents.” Powerless to stop the coming
malady, he made a point to stay clear of there.
Tired of listening to the bickering, Judas strolled from stand to stand inspecting the
goods offered. By happenstance, he spotted someone across the street watching
him. His first impression was he didn’t look dangerous, but the way he was
looking at him made Judas feel uneasy.
It was only a quick glance he gave the stranger, but it didn’t go unnoticed. When
the man saw Judas looking at him, he crossed the street and met him. “Judas, I
presume,” he began. “I heard you and your group of friends have fallen on troubled
times with the temple priests and pharisees. Perhaps I can help.”
Judas shot back, “Perhaps you can tell me who you are and why I should trust
you.”
The stranger’s cold eyes fixed on Judas’ as he hissed, “I don’t really care if you
trust me or not. I get paid the same either way. I’m not interested in what you do or
who you owe. I’m here as an intermediary for a party whose interested in
information you have.”
All of Judas’s instincts told with not to trust what this man and to end this
conversation, but instead, he heard himself saying, “What is it you’re asking for?”
“Information,” he replied. “Nothing more. Some members of the Sanhedrin wish to
ask Yeshua some questions about his views in his theology and teachings. They're
very curious about what Yeshua is preaching and wishes to know if he can be
taken seriously.”
Judas shook his head. “I doubt that very seriously. If they wanted to hear Yeshua’s
words, they only need to go and listen to him speak.”
“That’s alright,” he replied. “Like I told you earlier. I don’t care if you trust me or
not. But I do know you can trust a sack of silver. Thirty pieces to be exact. This is
what my client is willing to pay you for your information. You have nothing to
lose and everything to gain. No one will come to harm and Yeshua will be set free
before you realize it. So, is it a deal?”
“Will he be detained?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure he’ll be released?”
“Of course.”
“Can you arrange it, so it looks like I’ll be the one who sets him free?”
“As long as you’re willing to testify on his behalf, I don’t see any reason why we
can’t.”
“Very well,” said Judas. “What is it you need to know?”
“Very simple,” said the man. “I need to know where we can find him, alone and
unguarded.”
It was too good to be true. “God given me the solution to my problem,” he thought.
“Not only will Yeshua have to reveal himself, but I’ll also be the one who saves
him from his dilemma. I will put Peter in his place become the leader of the
apostles. Then, we’ll abolish the Sanhedrin and sit in their stead on their seats of
power. All authority will fall on Yeshua’s shoulders and from there to me. All my
dreams will come true, and it will come with the smallest of prices.”
Satisfied with his decision, Judas whispered, “On the last night of Passover, you
will find him at the Mount of Olives, in the Garden of Gethsemane. A few of his
disciples will be with him, but that’s it.”
A smile formed on the man’s face “Excellent,” he said. Then, he opened his pouch.
“Here are ten silver pieces for you now. When we have Yeshua in our hands, you
will be paid the rest. On that night, wait for us at the gate to the Mount of Olives,
then take us to him.”
At first, Judas was reluctant to take the coins, but as soon as he felt the weight of
the silver in his hand, his feelings of apprehension disappeared. He placed the
coins in his pouch and called out, “You won’t regret doing business with me, kind
sir.”
Without saying a word, the man walked away and vanished in the crowd. Judas
was overjoyed. “Soon, my troubles will be over.” He returned to the vendors and
bought some figs with the money he just received. “Today, I have a snack, and
tomorrow, there’ll be a banquet honoring me.” Judas returned to his room and
waited for his destiny to arrive.

Blessing
Submitted into Contest #159 in response to: Your character checks their balance
at an ATM and is surprised by the number they see.... view prompt

Raena Scythe
FOLLOW

 6 likes   0 comments

AFRICAN AMERICAN   CHRISTIAN   FICTION

"It's all a ploy to take people's money! Why can't you see that, Lola?" My
boyfriend Eric said.
"It's true that there are some church organizations who are in it for the money, but
there are still churches who are genuinely investing in people,"
"You're blinded by the fancy words of the preacher and this book
is brainwashing you!" He picks up my bible with disgust.
"Careful! And the pastor I have speaks plainly, and he's transparent." I said,
quickly grabbing my bible from his grasp.
"Lola, you're wasting your time. The money that you've earned as a waitress barely
keeps you above water."
"It's in the Bible and I only give a tenth of what I earned and a small offering."
"It should handle these bills. You're broke and practically homeless,"
"I have a place of my own,"
"Not for long," He said, presenting me an eviction notice that said I have a week to
move out.
"What!?" I took it with widened eyes.
"Now, do you want to keep giving your money to this church?"
"God will make a way. I'm not giving up!"
"I can't do this anymore,"
"Eric..."
"I'm a stockbroker who grosses $200,000 a year who dates a waitress,"
"It never bothered you before. What changed?"
"This!" He points at my bible as if it the words were at fault for our fragile
relationship.
"That's ridiculous!"
"Lies. Ever since you've been going to that church, you changed."
"I have a peace in my heart and a feeling of wholeness. I've invited you so that you
can see for yourself."
"Never! Keep your brainwashing and false god. Enjoy poverty, Lola,"
He vowed before leaving my apartment with a slammed door.
Shock and frustration coursed through me as life became difficult since giving my
life to Jesus. It was a struggle with my bills, family, and now without a boyfriend.
"God, I need your help, and seems to get harder, please I need a miracle,"
I went to sleep with tears flowing down my face from a broken heart and uncertain
future.
The next day, I was working at the restaurant when I got called by my boss, Mr.
Calzone.
I walked as my heart beat hard against my chest when I arrived before softly
knocking against the door.
"Who is it?" a gruff tone yelled out.
"It's me, Mr. Calzone,"
"Get in here,"
She opened the door to a hefty Italian man sitting behind a wooden desk, which
was covered in stacks of paper.
He rose his gaze from the paperwork to her in full annoyance before giving full
attention to the situation.
"We have a problem,"
"What is it, sir?"
"I have records showing that you're short on money in a few of your shifts."
"Short? Mr. Calzone, there must be a misunderstanding."
"No, it's here in black and white."
"Mr. Calzone, I haven't taken anymore than what it's allowed."
"Then how do you explain this?"
"The only thing that I can think of is when Tony was handling the money for the
last few shifts."
Tony was Mr. Calzone's son who was pedigreed to take over the restaurant one
day.
They instructed him to take over the financial affairs and told me and the rest of the
staff to treat him like any other employee.
"Really? Tony informed me he had videos showing you taking extra money."
I remembered over the last few days; he was video taping everyone, especially her.
I thought a little about it, but now it was making perfect sense.
"That's not true!"
"I saw them, myself."
"I'm telling you the truth. He set me up!"
"Sadly, I don't think so,"
"What are you trying to say?"
"Since you can't prove it. I have to let you go."
"Mr. Calzone, your son is lying to you!"
"He knows right from wrong. How dare you accuse him of stealing?"
"Mr. Calzone, it's the truth,"
"Leave this property or I'll call the police." He rose with shock and fury in his eyes.
It was like time was slowing down as he continued to speak, but nothing, not even
a sound, was coming in my ears.
Without another word, I left the office, grabbed my things, ignoring the stares from
her coworkers and devilish grin from Tony.
Once going inside my car, I cried my heart out and without a job, finances or a
place to stay, it was a mess creek without a paddle and a final nail in my
unfortunate coffin.
I thought in my head, Oh God, what am I going to do?
I went to church with a heavy heart and my sister in Christ, Sarah, saw it. She
came to listen before the service.
I cried with all my heart, not caring if other people were watching.
Sarah waited with patience and once I finished, she assured everything will be fine
despite of me not telling her the whole story.
"What you've given to God, he will double it. Wait for him to blow your mind,"
Sarah said with a smile.
Afterward, I asked my folks if I could stay until finding another place.
Once taking care of that, I was hungry, so I went to the ATM to check my balance
and became floored by what I saw.
"This can't be real..." I said.
I double checked and the amount of over 10,000 dollars was still there.
"How.. did...?" I wondered until Sarah's words echoed in my mind.
What you've given to God, he will double it. Wait for him to blow your mind.
I knelt down with renewed tears flowing down my face with a gratefulness and
stronger faith.
"Thank you, Father. Thank you so much!" I cried out as the miracle I prayed for
became a reality.
With time and wisdom, I found a place of my own after staying with my parents
for a few weeks.
Afterward, I searched for a better job on the internet and got called for an interview
for an assistant job with a generous salary and awesome benefits.
I got hired on the spot and now was an assistant to one of the most renowned CEOs
of this country.
Aside from having a healthy bank account and a plethora of contacts, my boss is a
humble man with a knack for business and budgeting.
It was close to a year, and I've learned to be quite the secretary.
Aside from the many schedules and the fierce competition of the company, I rose
to the challenge and became better every day.
"Ms. Williams, do you have any recommendations for lunch?"
"I would suggest that nice Mexicans restaurant down the street,"
"Hmm, what about the Italian restaurant next to it?"
"Calzone's?"
"Yes,"
"I'm afraid not. They had to file for bankruptcy, forced to close."
"What a shame. Then Mexican it is,"
It doesn't hurt that I'm dating a wonderful man who believed what I believed
without judgement and proved it every day.
I was leaving my office to go home when a familiar face came towards me with a
smile.
"Lola, fancy seeing you here,"
"Hey Eric and goodbye Eric,"
"Wait a minute, can't you speak to an old friend?"
"No, you've said enough a year ago,"
I walked away when feeling a grip on my wrist to find a smile that hid particular
annoyance.
"Listen, you're employed by one of the wealthiest people in this nation. I want in!"
"I'm sorry, but if you want to speak with him, I suggest setting up an appointment."
"I've tried all that, but if you put in a good word, then I won't break your arm."
"Let go!" I demanded, gritting my teeth as he tightened his grip.
"No one is around to stop me or hear your screams. They fired me not too long
ago, you know, so I'm a desperate man."
"This isn't the way!"
"Shut up!"
Suddenly, Eric's grip loosened enough that I wretched my arm away. I turned in
time to find my boyfriend holding Eric by the arms before knocking him
unconscious.
"Lola, baby. Are you alright?" James asked with concern.
I ran into his arms, feeling a comfort that literally felt like home as tears ran down
my face.
"I'm fine, just shaken a bit,"
Once the authorities arrived at their locations, taking my and James's statements for
the report. They arrested Eric and took him downtown.
"C'mon, babe, let's take you home."
"But.."
"It's alright, you're safe now."
Once he took me home, James stayed until I settled and was ready for bed.
"I'm coming back to take you to work in the morning, so rest easy, ok?"
"I'll try,"
"Ok, good night, my queen,"
He softly kissed my lips and forehead before leaving for the night.
With a sigh, I kneeled beside my bed with renewed tears running down my face
and prayed.
"Thank you for what you've done for me today and again giving me the miracle I
needed a year ago, In Jesus' Name, Amen." I said with a grateful smile.

It's Not Fair

Submitted into Contest #158 in response to: Write a story that includes someone
saying, “It’s not fair.”... view prompt

Lorilyn Roberts
FOLLOW
  11 likes   1 comment

CHRISTIAN   DRAMA   CONTEMPORARY

Hope walked out of the courthouse tired and hungry. After a three-hour deposition
filled with too much banter between irate lawyers, she wanted to grab a bite to eat
before heading home. While 24-hour rush jobs for court reporters paid well, when
unexpected, they sucked. How many times had a rush job bashed her plans for the
evening? But at least tonight, she had no plans.
The quickest dinner would be takeout Chinese food. Hope went to Kung Fu near
her condo and bought some orange chicken and rice. Kung Fu always added a free
fortune cookie. After eating most of her meal, she opened the fortune. On a small
slip of paper inside the cookie were the words, “Life is not fair.”
“What kind of fortune is that?” Hope muttered. “What does that mean?”
She thought about the clinic she drove by on the way home and the women waiting
outside. Was it fair that the babies in those mothers’ wombs would never see the
light of day, feel a mother’s breath on their face, or know what it was like to be
loved? Hope lamented, “Those babies will die because their mothers don’t want
them.”
She remembered the panhandlers who came up to her car begging for money as she
sat at the red light. Had life been fair to them? Probably not. They would likely say
life had not only been unfair but unkind. The idea that life wasn’t fair had never
struck Hope in such a profound way.
Over the next few days, the idea of life not being fair became an obsession. She
saw how hard some people worked and earned only minimum wage. Was that fair?
Perhaps the workers could make more if they went to school or received training in
a skill. But maybe they didn’t have the money, intelligence, or opportunity to do
that.
When Hope drove by the hospital, she thought about all the patients undergoing
treatment for various ailments, like cancer, heart disease, and names of diseases
she couldn’t even pronounce.
One day, after succumbing to depression over her inability to understand how
anyone could be happy, she went to the beach. Stashed in her bag was bread to
feed the seagulls. Hope noticed one seagull was lame, but he pushed his way
through the crowd of frenetic, cocky birds and snatched a couple of crumbs. His
tenacity inspired Hope, and she tried harder to get the crumbs to him. When the
bread was gone, the lame bird hobbled off with breadcrumbs filling his happy
belly.
“Maybe there is more to this ‘it’s not fair’ thing than meets the eye,” Hope said as
she climbed into her car. Was it fair that the poor bird had an accident? Maybe he
was in a fight. Maybe he was born that way. Did it matter how he got hurt?
Hope noted the lame seagull wasn’t sitting around feeling sorry for himself; he was
surviving. He was fighting with every ounce of strength he had to make it even
with all the odds stacked against him—because he lived in an unfair world.
Hope’s thoughts returned to mothers who didn’t want their babies. What chance
did a helpless babe have at the scalpel of a skilled surgeon? She couldn’t be sure,
but she had heard that the doctors did their deed while the baby was still alive.
Once a body dies, the organs die almost immediately. Now she was more
depressed. Some circumstances provided no hope and no future. It wasn’t fair. In
fact, it was worse than that. It was inhumane.
Hope focused on the seagull again. Life had dealt the bird an unfair blow, but he
chose to make the best of it. Was he just lucky that he had survived?
Luck of the draw, that’s what it was. How depressing, though, to believe life was
nothing more than karma. Some people receive good karma, and some people
receive bad karma. Hope shook her head. “No, that can’t be true. There must be
something that controls the world besides karma and luck.”
The idea of life being nothing more than a series of chances bothered Hope. “So,
does that mean you cast your dreams upon the waters and hope one of them comes
true?” Hope shook her head again. “If that were so, that would mean life was just a
chasing after the wind.”
Trying to make sense of it, Hope argued, “If everything that happens is just by
chance, what difference does it make what kind of person you are? You can be a
good person and have bad luck, or you can be a bad person and have good luck.”
That thought alone made Hope angry. She wanted justice, but, as the fortune
cookie said, “Life is not fair.”
One day Hope decided to make a sandy butterfly way station for new monarch
butterflies. She had seen the butterfly garden at Epcot and remembered how the
butterflies would emerge sticky wet after undergoing a metamorphosis from the
chrysalis. They would seek a place to dry off before heading into the sky on their
magical journey across thousands of miles. She put sand in a dry birdbath with
several small rocks. Then she put the birdbath next to where she had planted
milkweed for the butterflies.
But Hope forgot about her butterfly way station in the birdbath. A few weeks later,
the forgotten birdbath caught her attention. She noticed the summer rains had filled
it, and no butterflies could use it because rainwater covered the rocks.
However, as she peered into the water, she saw hundreds of things moving around.
What were those wiggly bugs? When she examined the tiny creatures more
closely, she realized they were tadpoles. A mother frog must have found the
birdbath and decided to lay her eggs there; hundreds had hatched.
What was Hope going to do with all those tadpoles? Life would be unfair to them
if she dumped them on the deck. That would unkind, even cruel.
Perhaps life wasn’t just about being fair or unfair. A friend had recently died, so in
honor of her friend, she wanted to release the tadpoles into a nearby lake, much
like people release balloons into the sky. That would bring redemption out of
sadness, save the tadpoles, and make her feel good that she did something for some
tiny critters who could do nothing for themselves.
A week later, Hope took the tadpoles to the lake, said a few kind words about her
friend who had passed away, and released them. A feeling of satisfaction swept
over her. The tadpoles would grow into frogs—those that didn’t get eaten—and
someday have baby tadpoles themselves.
And the circle of life would continue—at least for them.
Then Hope had a new revelation. The fortune cookie said life wasn’t fair, but that
didn’t mean she couldn’t make a difference. Hope had free will. She could accept
the fortune cookie’s proclamation, that life wasn’t fair, and live her life in that
vein, or she could choose to make the world a better place. And while that seemed
like a lofty goal, was it enough? Or was there more to contentment than simply
doing good things? She longed for something bigger than her dreams, abilities, and
expectations.
One day she was at a basketball game, and one of the players committed a foul. He
argued the call with the referee, and the referee tossed the player from the
competition. Then the player’s coach came out and contested the same call, and the
referee threw the coach from the game.
 “So who referees our lives?” Hope asked. Someone or something had to be in
charge. If there were referees to manage basketball games, there had to be a referee
or referees to control the world or the entire universe.
Even in a basketball game, somebody kept a record of how many shots a player
made, how many fouls he committed, and how many assists he had. If officials did
that in a meaningless ballgame, somebody must keep score in the bigger game of
life. 
Hope accepted that life wasn’t fair, but sooner or later, things that weren’t fair had
to be reconciled, just like her checkbook had to be reconciled. She had recently
learned about the importance of that when she overdrew her bank account because
of a silly mistake. But the bank didn’t think it was silly—they charged her over a
hundred dollars for three overdrafts.
There had to be a reckoning in this unfair world. Maybe that’s what Hope longed
for, judgment. Then she asked, “Who determines what is fair or unfair?” Hope
recalled the basketball game and the ref who threw out the player and the coach.
Only an impartial referee could do that.
Could there be a divine being who called the shots, ensured justice was carried out,
and fixed those things that weren’t fair? What about all the wicked people who did
evil things? There had to be a God who weighed the good, the bad, and who
someday would assess everything that everybody had ever done.
One day Hope was working as a court reporter in a trial that lasted for several days.
The judge called a lunch break, and she went to a nearby restaurant to enjoy the
much-needed time off. Following lunch, when she returned, she knew her job
would be taxing. The defense had brought in an expert witness from out of state,
which meant it would be tedious with multiple direct and cross-examinations. She
thought about the jury and their task—to decide if the plaintiffs had proven their
case. Sometimes it was hard to know where the truth was, and she didn’t envy their
job. All she did as a court reporter was write down what was said and certify that it
was accurate.
Soon she returned to the courthouse and took her seat in front of the judge. The
defense began their direct examination, which went on for a while. As she sat close
to the witness to write his testimony, she noticed that he started having a medical
issue, perhaps a seizure; but nobody else, at least initially, noticed.
It became apparent to everyone in the courtroom when he passed out on the
witness stand. At first, nobody did anything. How often did witnesses die in the
middle of an examination?
Someone called an ambulance, the bailiff escorted the jury out, and the judge
called a recess.
*
The legal system is supposed to be about fairness. You get into trouble, and
somebody sues you. You’ve been a victim and want compensation. You hope the
system treats you fairly.
Death has a way of stopping everything. That day everything seemed meaningless.
Was it fair that the expert witness had diabetes and died on the witness stand? Of
course, the judge was powerless to do anything to save the man. He was just the
judge of the trial and not of the man’s life.
The question continued to linger in Hope’s heart. Was there a judge over life and
death? Or did everything happen by chance? She reasoned that there must be a
supreme being somewhere. Otherwise, people would be mere puppets on a string
and only able to respond when someone pulled their string.
Hope shook her head. “No, I don’t believe that,” she said. “I’m not a puppet. I have
free will to decide how I will react to the unfairness of life. That’s a good thing.”
She thought about that fortune cookie she had opened several months earlier that
said, “Life is not fair.” Because she had free will, she had chosen a higher moral
path, to do good things because she wanted to.
One day Hope was shopping, and nature called. She needed to make an unexpected
visit to the ladies’ room. As she squatted over the toilet, she saw a pamphlet on the
door with a beautiful monarch butterfly. Underneath the photo was the question,
“Are you born again?”
Was it a coincidence? She remembered her monarch butterfly garden full of
milkweed and her failed attempt to provide a sandy way station for them when
they emerged from the chrysalis. Tadpoles were born instead, and she took them to
the lake so they could grow into frogs.
She pulled the pamphlet off the door to read all of it. Suddenly, she understood.
Just like caterpillars and tadpoles must be “born again” to become butterflies and
frogs, people must be born again spiritually to become all that God created them to
be.
Why had nobody explained this to her? Or perhaps she had closed her eyes, ears,
and heart to this simple truth. Now that God had opened her eyes, she wanted to
find a Bible. She wanted to learn more about the creator, the referee of the
universe, the one who gave her free will.
In the bathroom stall, after poring over the words in the pamphlet, Hope committed
her life to Jesus Christ. How would anyone believe she locked herself in a public,
smelly bathroom to pee and then emerged cleansed from all unrighteousness?
Probably no one except another born-again Christian—and monarch butterflies and
frogs.
Hope reflected; perhaps aborted babies would be born again—in heaven. She
hoped that was the case, but for today, God had healed her heart. The fortune
cookie had only conveyed a half-truth. Even if life wasn’t fair, as a born-again
Christian, she would choose a higher calling than just being a good person—she
would live for the glory of God.

Dear soul number 001AABBH

Submitted into Contest #158 in response to: Write a story that includes someone
saying, “It’s not fair.”... view prompt

Keva Epale
FOLLOW

 8 likes   0 comments

CHRISTIAN   FICTION   FUNNY

Here, I am sitting on my bed and venting at invisible forces that I believed were
fighting against me and my evolution. Progress is the word. I had been working
hard and pushing forward in all areas of my life. I would even state it is the quest
and truth of my being on this planet.
The forces of the day were a team of divine beings I had acclaimed as my Divine
team. For months, years, a lifetime I had been praying to a powerful Father, creator
of heaven and hell. I had been navigating from the religious education I had
received to my fall out of religion for a number of years without ever questioning
the presence of a higher power.
I named, summoned, received and acclaimed it. I would even plead on my knees
when I needed it.
For a number of human years, I had been torn by faith in ways humanity would
raise a claim for: why do we humans have to go through such trials?
During my fall into religion again, I would say back home to be a Christian life,
with the Californian practice of it (meaning church but as I feel it), I was
desperately trying to patch my faith from the Book to the spiritual.
I never intended to have faith control my life and direction, but a number of
repeated cycles forced me back to the unique source I felt knew WHY I missed the
lesson each time.
Here, I am in my room, venting at myself, mostly at my divine team or forces who
may be fighting me, all in my head. I realized the pattern of thoughts, the pattern of
hell.
''It is true when they state that you chose your heaven or hell''.
I am open to wisdom and knowledge from science, astronomy, astrology and
theology. They put emphasis on the quest for wisdom.
‘‘Go and find the answers you need and guess what you may strike a star’’.
That was not my case at this particular moment when my mind was playing
another trick on me. I had already battled and won the beast. I had spoken over it
with force and determination: ‘‘You are not me, I am not you. You work for me so
stop trying to be smart’’.
Little did I know that my mind, which for years had controlled my actions due to
my polluted consciousness (yes, we are speaking real.) was adamant about not
letting the thrown away from her sight.
I was in a mind conflict, negotiation, dissuasion and mostly dissociation that would
be the last string to my long-awaited freedom. My mind was not me for sure, it was
a powerful technology and device I owned. It was mine, meaning I had control
over it.
How on earth do a tool that I have to use for my growth and bliss, turn out to be
working against me? I had to come to terms with my dear possession.
How human was I, thinking about possession and power over a device I had no
clue how it was working, but I knew I could do something about that control.
First, I started counting from 10 to 1. It is proved scientifically to be effective in
calming the mind. That was the key, calm the beast and reveal the docile
machinery.
I started investigating how the mind works and how I could hack it. My venting
out to divine forces became tangible. It was not Divine work I was planning to
accomplish, it was a life mission.
Take back ownership of your mind, your brain, your focus, your thoughts, your
actions, and your peace. It was a well-being mission.
I read a number of books, watched and listened to a number of educational
programs and understood this was Me or my mind: the final battle in this level of
war.
I vented at my Divinity, to God and asked the question we all chase: why on earth
did I volunteer to be here as a human within this human experience?
I heard a voice! What? a voice! Really. No way! Your mind is playing a joke on
you: this battle is real.
I heard the voice again, quite loud and clear. My ears even started ringing. It was
extravagant enough for me to question my sanity.
I thought to myself, am I in the book ‘‘conversations with God?’’ because I would
have prepared for this, I would have pledged and defended myself like Job in the
Bible.
The voice said something intriguing and heartwarming:
‘‘It is not fair’’.
‘‘Wow! Finally, someone says out loud how I feel.’’
I was curious where his intentions would lead us to. I was puzzled, but I wanted to
explore this weird encounter. I kept on with my book reading and venting over my
next actions and missed opportunities.
I heard again:
‘‘It’s not fair. You believe it is not fair, really human number 4562029282, really
soul number 001AABBH. Did you not remember your mission on this planet?’’.
I was astonished by the promptness of that voice, it was getting scary. Numbers,
identification, thought I was in a sci-fi dream.
‘‘I am not a number!’’
Never did I picture the Divine creator speaking of us as numbers. The Bible uses
names. At least as a soul give me a Levi, Sarai, Joseph, Elijah, a Ruth… but soul
number 001AABBH.
It was definitely a dream, a weird one and I was excited to note it in my dream
journal when I woke up.
I moved my body a little and took a deep breath. While performing these mindful
acts due to the situation, I wondered in what dream would my mindful routine be
so awake. I wondered if my mind control exercises in the alpha state did not push
my mind into creating hallucinations.
I was not sleeping. I could feel the air from the fan on the chair, blowing at my
feet. I remember adding ice to the machine, and the air was cold. Fresh enough to
keep me present in this time and space.
I decided to roll on my back and look up to the ceiling, gazing at the white
imperfection for some time may help my out and inner vision get clarity.
I was not in the mood for extravagant investigations, even if I was on the quest for
truth.
I started looking at the ceiling, watching my life experiences before my eyes. How
I was chosen to carry the flag of my birth country when I was in school. How my
parents decided to emigrate to a new land for better opportunities. How they did
not ask my opinion and ‘‘hop’’ was I on the plane. I saw myself indulging in
studies as a rescue to the change I was living. I witnessed my emotions while
discovering a brother was on the way(yes, I was going to be a big sister). I would
finally understand my big sister.
As I was landing on this new land, I knew nothing would be as I thought it would
be. Suddenly it hit me. What did I think? As a young child of 12, what did I hope
and dream for? What was my relationship with my mind, brain, body and mostly
soul? Had I even the slightest understanding of self, the soul and human
experience?
What I remember was the creative flow within me, even early on. My imagination
was wild, refreshing, bold quiet, but so vibrant. I started seeing my younger selves,
at key moments of my life and how resilient each of them was. I saw myself
walking to school in a foreign country, a land of both peace and threats. I
witnessed my boldness to believe I could create my dream life, hoping to craft that
reality in my head that had been practising for many years.
I saw myself grow, be in joy and pain, disappointment and bliss, despair and
setbacks preventing me from doing what I wanted to.
I witnessed a lack and a poverty mentality inherited by education, culture, people
and society.
The thought processes were becoming deep and I was not ready for that, not today.
I was doing my part of healing and cleaning my consciousness. Believing that I
could not succeed was a lie. Yet, the repeated cycles of failure hit me deep.
Again, the voice appeared:
‘‘It’s not fair, soul number 001AABBH. Remember and free yourself’’.
I was appalled. This voice was telling me to remember as if I would just unlock a
key and remember my mission on earth and enter this personality of superhuman.
Become my soul! If I am the highest version of myself am I not on the other side?
I was sceptical. Especially, because that voice kept calling me soul number
001AABBH.
I became bold and asked for the first time, acknowledging the voice was out of my
head:
‘‘Why do you call me soul number 001AABBH? I have a human name you know.
And why is it not fair? to who? to you? to God? Can you be more specific because
signs and wonders are not needed here? Be clear, loud and clear. I would even say
be crystal clear, my friend.’’ Hoping the voice was indeed my friend.
I waited for an answer, for some sort of reaction. After all, wasn’t I challenging a
Divine source of knowledge? or was it a mind game from my to-be-tamed device?
It was getting clear that this one-to-one conversation was surreal, yet the
identification of the soul and human could be codes or clues. I decided to
remember them and write them down. I could not remember them, I needed to
remember them!
I decided to breathe in and relax, I knew like the oxygen coming in and out of my
lungs, that relaxation was key to taming the untrained mind.
I took a series of 3 breathing exercises, an inspiration counting 1 to 3, a hold 1 to 4
and an expiration 1 to 7.
While I was breathing, the voice barged in.
‘‘Dear soul number 001AABBH, you want crystal clear, right? Here you go.
Nothing is better than pictures.’’
Suddenly I find myself in a download of images, sceneries, situations, people,
universes, training and outfits exchange. I had wings! These images poured into
me with a splash of light like never before. I was light! I saw features, places and
materials, I heard sounds and wonders I had never as a human experienced.
‘‘Was I going mad? Was I on drugs? I don’t do drugs other than sugar once in a
while. What was happening to me? The dream or hallucination was too real! It was
scary’’.
I immersed in pictures, actually, I was living the scenes. I was an important
character in the whole story. I saw gold and coral, I saw spaceships and I was a co-
captain of one of them. My higher self was the captain, she had radiant light within
and out of her.
Well, that was not a surprise, the captain was a woman and she was fierce. I was
working with her. I was impressed by my competency and command of the story.
The universe was dazzling with power, confidence, hope, conquering and
harmony.
‘‘Harmony’’ was the word that I pronounced when I woke up from that imposed
divine download. I spoke vividly and felt Harmony.
I pulled myself up, I was shaken by the experience and puzzled by reality and
dream.
‘‘I question my existence and saw an existence I would die to live for real.’’
I wondered if I had understood the ‘‘it’s not fair’’? I wondered if seeing the
possibilities and feeling harmony answered the question ‘‘it’s not fair?’’.
I reflected on the frustration of an exploratory soul that lives adventures beyond
understanding. Who has to live as a human and not remember the magnitude of her
existence in this material world? It felt like another world. It was out of space and
time, within a reality deprived of humans.
I started feeling philosophical, as always thinking about the paradox of being a
divine soul with a badass capacity and competency living a human life not
remembering any of it. In each life (if we reincarnate) we remember just the
essence of it and live to our truest, but we can never live to our fullest as the badass
souls we are.
I thought it was sad and hopeful to envision that we accept to live this human
experience knowing who we are.
 1. We birth and forget
2. We live to unlearn to be a human
3. to eventually find harmony with our Divine.

Just enough to gather momentum and remember at once when we come back again
as a human.
I thought: I would love to birth and remember it all. I wonder if it would be heaven
or hell.

Eleven Eleven
Submitted into Contest #158 in response to: Write about a character with
questionable morals.... view prompt

Seán Mc Nicholl
FOLLOW

 23 likes   9 comments

HORROR   FANTASY   CHRISTIAN

She knew all eyes were upon her. They always were.
But she smiled quietly to herself, lifted her book and continued to read. 
The aroma of her own cappuccino before her struggled to lift itself above the scent
of the ground coffee and freshly made tray bakes that filled the little cafe. 
She tossed her long sun-kissed blonde hair back as her eyes fell to the page. 
“Believe in yourself and nothing else,” the words ran. 
Comfort nestled inside her chest, like a cat pacing about itself before laying down
to sleep. 
She had believed in nothing but herself, it’s what had brought her to where she
was. 
The cappuccino awoke her senses to new life as the cup touched her lips. The foam
departed and found a new home upon her top lip. She licked it clear as she set the
cup back upon the table. 
Sinéad glanced down at her gold watch and a flash of annoyance ran through her as
she realised Jenny was late.
She was always late. 
She’s so selfish and inconsiderate, raged Sinéad internally and her mind wandered
to all the more important things she could have been doing, rather than this coffee
meet up. 
It had been Jenny’s idea anyways. 
She composed herself so as not to let her annoyance show and sipped again at her
cappuccino. 
Her eyes fell to her new white trainers and she failed to hide a scowl of disgust and
annoyance at the black mark that marred her right foot. Grabbing the nearest
napkin she scrubbed at it, clearing the most of it away. 
She leaned back in the seat with a sigh. 
“Sure they’re as good as new,” came a rough voice from beside her.
She turned her head to see a middle aged man sat there smiling at her. 
A shudder of repulsion surged through her. The man was unkempt; a tangled beard
hid most of his face, a heavy green coat lay upon him, vastly tattered. Even the
way he sits, she thought. His two elbows upon the table, his back arched as though
under a heavy strain, his two calloused hands joined. 
She forced an ugly smile back at him and turned her shoulder, clearly indicating
the conversation closed. 
Foam briefly rested upon her lip again before being licked clear and once more
tried to return her attention to her book. But the buzz of her phone distracted her
before a word was read. 
It was Brian.
It was always Brian.
Looking another hook up tonight. 
“If only we were all as clean as those shoes,” the man interjected smilingly,
resurrecting the dead one-sided conversation. 
She rolled her eyes and moved her finger to close the message when she caught the
time in the top corner: eleven minutes past eleven.
“If only we were,” the haunch seemed to mutter to himself, rubbing his thumb
across his weathered palm. 
She pursed her lips. A voice deep within her cried for her to close the message, to
ignore him, to block and delete him. The reasons to say no boiled to the surface of
her mind; he’s a scumbag, he shows her no respect, he’s demanding and
controlling, he’s married!
But Eleven wanted something different. And Eleven knew best. 
She sighed as she typed the two lettered reply. “Ok”.
The mans chair groan underneath him as he slid it back beneath him. 
“Take care,” he said to her, his words colliding with ignorance, “God bless.”  
He rose and greeted the advancing waitress, place money in her hand, turned and
ascended the few stairs that lay before the door. 
Though Sinéad never raised her stare, she thought she could feel his eyes upon her
as he passed through the doorway.
And then he was gone. 
She shuddered as the door closed. What a disgusting man. 
The screen went black as she locked it once again. 
“Sinéad!” came a friendly cry from atop the steps.
There stood Jenny, her red hair rustling in the open door, her face beaming. 
Sinéad’s stomach lurched upon seeing her but she rose to her feet with a warm,
put-on smile and hugged her as she approached.
“Look at you missus! You’re just gorgeous!” she complimented Jenny. 
Blushing a little Jenny batted the compliment aside. 
“Come on now, look at you!” she retorted, her eyes surveying the whole of Sinéad,
“you look incredible!”  
Jenny emphasised the final word, her hands gesturing you the air. 
A smug warmth filled Sinéad with these words. 
She knew she looked good. She had been hitting the gym five days a week for the
past nine months. The tight fitted gear she had on showed it. 
Sinéad tossed her long blonde hair back and laughed a little as though embarrassed
and held a smile long enough for Jenny to see the glistening white pearls for teeth,
all the more dazzling when set again her latest tan. 
Her face was a portrait of beauty. She had always been an attractive girl, but she
emphasised every aspect perfectly, never overdoing it. 
Jenny was hooked and Sinéad knew it. 
“Sit down, sit down,” Sinéad said motioning her towards the chair. A quick glance
round confirmed that every man in the place had had a look. The warmth spread a
little more. 
“Can we get a tea here?” she asked to a passing waitress, “Tea still, yeah?”  
Jenny nodded and the waitress smiled, nodded and left the ladies. 
“So, tell me the craic! How’s you?” Jenny enquired as she chair squeaked closer to
the table. 
Sinéad adjusted her position, her shoulders set back, her chest out, her chin
dropped. 
“Oh you know, the same old, nothing wild or exciting...” she trailed off as she
sipped the cappuccino again, her eyes fixed on Jenny over the rim of the mug. 
“I’m just exhausted,” she continued when Jenny neglected to press more, “I mean
I’m just back from Sri Lanka, and that was just after my month travelling The Far
East. And the business is going so well, but I’m working every hour of the day.
Honestly. Every hour! Plus finding time to make the gym. And this diet is a
KILLER Jenny, honestly, a killer! But besides that, all quiet!”
Jenny’s mouth sat slack in awe. Sinéad smiled internally. 
“That’s... wow... that’s amazing!” Jenny smiled in a daze, “you’ve done so much!
And travelled the globe!”
A curt smile spread across Sinéad’s lips. 
“Yeah,” she said, “yeah I have.”
“How do you find the time? Or the energy?”, Jenny asked, her arms gesticulating. 
“Well, I do whatever Eleven tells me to do. Oh come on, surely you’ve heard about
Eleven!”
Sinéad rolled her eyes in response to Jenny’s blank stare. 
“Ugh,” she said as though she couldn’t be bothered explaining whilst secretly the
earth purred about within. “The number eleven is very powerful, you see. It’s all
about numerology. Eleven is a spiritual messenger. So stuff will happen at eleven
minutes past eleven, or eleven will turn up and let me know that I should do
something. Basically it guides me. If Eleven wants it, Eleven gets it!”
There was a silence between the two girls. 
“Oh”, said Jenny quietly, “Like a lucky number?”
Sinéad laughed loudly, turning heads to see her pearled teeth glimmer in the
fluorescent lights overhead. 
“No! It’s MUCH more than a lucky number! Ah, I’m usually much better at
explaining it! Basically if I’m meant to do something, start something or go
somewhere, Eleven will be involved. Trust me. It works. But anyways, how’s
you?”
“I... I... eh...” Jenny stammered out, blinking out the stargaze from her eyes, “I’m
just kept busy with the baby I guess!” 
She laughed sheepishly whilst a forced smile tainted with derision etched itself
upon Sinéad’s face. 
“That’s nice,” Sinéad replied in a sickly sweet tone, the revulsion boiling at the
back of her throat. 
But maybe she had been too sweet, maybe she hadn’t disguised her true thoughts,
for Jenny stared back uneasily, her own smile faltering in the honey-soaked face
that looked on her. 
“Yeah,” Jenny started, shifting herself closer to the table and then running a hand
over her own arm. Her gaze fell to the table. 
“Yeah,” Jenny repeated with more assuredness, “it is.”  
Her tone had blunted and her eyes found Sinéad’s once more. There was a
resoluteness there, a stubbornness. 
Sinéad erupted internally with rage but her face carried that same smile. 
“I’m just not cut out for all that,” Sinead said quietly as if unveiling a scandal, “but
you are so brave, I envy you!”
Emphasis was laid on envy. It struck Jenny harshly and her mind whirred. 
“Well, you can get one of your own someday!” Jenny half-laughed unsurely. 
Sinéad’s eyes held contact as she sipped again at her cup. 
“Hmm,” she hummed, “No, no it’s not for me, I could never be just a mummy.” 
Blood coursed through Jenny’s cheeks and her mouth dried in instant bitter anger. 
“Just a mummy?” Jenny echoed flatly. 
“No, no!” laughed Sinéad sweetly, “you know what I mean! Don’t be like that!”
And she lightly patted Jenny’s arm. 
Jenny’s cheeks still ran red but she put on a smile regardless. She wondered why
she had even bothered to come today. This wasn’t the Sinéad she knew. 
“You know,” continued Sinéad changing the subject, “you should really come on
my retreat, I think you’d get a lot out of it! You used to love retreats! What was the
name of that summer one you used to go to again?”
“St Augustine’s,” she replied. 
“Yes!” squealed Sinéad, “ugh, I had almost forgot all about that! Do you remember
the time I hid in the confession box and near give that old priest a heart attack!”
Sinéad giggled with delight and Jenny broke into a natural smile as the memory
surfaced. 
That was the Sinéad she knew; funny and cheeky, not that obnoxious husk that had
greeted her. 
“Yeah, those were good times, pity we had to grow up I guess!” Jenny said as the
waitress laid a small dimmed silver teapot, cup and milk jug before them. 
“Well, I think you’d love my retreat,” picked up Sinéad, “it’s to focus you on you.
And you’ve been slaving over that baby, I’d say you’re in need of that! I’ve seen
your insta-posts!” 
She said as she threw up a hand to silence Jenny’s protest and continued her pitch. 
“It’s built on three simple pillars of self care; 
Number One - you can do whatever you want to do; 
Number Two - you answer to no-one but yourself; and lastly 
Number Three; you are your own goddess. 
See! It’s about empowering women, God knows we’ve been slaves long enough!
All the girls can’t get enough! We get such good feedback, we actually change
people’s lives!”
Jenny sat back in an uneasy silence. The air seemed chilled around her, pushing in
at her from all sides. Sinéad’s eyes gleamed. 
“It... I think... I’m not sure,” Jenny stammered out. 
Sinéad threw herself back in shock. 
“Not sure about what?!” she pressed grabbing the table edge as she hauled herself
forward again. 
There was a jarring pause. 
“I don’t know, it just feels... wrong,” the reply came. 
“Wrong?!” Sinéad struggled not to explode, “wrong how?!”
“I don’t know... selfish maybe or self centred even.”  Jenny shrugged out the
answer. 
Sinéad boiled out. Her face itched with desire to contort and scowl but she held
composure, injecting venom into her words. 
“What would you know?! What have you seen of the world?? I’ve been out there, I
know what women need. And they need this!”
Jenny put her hands before her, stemming the tide against her. 
“Ok, if you say so, but it’s not for me.”  
“Yeah,” Sinéad muttered, rolling her eyes, “that much is obvious.” 
Jenny let out a long sigh, watching the friend she knew disappear before her eyes.
Sinéad returned the gaze cold and empty. 
“Well, maybe I should go then,” Jenny said to which she got a blunt “yeah” as a
reply. 
“It was... nice to see you Sinéad, I really hope things go well for you,” she said
rising to her feet and leaving money beneath her untouched teacup. 
“Yeah, see you later,” Sinéad said as she picked up her phone and flicked the
screen to life. 
Jenny took her cue to leave and bid a retreat up the stairs and through the door, her
green coat blustering around her in the wind. 
******
Her apartment door snapped shut with a jolt as Brian made his escape. He had got
what he came for.
And once more Sinéad was alone. 
The rain that had threatened all day finally made its assault on the window panes
and its light out-of-step rhythm kept time to her thoughts. 
She didn’t just feel alone, she was alone; cold inside, used, devalued, empty. 
She loathed Brian. 
But Eleven had wanted it. Eleven had his reasons. 
She pulled the blankets around her, desperate to warm the emptiness that hollowed
her inside. 
Her eyes fell heavy and she drifted between this life and her dreams, unable to
settle, always battling a storm of ash and smoke that suffocated and choked at her.
She flayed the bed in unrest whilst the torment continued. 
Until the night was broken. 
She opened her eyes to the darkness, unsure what has caused the change to the
room. 
Her eyes scanned the shadows that watched her. 
“Hello Sinéad,” spoke the shadows. 
Fear gripped her entire body and held tight. Only her heart was free and it leapt
wildly in its liberty. 
“I’ve been wanting to speak with you for a long, long time,” the voice soothed. 
It’s tones fell familiar yet she couldn’t place them. Her mind ran over with fear, it’s
viscous perfume seeping into every pore. 
“Wh-who’s there?” she breathed out, her lungs still captive. 
“Don’t you know?” soothed the voice as beyond her window a bell chimed three,
“it’s me.”
Her throat tightened all the more as her eyes scanned every shadow. The voice
echoed around her and within her. 
“Who?!” She demanded to the air, “WHO?! Show yourself!”
Silence fell about her, gently like leaves shaken in late Autumn. 
From the shadows before her the darkness solidified, the silhouette of a man with
unseeable features appeared. 
“Please allow me to introduce myself,” he said curtly, “I’m Eleven”. 
Fear now gripped her heart. It beat constrainedly within her. 
“Wha- How? What?” she stammered out. 
Eleven did not reply. 
“But you’re not real,” she said to the shadow. 
“How so?” he retorted was peppered with a hint of jeer. “You believe in me, you
listen to me, to take my advice.” He paused. “You trust me. You allow me in.”  
The last line ran cold with Sinéad.
Eleven continued. 
“You know deep down that I’m real. I always have been. I’ve been around for a
long, long year. It was I who spoke to the Oracle of Delphi. I who guided the seers
for Sulla when they told him to sack Rome. It was I who warned the Druids of the
man coming across the sea. I who instructed Merlin in his visions. I. I. I! I have
always been here, and always will be. Today, I am Eleven, tomorrow... who
knows.”
The chill within Sinéad spread outward and filled the room. Shadows darkened and
drown any hope of light. 
“And you Sinéad,” Eleven said quietly, “you are my beloved.”
The cold intensified, beating around her and scalding her skin. 
“Let me in Sinéad,” Eleven commanded, “Let me in completely. Allow me to take
you. You can be so much more! We can be so much more!”
Frozen in his grip Sinéad whispered out fearful consent.
Though unseen, Eleven smiled and stepped forward and the darkness engulfed
her. 

Mirror, Mirror
Submitted into Contest #157 in response to: Write about two characters who both
want what the other has, without knowing the feeling is mutual.... view prompt
Lorilyn Roberts
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CONTEMPORARY   INSPIRATIONAL   CHRISTIAN

DR. WILLIAM CHRISTENSEN pulled up to the beach house with his wife and
two daughters.
“We’re here,” he exclaimed. He turned off the engine and pointed. “And the house
is right on the ocean,”
His teenage daughters squealed.
“Go check it out. Your mom and I will join you later.”
The girls leaped out of the car.
William winked at his wife. “That didn’t take too much convincing.”
She surveyed the sandy shoreline and clipping waves in the distance. “It’s a dream
come true. One week away from everything.”
William nodded. “With my brother and his family.”
A highly successful doctor with a thriving medical practice, William had been
nominated for a significant award for his work on pancreatic cancer. He had
recently appeared on Fox News, Bloomberg, and CNN.
As those thoughts swirled in the doctor’s head, he thought about the attention he
had received from strangers. However, the toll on his family was steep. With all
the deadlines, presentations, expectations, and media hype behind his promising
cure for pancreatic cancer, he wasn’t sure it was worth it.
In contrast, his brother, Noah, had done much for the kingdom of God. Why
couldn’t he be like his brother—faithful to God and the truth?
But, for now, William was thankful to be with his family. He hoped this vacation
would help him to get back on track.
He stepped out of the car, and his phone chirped. “Almost there.”
William smiled. “Noah will be here in a few minutes. Why don’t you make sure
the house meets your expectations, and I’ll stay here and wait for him.”
His wife adjusted the sun hat over her eyes. “In this heat?”
William nodded. “You go. I’ll be there soon.”
Before heading to the vacation beach house, his wife stepped back into the car and
grabbed a few things.
As she disappeared, William reminisced how he loved his wife now more than the
day he married her. When had he last thanked God for his family?
*
 PASTOR NOAH CHRISTENSEN exclaimed, “We’re almost there,” as if the rest
of his family hadn’t figured it out.
The two teen boys cheered in the back of the van.
When the family pulled into the driveway, Noah saw his brother leaning against
the car, waiting for him.
Noah’s wife smiled. “You and your famous brother have much catching up to do.”
Noah squirmed. His twin brother was a successful doctor, but she didn’t need to
rub it in. While William was winning international awards, Noah was pastoring a
small church of two hundred members. However, recently, the church no longer
felt like a bastion for the weary and the hopeless. Members had become
preoccupied with social justice, wokeness, and inclusivity. Many of the
congregants wanted to get rid of him.
Elders had met two weeks earlier to discuss firing him. A new controversy erupted
every week. Discouraged, he wanted to walk away from it all. Perhaps they were
right; his suffering was because of his unwillingness to compromise.
Even though he hadn’t told anyone, Noah planned on turning in his resignation. He
believed his ministry had failed despite many coming to a saving knowledge of
Jesus Christ.
The boys quickly exited the car and headed for the beach.
His wife put on her sunglasses. “I’ll leave you to catch up with your brother.” Her
eyes followed the steps to the beach house. “I can’t wait to see the inside.”
Noah nodded. In his heart, though, her words pricked him. A whole week to feel
inferior to his brother. He didn’t begrudge what his brilliant brother had
accomplished. He only wished he could have had the same success as a pastor.
William hurried over to greet Noah as he stepped out of the car. “Hey, Brother.” 
The twins embraced. “It’s been too long,” William said. “And your boys have
grown so much.”
Noah smiled. “Where are your girls?”
William glanced toward the beach. “They took off that way.”
Noah chuckled. “Our kids will find each other.”
In many ways, the twin brothers’ lives paralleled each other. Except William had
become a doctor, and Noah had become a pastor. William was wealthy and
respected in the medical community. Noah was disrespected and hated by many in
his church. William had a bright future. Noah couldn’t bear to think about his
future.
But for now, Noah would be thankful for this time with his brother, William. He
wouldn’t tell his brother that his church wanted to fire him. Resigning sounded
better than being fired.
*
WILLIAM clutched his brother on the shoulder. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”
Noah looked at his shoes.
As if William could read his twin brother’s mind, he chirped, “Just leave them in
the car. Come on, before we get busy with family stuff. Let’s go.”
Noah didn’t need much convincing. He flipped off his shoes, and they made a
beeline to the beach.
William remembered their summer vacations as kids when they would kick beach
balls, build sandcastles, and look for sand crabs. Those memories were sweet to
William, but they seemed like eons ago. William longed for that time again when
he didn’t feel burdened with so much responsibility. He felt like he was sinking
under the expectations of an overreaching medical complex. “Publish, publish,
publish,” his superiors would say, “so we can get more funding.”
William only wanted his brother to tell him inspiring stories about what God was
doing in his church. He tried to imagine how awesome it would be to serve a God-
fearing congregation and an elder board that loved the Lord. William couldn’t
remember the last time his family had attended church regularly. He was out of
town so much—and while he longed for church fellowship, he could never find the
time to make it happen.
“How is your church?” William asked. “Are you growing? Many new converts?
How about those missionaries in Africa? Do they need more money?”
That was always William’s answer for not attending church regularly. Send more
money. Not that money wasn’t necessary for missions, but—was there more God
wanted from him?
Noah evaded answering for a minute to frame his words carefully. “The church is
going through some tough times.”
William nodded as he stopped to soak his feet in a freshly made water hole. “Yeah,
I suppose with all this woke stuff and gender confusion and social justice”—He
paused for a second. “Of course, I’d rather deal with that than—”
“Than what?” Noah asked.
“Ah, just all the political stuff. Practicing medicine is harder when the government
tells you what you can and can’t do, what you can and can’t prescribe, you know,
all that stuff you hear in the news.”
Noah quipped. “But everyone respects you, William. You practically run the
medical research at the University. Without you, their funding would disappear.”
William shook his head. “Everybody owns me. Sometimes I feel like a pawn in a
chess match waiting to be wiped off the board for some idiotic king who thinks
he’s God. At least in church, you are surrounded by people who seek the truth and
want to improve the world. With you as their pastor, the church should be thankful.
You’d never compromise God’s word for—for popularity.”
*
NOAH couldn’t state the truth. His unwillingness to compromise had cost him the
pastorate. If his brother knew the truth, if he really knew—suddenly, a crazy
thought swirled in his head. What if they traded places for a few days? He would
be William, and William would be Noah. They would only let their family in on
the hoax. Being twins, no one would know the difference. All their lives, people
had confused them, even those who knew them well. But before suggesting it, his
brother blurted out exactly what he was thinking.
“Let’s trade places,” William said. “You be me for a couple of days.”
Noah pretended not to want to go along with it.
“Noah,” William said. “I need a diversion. I haven’t been to church in so long. I’d
give anything to be around God-fearing churchgoers. I don’t want this fame and
notoriety. It’s not what everybody thinks it is.”
Noah couldn’t believe his ears. Could they pull this off? Maybe God had planned
all of this out and brought them to the beach for a week to make it happen.
Besides, Noah imagined William’s battles being easy compared to his. William
had no idea what it was like to pastor a church where the people hated you. And to
be admired by doctors, the media, the University—how could that be hard to
handle? Of course, he didn’t know a thing about medicine. He certainly couldn’t
practice it, or he would go to jail. But he could sit in his brother’s office, wear a
white coat, and feel important.
“Okay. I’m all in,” Noah said. “Not for very long, though, or we could get into
trouble. If we did get caught, we’d call it a joke. Nobody needs to know except our
family.”
The brothers continued talking about how they could pull off the hoax. As they
talked, the plan grew, taking on a life of its own.
Suddenly, the cries of someone in the ocean reached their ears.
“A waterspout,” Noah exclaimed. “My God, somebody is caught in it.”
The brothers ran toward the water—was it one of their children?
At last, they could see the person struggling in the water. Thank God he was alive,
although he was in trouble. Noah followed William into the swirling waves. The
victim was an older man, perhaps in his sixties. The brothers struggled through the
cresting tide as the spout tossed water in every direction. The undertow was
stronger than Noah had ever felt. If he had not been focused on saving the dying
man, he would have been terrified that he was going to drown.
Noah prayed, “Please, Lord, help us.”
With the man choking and gasping for air, the brothers managed to haul him to
shore. The waterspout dissipated, and the sudden calmness of the water seemed
supernatural. William laid the man gently on the sand. As a doctor, he knew what
to do. And Noah, a Godly man, prayed like the man’s life depended on it.
Together, the twin brothers worked on the rescued man. After a short time, the man
revived and sat up. Noah praised God, “Thank you, Jesus. Thank you for
answering our prayers.”
Dr. Christensen continued to assess him. “We need to call an ambulance, or do you
have a relative we can contact?”
The man peered into William’s eyes with such intensity Noah saw fear on his
brother’s face. Was there more to this near drowning than Noah recognized?  
As the brothers waited for the man to answer William’s question, the man stood
abruptly.
The brothers stared in amazement. How could he recover so quickly?
“Who are you?” Noah asked.
“Do not be afraid,” the man said. “You wanted to save me. In doing so, you saved
yourselves. He glanced at William. “You are a doctor,” and then he looked at
Noah. “And you are a pastor.”
The two brothers exchanged glances. Who was this man? How could he know their
profession? Noah knew his brother was thinking the same thing.
“The reality is,” the man said, “I saved you from losing your rewards. Salvation is
a gift, but rewards are earned. Think about it. Each of you wants what your twin
brother has. Is that not like Satan, to fool you into believing that what the other
person has is better?”
Speechless, Noah and William stared at the man.
“Don’t believe the devil’s lies. Do what God has called you to do. If that’s
suffering, suffer with joy. If it’s achieving success, give God the glory. If it’s
weariness, don’t give up. Accept your lot in life with humility, and love God when
things are easy and when they aren’t. If you do that, heavenly awards await you.”
Several seconds passed until the brothers could speak, and then the man
disappeared.
“We just had a vision,” Noah said.
William nodded. “The first thing I’m going to do is—repent.”
Noah’s pride evaporated. “Things have been terrible at my church.”
William interrupted him. “That’s because you stand for truth. Don’t compromise,
Noah,” William said. “You heard what the angel said.”
The voices of four teens approaching interrupted their supernatural encounter.
Noah said, “We need to pray for our children.”
“I must spend more time with my family,” William said. “I must. I’ve been
warned.”
“Giving up is not an option,” Noah said. “I will never resign.” He looked up into
the heavens. “Today is the first day of the rest of my life. I feel like I’ve been born
again.”
No Fear
Submitted into Contest #156 in response to: Write about false news coverage of an
important event.... view prompt

Lorilyn Roberts
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 7 likes   1 comment

COMING OF AGE   CHRISTIAN   SUSPENSE

The cemetery beckoned Deborah’s mother every year about this time, but Deborah
didn’t know why. She suspected, but her mother wouldn’t tell her.
“It’s enough that you know your nanny rests in peace here,” is all she would say,
“until the right time comes to tell you.”
Deborah reminisced. Her beloved grandmother was so intelligent, so beautiful, and
so kind. She wouldn’t have hurt a fly.
The weather was cold even in the noonday sun, and Deborah wondered why they
couldn’t come to the cemetery in the summer when it was warmer. Her mother
placed some flowers beside the headstone, and as she leaned over, Deborah could
see tears in her reddened eyes.
Deborah’s memories of her grandmother were dreamlike because she was so
young when her grandmother disappeared, but she remembered vividly the last
time she saw her Nanny. It was her favorite memory from childhood.
“Mother, what happened to Grandma?”
The older woman remained silent. She wanted to tell her daughter, but she
couldn’t. Every time she tried, she choked up, and the words wouldn’t come out.
Deborah propped up the red flowers and ran her fingers over the dates on the stone
marker. She longed for one last conversation with Nanny. Death was so final,
especially for one so young. The date on the tombstone was only a few weeks after
that special event in Washington, D.C. Deborah remembered her grandma that day
as healthy and vibrant, laughing and singing as she pushed Deborah in the stroller.
Now fourteen and a young woman, she believed she could handle the secret her
mother hid in her heart. She was old enough to think about serious things and
determined not to let another year pass without knowing the truth.
She turned to her mother sitting beside her, but at that moment, the stricken woman
bent over and turned away. The young girl lovingly touched her mother’s shoulder.
“The last time I remember seeing Nanny was when we went to Washington, D.C.”
Her mother’s face turned to Deborah, and she held her pointed index finger up to
her lips. “You mustn’t talk about that day. The drones hide in secret places,” and
she sternly admonished her a second time, her words clipped with fear.
But Deborah didn’t care who heard. She wanted to speak her heart. “That day was
my favorite day as a child. You, grandma, and I were together. I don’t know where
pappa was, but the three of us were there, and I remember the music, the beautiful
singing, and everybody praying.”
Deborah stopped speaking as if a new revelation gripped her. “Mother, we never
hear beautiful music anymore.”
Resignation crossed her mother’s face. “You mustn’t ever talk about that day
again, you hear me, Honey?”
The fragileness of the moment beguiled Deborah. Discouraged but unwilling to
admit she had been cheated of the truth once more, she would try again later. The
two returned to their tiny one-room house that looked like every other house on the
street. The houses were so close together everyone knew everybody else’s
business. Several times each day, drones scoured the sky looking into windows for
something, although nobody knew what. Sameness was important. Nobody wanted
to stand out. Nobody wanted to be noticed. Nobody wanted to be seen or heard.
Deborah remembered her grandmother loved to read. She remembered the books
that lined the walls of her living room and bedroom. Nanny was the most
intelligent person she ever knew, yet somebody took her away. How could
someone so amazing just disappear? Nanny never did anything wrong. Why
wouldn’t her mother tell her? Deborah had even scoured the Internet, hoping to
find her grandmother’s name. But it was like she never existed.
January 6, 2021, was only nine years ago, yet there were only a few articles about
that day on the Internet. How could there be so few references when Deborah
remembered the hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of people walking beside
her in the stroller?
Deborah knew what the government said—many people had died that day, all at
the hands of “Trump supporters and right-wing religious fanatics” who took over
the Capitol. Because of the widespread destruction and damage, the government
hauled many off to jail.
Was her beloved Nanny one of those eyewitnesses arrested? How could that be
when Nanny wouldn’t even kill a spider?
Besides, they wouldn’t have gone to the event if there was any danger. Nanny was
an American patriot and wanted to be there that day. How could Deborah learn
what happened? Did her mother even know? Or had she been brainwashed to
forget? Deborah knew those things happened routinely. It was called re-education.
As Deborah watched her mother twist and turn in bed, uttering groanings too deep
to understand, the young girl went through everything in her mind she could
remember starting with January 6, 2021, and the days and weeks that followed.
It wasn’t long after that that her dad went off to war. According to government
reports, he was a hero, but Deborah didn’t believe those reports. Why didn’t he
ever come home? The government said America was winning the war, but how
could anyone know? No one knew what happened outside the country. She hadn’t
seen her father in years, but occasionally, her mother would receive a letter
declaring he had won another medal for his heroism.
Deborah didn’t care about medals. Her mother would scold her, “You have food to
eat, a roof over your head, and clothes to wear. What more do you want?” And
then, emotionally spent, her mother would stomp off.
Deborah felt sorry for her mother. At least Deborah was honest with her feelings;
her mother just believed her own lies. But she could never come up with a good
answer to her mother’s questions. Yes, they had food, clothes, and a roof, but
Deborah felt like a person with no past and no future. Is this how she wanted to
live the rest of her life?
The two-week winter break would end soon, and Deborah would have to return to
school. But the nightmares were unrelenting and made it difficult for her to focus
in school. She would see herself in the stroller among the thousands of people on
that wide roadway, swept up in the music, the celebration, and the wonder of the
events that took place on that special day. And then everything would go dark.
Two of the dearest people in her life suddenly disappeared.
What happened? None of what the state-run media said was as she remembered.
But, she was only a young child that day; maybe she was too young to remember.
Deborah walked over to her mother as she rested on their small bed. Mother
probably wished she would turn out the lights so she could sleep. But Deborah was
determined to find out what happened.
“Mother,” Deborah asked, “do we have any of the books from Nanny’s old
house?”
Mother sighed. “Even if I had any, I wouldn’t show them to you. You know books
have been banned unless they are state-approved.”
“So her books are not state-approved?”
“I didn’t say that,” her mother snapped.
“Why can’t I know what happened to my grandmother? Why?”
Her mother sat up in bed and glared at Deborah. “Your grandmother was a
domestic terrorist. She was sent off to prison and died. What more do you want to
know?”
Deborah didn’t like her mother’s rebuff. “Don’t you care about my feelings? I
loved Grandma, domestic terrorist or not.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” her mother scoffed.
Deborah glared at her. “You don’t really believe that, do you? Nanny was so smart,
compassionate, and—she loved Jesus.”
Mother’s eyes moistened. “Don’t say that name, or they will come and take you to
a re-education camp.”
Deborah retorted. “Some things are more important. You’ve allowed the
government to take your soul. Fear is your constant companion. Nanny would
never let that happen.”
Mother leaned into Deborah and whispered. “And that’s why they hauled her off to
a re-education camp.” Mother’s countenance fell. “I’ve lost everyone important to
me. I’d die if something happened to you.”
“Please, Mother,” Deborah insisted, “just show me one book of hers. Just one. I
can hold the book to my chest and feel Nanny’s presence in my heart.”
Her mother glanced around the small house and whispered, “Unplug everything,
the computer, TV—better yet, cover them up with towels. Close the blinds. And
we must do it quickly before the nightly drone stops by and hovers in front of the
window.
Quickly they concealed anything that could send or receive information, and
Deborah followed her mother as she walked over to a small closet in the corner of
the room. The older woman slid the door aside, knelt down to move some boxes,
and then stacked them on top of each other. Where the boxes had been, several
loose tiles appeared.
A small hole emerged. Deborah gasped. “I never knew there was anything
underneath the tiles.”
Her mother retrieved two books—a family album and a Bible. “At least I have
these. Our social score would drop to zero if they discovered these in my
possession. You wouldn’t be able to go to college. They would force us to live on
starvation rations.”
She handed Deborah the book with photographs.
Deborah opened the photo album and saw pictures of when she was little, along
with her pappa and mom. Her mother was so beautiful, and her grandmother was
stunning. Deborah sat back and cherished the family memories. She gently touched
a photograph of her father and grandmother. She whispered under her breath,
“What happened to them?”
Deborah continued to pore over more photos, noticing something she didn’t expect
to see—wealth. Grandma’s house was very large.
Unexpectedly, Deborah remembered things she had forgotten. Like her
grandmother playing the piano, the rides they took in Nanny’s car to the park, and
the ice cream store they would visit when they left the park. What happened to that
world? When had she last tasted ice cream?
Sadness overcame Deborah. She set the family album aside. What had started as an
exciting adventure into the past became an overwhelming lump of sorrow in
Deborah’s throat.
“Can I see Nanny’s Bible?” Deborah asked.
Her mother handed the old book to her, and Deborah ran her fingers along the
frayed edges of the cover. Had she seen one of these before? Deborah closed her
eyes—and remembered. “Where is that book you used to read to me that had Bible
stories?”
Mother shook her head. These are my only two books—your Nanny’s Bible and
these family photos.” Her voice quivered. “Deborah, only a tiny bit longer. It’s
getting late, and the drone will be coming by at any moment.”
Deborah blurted out, “What good is it if you don’t read the Bible? Or even look at
these photographs? You can’t enjoy them if they’re hidden in a dark closet.” 
“They are so precious, Deborah. I don’t want to risk losing them. They would take
these from me if they knew I had them. Or worse.”
Deborah opened the Bible and found a note inside.
“Oh, the note,” Mother exclaimed, “I forgot about the note. Please read it.”
Deborah whispered the words to her mother. “Dear Deborah. God told me
someday you would find this Bible. The demons will flee if you call on the name
of Jesus. Seek the truth, and never give up. Love, Nanny.”
Deborah swallowed hard and handed the note to her mother. “Mother, something
supernatural happened on January 6, 2021, which changed America. Why didn’t
the people who were there speak up? Why didn’t they tell the truth? Why did they
let the news media spread lies?”
Deborah’s mother lowered her eyes. “Because if they did, they would have been
arrested, like your dear grandmother. She spoke up. She spoke the truth. She knew
what the CCP had done in China. That’s why she took extra pamphlets to share
with others. Nobody thought the CCP would take over America, except perhaps a
few conspiracy lunatics.”
Deborah thought about the CCP pamphlets her mother and grandmother handed
her that day. She remembered circling the letters “CCP” etched in bold letters on
the covers. Of course, as a child, they were just letters—nothing significant or
earth-shattering. But because Nanny had handed them to her to hold, she felt
important. Never could she have imagined the dire warnings in those words. If
only somebody had taken those warnings seriously.
Deborah grabbed her mother’s hand. “They were warning the people, weren’t
they? They knew what was coming, those people in the booths.”
Mother nodded. “We must put these books back and open the blinds,” Mother said.
“We can’t wait any longer. It’s late.”
Deborah wrapped her arms around the Bible and imagined she could smell the
faint scent of her dear Nanny. She breathed in deeply. “I want to sleep with
Nanny’s Bible.”
“If they see you with that …” her mother’s voice trailed off.
“It’s the Bible, Mother. They will not see it. God will protect us.”
Mother bit her lip and hesitated, and for the first time in years, Deborah saw hope
in her eyes.
“I believe you,” her mother said. “I want to trust God. If only I had more faith.”
Deborah and her mother clasped each other tightly. Then Deborah released her
hold and said, “I remember something Nanny once said, ‘Weeping may endure for
the night, but joy comes in the morning.’”
Her mother nodded.
“No fear,” Deborah said. “No fear.”