Prophet
A short story
Atop the alter, our great messenger stands before us, old and withered. I always love hearing his speeches. O’, how they grant me pleasure. Our ever-loving leader, come to share his wisdom with we, the common folk, O’, the honour!
“My lambs!…” begins he.
“I’m afraid, my time is coming to an end soon… The lord… He wishes for my soul to rejoin him in the heavens, for eternity and thereafter…”
The alter fell cold. He is leaving us? Our messiah is leaving!? It can’t be! Why would God command he leave us!
“UNTHINKABLE, LORD ISAAC! WHY EVER HAS HE COMMANDED THIS OF YOU!?” I cried out, manic desperation in my tone, to which everyone else joins in.
“YOU CAN’T LEAVE!”
“YOU ARE OUR ALL MIGHTY PROPHET!”
“YOU STILL HAVE SO MUCH WISDOM TO BESTOW TO THE WORLD!”
In the midst of the chaos, he, our leader, raised his wrinkled hand, commencing a stand-still in an instant. We immediately fell silent.
“My lambs, that is why I have called you here today… For the lord has spoke to me in a dream… Such a vivid dream, it was… He had shaped it and fed me with instructions to pick out… a new heir…”
The air thinned. He was picking an heir? A new prophet!? Young blood to continue our legacy! O’, gorgeous lord!
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From his pedestal, our prophet stands, like Moses before the everflowing waters, demanding a split, to which we all disperse evenly down the centre, our cloaks dragging off the floor, collecting dust underneath the caped fabric.
Slowly, warping the crowd around him, he begins to stride into us, as if on a pilgrimage, only known by him.
Eventually he stops, right before me, offering his hand.
“My lamb… He has chosen you… If you feel you are ready… I shall teach you the ways of a prophet… You have made the lord and I very proud, with your compliance…” He proclaims as he takes my cloaked wrist.
My eyes widen as I look around. Everyone around me is staring, point-blank, lips parted. They all slowly start to chant in unison, as we always do,
“Prophet… Darren… Prophet… Darren… The lord’s chosen lamb…”
I look back to the true prophet.
“Must you really depart from us so soon, O’, great messenger?…” Whimpers I.
He looks to me once more, removing my hood. He stares for a bit before extending his free hand and placing his middle finger, then eventually his full hand over my forehead.
“My lamb… You needn’t worry about anything, nor about me… Now come… You have obeyed so long… You wouldn’t wish to displease your lord now, would you?…”
…
“No, great prophet…”
From his cloak, a wide sneer meets his eyes, just for me to see, and suddenly, I know what I must do. The people need me, and so I walk to the front of the alter, before them all, and speak.
“My lambs… I thank you all. I know you will support me in my new reign…”
“As prophet…”
