The daughter looked into glassy eyes.
They should scare her, she was old enough to know that now, but all she felt
from them was an odd, comforting cold. They drew her in, pulling her towards
another world. A better world.
Maybe that was why she liked telling her
stories to the body. They weren't prophecies... yet. Not like grandpa's
stories, rest his soul. Mommy promised that, if she was very good, one day her
tales would be like that. For now, she did the best she could.
She liked to think she was making an
impact on the body's world.
She held her very favorite book up,
pointing at the pictures as she spoke. She was still young, but she was
eloquent. Enough so that she knew what eloquent meant.
"This is the dish. He is the first
boy and he loved his sister. Loved his mommy and daddy too. So much that he ate
some of the daddy when the daddy became food. He was not Jewish or he could not
have eaten any of the daddy. The Prophecy doesn't care about them or the Muslims
though. Mostly he loved his sister though.
"This is the spoon, she is the
daughter. She loved the spoon too. Not as much when he cried, and not as much
as she loved having the mommy and daddy to herself, but she loved him. It was
okay though, because in the end they have to fight. If it were just boys that
would never happen, because boys are not strong enough to follow the Prophecy.
"No matter how much she loved him,
the spoon knew she had to try and break the dish. Not right now, but when the
time comes. She will kill her brother if that is what it takes. The world is
more important than love. That is the secret grandpa knew that the other
preachers get wrong."
"Then comes the twist!" She
was proud to use that word right, just last week she said twisted. "The
two did not run away together. Instead, the traitor stole the dish."
"Sweetheart, what are you
doing?" Inquired Nicole from the doorway.
"I am reading to the dead priest,
mommy."
"Why are you doing that?"
"So he can understand when he comes
back to life."
"You know he's not really dead,
right?"
"Yes. It was a lie."
"A good lie."
"To get uncle Jack to do what he
needed to."
"That's right. Your brother needed
to go and be raised somewhere else."
"Why do you keep the dead
priest?"
"He's not dead. He's in a coma. We
keep him like that so the tumor doesn't get any worse. We keep him because he
has a part to play."
"I do not like his part."
"You don't know his part."
"Do too."
Nicole held out her hand and her
daughter came to her. As they left the room the daughter looked over her
shoulder. She saw the lamp turn itself off when the mother did not. She
wondered who didn't know the dead priest's part after all.
#shortstory #novel #author #writer #writing
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