My mind is clear again.
The fog has been lifted from my eyes. I hear the ocean waves breathe with the endless rasping tongue of creation.
He has chosen me to hear.
Tonight, He sent one to my door. It trembled, unclean, marked for offering.
A gift wrapped in fear and blood.
I received it as a command.
The act was clean. Almost holy.
Communion.
I carried what remained to the sea.
The waters opened their mouth and took it down without a ripple. The body slipped beneath the waves.
I must control my urges, must be patient with the others.
Must bite without devastation so that they too can experience the glory. Must hide them away so that they do not tell my secret.
So that they too can hear.
There must be enough of us left when we arrive at the mainland.
The one that came to my door, his memories cling like oil to my soul.
I see through his eyes: his mother, his prayers, his final trembling breath.
And I understand now — the sacrifice was not the end, but the beginning. He lives on in me.
Still, the hunger endures.
Not for flesh alone, but for revelation.
For the knowing.
When we rise and reach the mainland,
we shall bear His light to the blind.
We shall show them what God truly is.
To share His gift.
To return for the others.
To finish what was begun.
Chapter 2, a story from the same world, coming soon.
Just finding this story, discover how it started here:
