sHe: THE RISE OF THE NEW BREEDS [Book 1]

Chapter 12

HE WAS DEHYDRATED FROM DEPRIVATION of drinking water by the guards. Doran sat on the sand and used the wooden crate as a backrest, and he dozed off in the tormenting heatwave. His eyes were shut, his hand trembled — and the homemade, pebbled-strung rosary fell to his side on the sand...

His fevered mind travelled back to the dark side of the sun — back into his solace, darken comfort zone of the menthol bulb lighted, padded cell-room in the solitary. He lay there wrapped in his straitjacket, just as before two voices — one younger and the other older — echoed out his name...

Doran compelled his eyes to open slowly...

He saw two blurry images presences in the cell room. He saw himself epitomized in the two splitting figures — on his left, was himself as the twelve-year-old bald monk in a blood-spattered robe, holding a smoking thurible — and on his right, was the seven-year-old child in torn clothes, covered with coal soot from his mother's basement.

The twelve-year-old boy spoke out...

"Wake up Doran — it is time to complete God's mission! You have to lead the people out of this cast-off dungeon — and crush the oppressors in God's name if they try to stop you!"

"Please don't — if you do it, you will get everyone killed!"

The smaller boy voiced out to him. The older monk-boy was chafed at the youngster...

"Shut up you weakling! Our Lord and God is with you, Doran — in spirit, body and mind! Trust the Lord and stand up for Him — for the time is now!"

The child pleaded again...

"No please, no — Doran, don't believe that — that is the Devil's will to lust for blood spill — God brings love and not war, Doran!"

"Shut up! Don't interfere in God's plan, you miserable wuss!"

The monk swung the chained flaming thurible and the undersized boy backed away...

Doran then witnessed the presence of a third spectre — pulling the tiny boy to the ground and pulverizing the scrawny figure with foot stomps — Doran makes out the image of his gorgon burnt mother — beating the seven-year-old with a cane until the skin of the boy's back tore — the mother screeched...

"You cursed abomination! Spawn of Satan! How dare you defy the Will of God — leave this body, you unclean spirit!"

The twelve-year-old faced back to the older Doran who was wavering in dreaded trembles, with his eyes shut in tears — trying to reel back into the reality of a cage with a tin roof in the scorching desert heat. The monk-boy's loud voice then halted his fleeting mind that was about to double-back...

"Wake up Doran — don't sleep with the dead — the time is now to be the leader because you are an indestructible eternal weapon of God!

"Did you not make a promise to Sister Lisa Marie that you will lead millions to God?"

The mention of the nun's name made the older Doran cry even harder. He opened his eyes to see her beside him — the apoplexy woman was now whole — not as the gunshot defaced appearance, that he used to dread to recall.

The innocent old nun touched his cheek with rolling tears...

"Doran, my special boy — you will be the Pope someday."

"Sister Lisa, you are alive! Did you come to take me to God? Please take me with you — I only want to be with you!"

He whispered — while he then felt something cling to his left ankle — he peered below to see the bleeding seven-year-old of himself who had grovelled over — and the child was pleading in hurt...