Notes from the Future: The Prophet's Reckoning, Part VI

"I! Can't! Hear! You!" This is actually a little fun, if you take away the cannibalistic psychopath aspect.

"THE PROPHET IS MIGHTY! THE PROPHET IS FEARLESS!"

They are scary loud, all worked up. Now is the time.

"Yes! The Prophet is Mighty and the Prophet is Fearless! And we have brought the Prophet a gift! YOU!" I point at the two Bearded Ezekiels flanking Nice Rachel. "Go to my car. In the trunk, under some things, is a box with a blanket over it. Bring it here, to the Prophet. Bring it NOW!"

They immediately leave. I'm beginning to love me these Bearded Ezekiels. What would they look like in black pants, short-sleeved white button-down shirts, with little backpacks ... ?

My fantasy pops when I realize that the Prophet has come down the last steps and is pushing through the circle. I'm praying that the Bearded Ezekiels get back soon. I'm also praying that they understand my instructions, coded on-the-spot-like.

The Prophet is about ten feet away when a door on the barn I was kept in last night opens and they emerge with a medium-sized wooden box, covered with a ratty blue blanket. I pray they did it right. If they misunderstood, if I am wrong, Tad and I die today.

The Prophet is getting too close.

"Hold, Mighty Prophet!" I shout. "Let me present this gift to you properly! Take my place in the center of the circle as I inspect our offering!" 

Not waiting for his reply, I make a beeline for the Bearded Ezekiels, who have just re-entered the circle. Looking at their faces, I don't know what to expect: they are expressionless. 

When I reach them, I take the box in both arms, and they melt back into the circle. The box is a little larger than I thought. Without looking inside, I whisk the blanket back and show the nearest Rachel. I feel the contents of the box shift slightly and almost panic.

Then I see her eyes light up and I have a little hope. I begin walking clockwise around the circle, quickly, letting everyone have a look. The women are delighted, some of the men as well. Others just look confused.

"This box holds proof that the Prophet is Mighty! Proof that the Prophet is fearless! Repeat that!"

"Proof that the Prophet is Mighty ... Proof that the Prophet is Fearless!"

It's not as good, but it's given me the time I need to reach the clean-shaven Ezekiel I singled out earlier. When he sees the contents of the box, he smiles. Then his eyes change. Understanding. And ... the hint of a smile? I can't afford to misinterpret that, so I'll just assume that he likes what he sees.

"Ezekiel, please come with me, to help me bring this gift to the Prophet!" I proclaim. Joyously. He follows and I complete the circle, arriving at roughly three o'clock, where the helpful Bearded E's are. I turn to face the Prophet.

He is now flanked by Iron Rachel, Fat Balding Ezekiel and Eerily Forgettable Ezekiel. Where the hell did they come from? They must have joined him when my back was turned. I hesitate a moment. I had forgotten about them.

"Prophet, what is this gift the infidel whore offers you?" this from Iron Rachel.

"She says it is a gift for me. As I am mighty and fearless," says the Prophet. In an almost normal voice. Makes me wonder what he was like as a kid. I almost pity him for a second. But there's no time to lose, so:

"The Prophet is Mighty and Fearless!" I shout.

"THE PROPHET IS MIGHTY AND FEARLESS!" Rachels and Ezekiels echo me like happy puppets, and I'm crossing, terrified but outwardly calm, toward the Prophet -- Clean Zeke behind me. I'm about three quarters of the way to him when Iron Rachel steps in front of him.

"I would see this gift for the Prophet, before it is presented. To see if it is appropriate!" Iron Rachel bellows. I'll bet her farts sting like onions.

I slow my approach and reply, calm and loud, "There is only one Prophet, as there is only one God! Are YOU the Prophet Now, Sweaty Betty?!"

Gasps from the assembled culties. Iron Rachel whips around to the Prophet.

"You see how she mocks me? I am your Chosen Second! I am learning to digest the unholy! I have permitted you to anoint me with your seed!"

"TMI, Freakazoid! You want to look in my box, look in my box!" I'm right in front of her now, and she turns to find the box brushing against her boobs. Eew. This box should be burnt. But she looks into it, and this is the moment of truth: if she knows him well, she will know what I'm doing. If she doesn't ... 

A moment passes. Then her eyes grow soft and I see the hard lines of her mouth curl upward in what may have once been a smile. She looks for a long time, and one of her hands actually moves to reach into the box -- but she catches herself and looks at me, and I see the mask of formal hatred fall over her eyes again.

"I see no reason why the Prophet should be offered such a simple gift ... but I also see no reason why he should not receive it!" Iron Rachel steps back and to the side.

"The Prophet is Mighty and Fearless!" I shout.

"THE PROPHET IS MIGHTY AND FEARLESS!" They roar.

I step forward.