A College Seeress' Diary

Surviving Seer-ship 101

Dear Jesus,

My poor phone on my bed kept vibrating incessantly as the messages rolled in. Since I began my marathon fast, I hadn't connected to the internet. Now, with my data switched on, my phone was legit crying in pain.

I was before my wardrobe's full-length mirror, carefully brushing out the tangles from my hair, after having a hot bath.

I wore my jacket over my ankle-leng and sat on the edge of my bed to tie my low wedged boots' laces. I glanced at my phone and saw the previous messages from my buds and other Hangout and WeChat group feeds popping rapidly across the screen as notifications.
I really should change the tone from that annoying cricket-and-birdie-like chirp.

Many messages and doc files were delivered from Shelly. My girl. Faithful as pup. And my oh my, the workload has piled. Will get to it soon, hopefully.

Holy priesthood gang and their lively banter as usual...
Apparently, Fredrick had gloated there that he'd seen me and I was more than fine. Now, they were all demanding for explanations.
I chuckled as I read my lovely Kathy's messages, defending me, telling them all to chill that I'll explain everything in time.

The group for my department was swarming with the latest gossip as usual.
I frowned as I scanned through the chats. Seemed like The Scar were really on their move of terror. A girl was raped two days ago, thievery had escalated, more sacrifices.
The minor cults want to revolt so there's tension in the campus air.

Not to talk of the fact that more of our test results were already being released for all to see. Many students are now being tagged as either an Einstein, a Dunce or an Equator. Funny names.

Strangest thing was that for every profane word and lewd sticker used, I saw a strange demonic encryption. Like a virus. But then, as I'd swipe through them, I saw tiny drops of blood-your blood-and they'd shrink away. It was really weird seeing spiritual undercover interactions on the internet.

I sighed and dropped my phone back to the bed as I buttoned the cuffs of my shirt's long sleeves.

It would take me a long time and a bucketful of courage to reply to all those messages.

The rain outside had let up to a drizzle. My parents were getting ready downstairs. We were all going out.
Mom had originally intended for me to follow her grocery shopping today, but since there'd been a major change in plans, that was scrapped.

After dropping Mom off at Viscer Mall, which was the main city mall, Dad drove straight to the greater seer's Ministry, 'Watchers on the Tower' (The ministry's anchor scripture, as scrawled beneath the logo depicting a man with a trumpet, was Habakkuk 2:1. Cool). It was located in the heart of Mangrone Strait.

During the long drive on the slippery, wet road, with the car heater on, I asked Dad if it was okay for us to just bump in without a prior appointment.
He said that Pastor Fremont (Dad calls him MOG Vic), like him, was pretty easily accessible but he could get pretty busy some times, so we should just pray and hope he'd be available.

I remembered then how Pastor Fremont had been one of the few men of God who believed Dad was innocent and had provided support with prayers during the whole rape scandal against Dad last year. Those are times I'd rather not relive.

As we drove into the spacious parking lot and I examined the place, all I could say was 'Whoa!'

The rain had washed off the late harmattan dust, and everything was bright. There was this soily, foresty scent in the air.
The mid-morning sun was up, warming my skin as we strode towards the entrance of the main church building.