Escape from Zion

Chapter 1

"Hallelujah Hallelujah!" The man in the long ornate robe yelled into the mike. His left hand was held out as if reaching for some rope and his right gripped the mike tightly, his legs parted, his body reminiscent of an Elvis impersonater. His flowing white cassock the only indicator to what he truly was.

"HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH!" the stadium thundered back.

To his left, there were men and women grouped around two mike stands, hallelujahing their throats sore. A little behind and to the left of them, was a man seated at an electronic keyboard next to a sound system which gave him the effect of having his own mini- studio in a corner of the stage. One hand rested on his own mike and the other casually moved up and down the sound system. He seemed completely oblivious to the deafening sounds around him. It was the kind of loud where you could feel the vibrations in your chest, creating a desperate urgency in you, even if you didn't know what it was for. His calmness was borderline psycopathic to the uninitiated outsider.

To the right of the starfish minister and off of the stage, volunteers dressed in white were shepherding men and women into groups and a line that led to a podium on the very edge of the stage. Lambs prepared for testimony.

Eventually, the hallelujahs started to morph into the 'shalalalalalalalalalas' that marked the beginning of the end. This would be followed by 40% of the population of that tiny football stadium falling soporiphically to the ground and with that, the adoration would be over and the testimones begin.

If you watched for long enough you would notice that most of the spectators were women. Women of various ages, but mostly older. And the children of varying ages next to them, playing, crying, bored. There were men too, either very young or very old. Tears streamed down the face of one woman, her hands at the end of every testimony reaching out like a child, asking to be picked up. Next to her stood a younger woman, much quieter and a lot less animated. Her head was occasionally bowed, her eyes often closed, yet she too was deep in contemplation. No- one could have mistaken her for being unobservant or bored. Matching chiffon shawls covered their heads, the mother's was white and the daughter's black. As the young woman looked up, she realised the testimonials were drawing to an end it would soon be time for the announcement. The pit in her stomach grew, she was so confused. She didn't know why the things that were happening were happening and she didn't know what she was supposed to do or how she was supposed to feel. It still felt wrong, even after all the people who she had grown up around had come to her and comforted her and told her she was doing the Right Thing. "Amani would be so happy if she knew." Said one uncle. Amani had never even liked him.

"Amani has reached somewhere we're all trying to get to. We should be supporting her by spreading her word here on Earth" said an Aunty. Amani hated people knowing anything about her or even thinking they knew her. What would she have said about a stadium full of strangers trying to spread the word of how she died? The Amani Sarah knew would hate it, she would shout and curse and throw things. And then if none of those things worked, she would run away.

"Everyone has a purpose, and this came to be mine."

She could still hear it as if Amani had her mouth close to Sarah's ear, rasping out the words she had never spoken.