I stood outside mum's bedroom door and listened to Prophet's muffled voice. I couldn't make out what he said, but after a month of mum obsessively watching his televised sermons, i could guess the subject matter.
The end of the world is at hand
Those who surrender their souls to prohet will be saved. Those who don't will die and suffer some more.
"Mum?" I tapped on the door before turning the knob. It was seven in the morning and outside the sun was doing its job, but mum's bedroom was a cave. She sat at her window in her grungy bathrobe she hadn't shed in days, peeking through the slats of the blinds. Her eyes traveled back playing The Hour of Light, Rance Ridley Prophet's morning broadcast. He did three shows a day: morning, midday and evening. Ever since we brought her home from the hospital, mum has been obsessed with the Prophet. The only way she missed his broadcast is if the electricity went out. I almost looked forward to those outages now.
"Brothers and sisters," Prophet intoned, "God will soon make his finla judgement. You must deicde now on which side you will stand, on the side of heaven, or on the side of earth and its wicked, worldly pleasures. Will you be lifted up, raptured to paradise, or laid low by God's terrible vengeance?"
Prophet's voice drowned out my entrance into the bedroom. Sometimes I wonder if mum's hearing was somehow damaged in the earthquake. She seemed so oblivious to what went on around her. After three days trapped under a collapsed building, she had some bad bruises, a few cracked ribs, and a dozens of scars on her face and arms caused by the wall of glass that had exploded near her when the building started to buckle. Physically she was as sound as could be expected. Mental health was abother matter.
"Mum?" I said again. I kept my voice low and gentle as though my words might hurt her if they came out too hard. She stiffened and her shoulders hunched as she craned her head around. It had been a long time since she'd washed her face. The scars on her face stood out in waxy lines agaisnt her skin that hadn't seen the sun in weeks. It was an effort not to flinch everytime I look at her. At least my face has bveen spared from the lightning scars that etched the rest of my body. Mom's face on the other hand...she would need plastic surgery to remove the scars if she didn't want to be reminded of te quake everytime she looked in a mirror.
"We have already begun to witness God's wrath," Prohet continued. I turned down the volume down, adverting my gaze from the milky orbs of Prophet's eyes. His snowy har avalanced over his shoulders, thick and frosty as a polar bear's pelt, though he couldn't be older than thirty-five, with that peanut-butter smooth, tanned face.
"Mum, Parker and I have to go to," I said.
"What?" she finally responded. "Where... where are you going?" Her voice dragged,weighted with the anti-anxiety medications I'd gave her. Even if I could get mum an appointment with one of the doctors in the city, they'd just give me prescriptions that I couldn't fill. Pharmacies had been looted during the first day of the quake. Supplies of food, water and medications were trickling back into the city by air, but with most of the freeways shut down, and the trucks that did make it in being looted, there wasn't enough to go around. It was tough living...
--------------------------
Thaks for reading guys
Would really apreciate any feedback
Comment, Vote, Follow, Eat, Pray, Love
^.^
YOU ARE READING
Struck
ParanormalMia Price is a lighting addict. Los Angeles, where lightning rarely strikes, is one of the few places Mia feels safe from her addiction. But after a devastating earthquake, the city is transformed into a minefield of chaos and danger. Two warring cu...