Shadows of the Vow
He was ash and soil.
My chest tightened. I gripped the arm of the chair, knuckles white. I could feel my pulse thumping in my throat, angry, confused, lost.
“Sir…” the Reverend whispered, “God is not your enemy.”
I blinked, slow and heavy.
Maybe not, I thought.
But He feels like the reason everything I touch dies.
The Reverend asked me my name. “What's your name, sir?”
“Lorenzo.” I had answered, wondering why he asked. He prayed, softly at first, then firmer, words lifting, swirling, pleading. He cried out for mercy. He called out my name before heaven. He begged for chains to break.
Bab Populer