prophet

I met a girl who believed she saw a god who talked to her and chose her as its own. At first, I heard only rumors, then one day I encountered her in the school bathroom. Suddenly, she was there: red-haired, pale, pudgy but attractive with wide, disproportionate hips. I'd heard she'd done things to her body that she thought the god wanted her to do, preparing herself for its arrival, but nothing about her outward appearance seemed unusual. At first, we didn't say a word. Her gaze was dark, open, calm, like a lake at dusk. Immediately overcome, I asked if I could touch her. She consented. This was something the god told her was okay. So I caressed her, undressed her, but paused when I noticed she had inserted pieces of wood and other items inside herself. Shaken, I left the bathroom and entered a nearby classroom and sat at a desk. That's when things started to change. People's faces were changing, slowly morphing into unfamiliar versions of themselves. While I was touching the girl, she had told me that, as her god grew near, the details of reality would bend to its will until I saw what it wanted me to see. Now in the classrom, I realized I couldn't remember my childhood. My classmate confirmed he felt it too. The god wanted us to forget. I stood and addressed the class about what's going on. I urged them to remember, to hold onto their past, but they found it difficult. The class erupted into chaos. I knelt and prayed, sweating, to my own god. Defiantly, I addressed the other god, telling it I had a god, too. And my god was more powerful. It had been here longer. This seemed to work: when I prayed, some of the visions disappeared. But then the girl burst into the room, hair and eyes aflame, and I felt the relief of myself dissolving into dust.