prophet

I met a girl who believed she saw a god who talked to her and chose her as its prophet. At first, I heard only rumors of her, 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. And 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 his will until I saw what it wanted me to see. I realize I can't remember my childhood. My classmate confirms he feels it too. The god wants us to forget. I stand and address the class about what's going on. I urge them to remember, to hold onto their past, but they find it difficult. I kneel and pray, sweating, to my own god. Defiantly, I address the other god, telling it I have a god, too. And my god is more powerful. It has been here longer. This seems to work: when I pray, some of the visions disappear temporarily. Then the girl bursts into the room, hair and eyes aflame, and I feel the relief of myself dissolving into dust.