“Well, maybe it’s a good luck charm if you’re sleeping well again.” He has no idea how close he is to the truth, watching as I pull out a box of cereal and a bowl. The mundane act of pouring the little flakes into porcelain feels oddly grounding.Shhh,they seem to say.
When I fetch the milk from the fridge, he says, “I was going to cook dinner soon, but I suppose it’s breakfast time for you.”
“That’s okay.” I finish pouring my milk, joining him at the table with my little bowl. “I’m all out of sorts, anyway.”
“You didn’t hit your head earlier, did you? It sounded like you fell out of bed.”
“Yeah—I mean, no, I didn’t hit my head. I’m fine. Betterthan fine, considering I slept like a baby.” I take a mouthful of cereal, staring intensely at the feather. The angeldidsay that I wouldn’t get nightmares anymore. “I don’t want to jinx it, but I might be cured.”
Aren’t angels known for working miracles? Does it still count if he’s the one who caused the problem in the first place?
“Well, I certainly hope so. But let’s not count your chickens before they hatch, yeah? Maybe you can get an appointment with your psychologist this week.”
I put my spoon down, staring at a blank point on the wall.
Who am I kidding? The angelis not real.He can’t be! My subconscious must have manifested it all to resolve the root cause of my sleep issues.I probably found the pretty feather on the ground, and it steered the course of these wild hallucinations. Which means I definitelydoneed to see a psychologist at some point in time to process this mental break I’ve had, but I also need to continue with my whole life that I put on pause. “Well, yes. But if the nightmares are gone for good…”
“What’s next?” My dad picks up my train of thought from where I trail off. Folding his fingers together, he looks at me with rapt curiosity.
It’s a good question. Whatisnext? What risks do I want to take? I’m dying to finish my degree and apply to med school, but I’m already too late for the current application cycle. “I just have to complete my remaining courses within the next year, which I could do next spring’s semester. It’s not too late for me to join the Peace Corps for the upcoming half-year.”
He frowns, looking me over with concern. “I know, darling, but it’s already May. You need some time to recover.”
“Yeah.” Even though I’m dreading the grueling final classes I have to take, I might still be able to go back to school this fall. “I’ll think about it.”
On the off chance the world is truly ending, I wouldn’t be dying in peace if I hadn’t finished the stupid degree I’ve spent years working my ass off for?—
My eyes catch the news playing in the background. I haven’t had theenergy to follow it during my hazy struggle to survive. Suddenly, though, the reporter is all I can hear, as if I’ve stepped into an empty room with her.
“The 144k, a new religious movement, is spreading like wildfire throughout Israel. Protests to the movement from Jewish extremist groups continue to become more violent, escalating with the latest burning of a converted synagogue that left three dead and eighteen wounded.” Images of people digging through rubble pans across the screen. “More frequently known as the ‘doomsday religion,’ many claim the movement is further destabilizing tensions in the Middle East?—”
The woman continues, but my thoughts turn inward. I’ve read the stupid apocalypse chapter of the Bible by now. If I remember correctly, a group of 144,000 people is a very specific number mentioned in it. My ceaseless nightmares, the recurring angel, the feather sitting on the table, and nowthis. Could it all really be a coincidence? How is this happening?
“Crazy world we live in, huh?” My dad notices my distraction, interrupting my spiraling thoughts. “As if the whole climate crisis wasn’t bad enough, now we have religious extremists in the Middle East to worry about. Can’t wait to see how the politicians spin this up in the election.”
“Yeah, it, uh… It’s definitely overwhelming.” I stuff the last bite of cereal into my mouth and force myself to chew, feeling ill at the way the mush suddenly feels in my mouth. “Hey Dad?”
“Yeah, hun?”
“Do you believe the Bible?”
My dad looks at me like I’ve just grown an extra limb. His eyebrows knit together, his mustache scrunching in the way it always does when he’s concerned. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious why you never went to church with Mom.” Or in the past seven years since her untimely death.
His eyes soften. It could be the mention of my dead mother, but he probably thinks I’m suddenly worried about his lack of faith in a higher power. I suppose either is better, or less consequential, than having himworry if I hit my head too hard and knocked some screws loose. “Well, honey, I suppose I’ve always been more spiritual than church-going?—”
“But you think the Bible is pretty metaphorical, right? Like, there’s no way a talking snake convinced a woman to eat some fruit, and suddenly humans became intelligent.”
He chuckles. “You mean the story of Adam and Eve?”
“Yeah, those people. And what’s with all the crazy things in Revelation? An angel with a bunch of wings and eyes all over it?”
“Sounds more like a monster than an angel to me.”
“And why would they want you to eat their scroll of paper?” I stare off into space again. “What am I supposed to do with eatingpaper? Shouldn’t Ireadpaper, not try to eat it?”
“Honey, is this coming from anywhere in particular?”
