All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
Gloomy in Spirit and in the Weather
September 25, 2145: I packed the simplicities: clothes, bathroom products, pictures of Sam, and my trusty digitalizer. However, I didn’t think I’d be allowed to keep my things where I was going. No one was, or at least, that was the rumor that came to my ears.
It was a gloomy day, in spirit and in weather. From where I sat, perched at our window overlooking the busy streets, I could tell we weren’t the only ones dealing with this bitter and terrifying conquer of freedom. Many dressed like me, with silver crosses branded into their right cheeks, were already starting the dismal and faithless possession. I for one, though, was not faithless. God was with me more than ever.
This is just a test of your love and devotion, Mallie. I thought of the way things were years ago: I went to public school with every other kid, I played sports, and we had a huge church right at the center of town. These memories though were of my early childhood, of things I sometimes forgot in the midst of it all. My finger rose up to the silver embedment on my cheek: the cross of sorrow. I remembered how it hurt when it was put in. I remember wishing I wasn’t a Christian, whishing I was Muslim, so maybe I wouldn’t one day die. My wishes were in vain though, because my presence on this Earth has been banished.
Mom and Dad came and sat beside me, staring into the grey clad day. Usually I would be scolded severely for looking out onto the world, but today, no one wanted to close the blinds. I guess we all realized this might be the last time we ever take a look at the outdoors. Joesis, my young and innocent little brother, appeared behind my mother’s dismal form. He looked excited but terrified. He never grasped how dangerous the prisons would be. True, he knew what awaited us, but he had so much undying hope, I was extremely jealous.
Dad put his arm on my mother’s shoulder and gave me a reassuring smile. His cross danced with his skin as it stretched and relaxed. Our faith flickered in his eyes.
“God must have a good reason for this.” It was Mom who whispered this. Her lips barely moved, her expression never changed. Her eyes stayed focused on the busy street.
My dad reassured her that everything was going to be just fine. My dad believed we would make it. I only hoped dimly. I suppose Dad has more reason to believe then I did. We experienced more of the freedom and the happiness, not as much as the bitter and cruel discrimination. My dad remembered a time when the history of our religion was taught in every school. He told me tails of when almost everyone in what was once called the United States was Christian like us. America was done away with the Christians though. Iraq terrorists managed to capture that old country in 2011. We lived in what is now called Realigh Mas.
I closed my eyes and let reality sink in. We were sentenced to a slow and cruel death, every one of us, because we believe in one God, the Father Almighty. Maker of Heaven and Earth, Seer of Seen and Unseen things…
I held my head high though when the police came to our door. They looked at me with hate and disrespect, they touched me wrongly, but I held my head high. God was MY GOD, and he was always going to be. I said the Lord’s Prayer whenever I later heard footsteps outside my cell, so that even those who were going to silence me heard that I was Christian. Even as I lay dying with the injection flooding my veins, for I couldn’t keep quiet, I shouted The Nicene Creed. I would not ever give in.
December 18, 2145: Mallie Stocker was on the list of the deceased for failure to remain silent and give her consent to be a good Muslim. She body was burned and her ashes poured over the remains of what was once a grand church in the middle of her city. Though this was supposed to be a sign of mockery, Christians everywhere saw it as a last sign of hope. That day, the sun shone, and as if God spoke to his people, every Christian alive sang songs of glory in her memory. Forever would she be cherished.
March 6, 2198: Mallie Stocker was voted the youngest saint by the Holy Roman Catholic Church. Her faith and her love will always serve as a reminder to her people. God bless the world.