Oracle
Mustafa Alismail
“
Y
es, yes . . . I see greatness in your leaves. Potential! You’ll be crowned
with a wreath!” boomed the Priest with a great and gravelly voice;
excitement can be felt to the very wandering atoms in the air.
His guest tried to explain, “I . . .”
“Here, sniff this dust. Careful, great magic dwells in it! Yes, just like
that. Spit in this cup.” The Priest swirled his visitor’s saliva in the ornate
unprecious metal cup, staring intensely into it, before setting it carefully
to his right. “What brings you here, child?”
Again, “I . . .”
“Give this old man your trust. Keeping secrets is my specialty. And
if you have doubt in my ability, return in a month, and I’ll show you all
the troubles I crushed. Speak,” he gestured with sinewy fingers.
“I . . .’ve been having this dream . . .”
“Nightmare! The twisted jests of the mind. The frequent abode of
demons and grieved souls. Who have we upset? What sins have we
committed? Tell me what keeps you up at night, my dear.”
A tinge of despair fills the eyes of the young lady. “Nothing, really,
I’ve been dreaming of . . .”
“I once chased a mischievous cherub who made his home inside the
mind of a young woman like you. It deluded her into believing nothing was amiss. She was lucky enough to have a gallant husband who
dragged her here to be healed. Think of the great blessing you have to
find your way into my tent of your own will, and with some of your
mind still intact. So, delve deep into your nightmare and find the truth.”
“I suppose the pink in the sky was too strange . . .”
“Pink turns red!” He gathered more of his magicked dust and sprinkled it around his visitor’s knees. “Red sky. Blood flows . . . Could it
be . . . ?!”
“What?” Her initial curiosity is replaced with real fear.
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