Predictions

I give to you a story in eleventy-one words (using the Reddit prompt, 'The bad guys won and the world was conquered by the villain's armies decades ago. You and your spouse are worried as you suspect your child may be suffering from Chosen Oneness or perhaps an acute case of Prophetic Heroism.)...

‘How could you let him go to the rally?’

‘Let him? He’s a man; he does what he wants.’

‘A man? He’s sixteen, a boy.’

‘When the government set age limits for our kind, boys became men.’

‘They’ll kill him!’

‘Maybe. But the predictions…’

‘Don’t!’

‘People flock to him. They follow him. They safeguard him. He is theirs as much as he is ours.’

‘No! He is mine! My boy!’

‘What do you propose? Restrain him? He won’t listen.’

She bowed her head.

‘I’m scared too; I want to protect him. Yet, something tells me he’s meant to protect us.’ He paused. ‘I believe in him. And I will follow him.' 

Divine

I give to you a true story in eleventy-one words...

I lingered in the plaza as rain cleansed the darkness. There, a medieval edifice – Barcelona’s Gothic Cathedral – loomed with its faithful gargoyles and cross-topped towers.

I moved forward, toward the massive doors. It rained fiercely, challenging the efficacy of the black umbrella I clutched.

I took another step. And lightning arced across the pitch.

I tried a final step. And thunder blossomed with frightening omnipotence.

I stopped, then, and eyed the shrine as the heavens poured forth a deluge.

Though a celestial flood threatened to immerse me in its violent waters, still I stood upon the stones. For in that moment, I knew nothing but communion with the divine.