Vision from the Divine
The vast church hall lay cloaked in the quiet embrace of night, its silence broken only by the faint murmur of a man’s prayer. Mike Shyed, an ex-marine with a humble soul in his early thirties, knelt before the altar, his hands clasped tightly as though trying to tether himself to the divine. His eyes were heavy from the sleepless nights.
“Lord,” he whispered, his voice tinged with desperation, “I need answers. These visions… what do they mean?”
The silence that followed was deafening. He lowered his head, rubbing his eyes in frustration. Then, like a spark, an image burst into his mind. Three young men stood at this very altar, their faces shadowed by uncertainty, their presence shrouded in significance. Mike gasped, shaking his head to clear the vision. The questions in his heart only multiplied.
“Who are they, Lord?” His voice trembled. “What purpose do they serve? And what role must I play?”
A gust of wind roared through a shattered window, scattering papers and extinguishing candles. The pages of a nearby Bible flipped furiously until they stopped, resting open as though guided by an unseen hand. Mike hesitated, the sound of his heartbeat loud in his ears, before stepping toward it. His eyes fell on the verse:
“Psalm 32:8— ‘I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way thou shalt go: I will guide thee with mine eye.’”
Closing the Bible, Mike takes a deep breath and turns to the stained-glass mural of the cross. The vibrant colors seemed to glow with life. “So, you want me to wait,” he murmured, the resolve in his voice hardening. “I will trust you, Lord. I will wait for them. But I hope they will be ready for what is to come.”
The creak of a door shattered the fragile stillness. Mike spins around, his eyes narrowing. From the shadows emerged a man in a gray trench coat, his face concealed by darkness. He stopped a few paces away, his lips curling into an evil smirk.
“Who are you, brother?” Mike asked, his tone wary as his fingers brushed against a nearby chair. “How can I help you?”
The man said nothing, stepping closer. Mike instinctively stepped back, his grip tightening on the chair.
“Please, brother,” he implored, his unease growing. “Speak.”
Still silent, the man reached into his pocket. Time seemed to slow as he pulled out a gun.
“Wait! Please, no—”
The gunfire cracked through the sacred space, a sound that echoed off the church’s soaring ceilings. Mike falls onto the altar, blood pooling beneath him. His vision blurred as pain radiated through his body.
The man knelt beside him, close enough for his breath to touch Mike’s ear. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, his tone unsettlingly calm. “You are not going to die. I made sure of that. You have a purpose to fulfill, and you’re going to lead me to some mutual friends of ours. The ambulance will be here soon.”
Rising to his feet, the man glanced down at Mike one last time, his grin widening. “See you soon.”
As Mike's consciousness fades, his thoughts clung desperately to the image of the three men. Before he closes his eyes, he sees a lunar eclipse through the broken window.
