Chapter 1
“GAHHH!” Lewis awoke, gasping for air. He was sweaty and shaking, his stomach churning. He pushed himself up out of bed, tears leaking out of his eyes. He could feel the ghost of the pain in his arms and legs, in his head, where a slight throbbing had started up. His head always throbbed after a vision. He swung his legs over the side and cradled his body, waiting for the nauseating feeling to subside.
The door creaked open and a cloaked head popped in. After a moment, the cloaked figure opened the door fully and walked over to Lewis, who ignored them, staring with tense focus at his quivering fingers. With a sigh, the figure reached out and ran cold fingers across his forehead, running through his sweat soaked bangs.
“How bad was it this time, Lewis?” Mother Celane asked softly. Lewis didn’t bother to answer, a new wave of nausea coming upon him, he gripped Mother Celane’s arm and without hesitation a trashcan appeared below him. He hurled and gagged, the smell of the puke making him even more nauseous. After a while, the fits subsided and he could pause long enough to have his mouth wiped by a steaming hot towl. Mother Celane took the trash can away, again cleaning his lips. She sent him to his bathroom to rinse out his mouth. He did, grateful for the cool water as it took away the hot mess.
After that he bathed, Mother Celane walking in and helping him. She dressed him in a robe of white, a simple cord tying around his waist. She placed his banged up cross around his neck, a simple wooden one. He would receive his own when he became an official member of the church. His rosary was placed around his cord.
Mother Celane walked with him to the dining hall. As they walked, Lewis was silent, staring at the ground beneath his sandals. “Child, why don’t you tell me what you saw.” Said Mother Celane in a low, steady voice. “Well, it was o-of this w-woman,” stammered Lewis. He remembered the pain of the breaking limbs as if they were his own and shivered as his stomach threatened to discard what little was left in it. “A-and she was a r-runner…” He continued. His knees quaked as he remembered her vicious ending. “A-and she was a-attacked by d-d-d-them.” He finished, and gripped Mother Celane’s arm as his legs turned to mush. She looked down at him with unreadable brown eyes not filled with sadness or pity. Just intensity.
“You know Lewis, even though I know you’re reluctant and ungrateful of this gift, it’s-”
“‘A special gift God has chosen for you. You should be honored.’ I know.” He replied, not bothering to cover the edge of bitter sarcasm in his voice. Glancing up at Mother Celane’s face he bit his lip and hung his head with shane. “I am sorry, Mother. That was very rude of me.” He said formally, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill from his eyes.
“Oh, child.” Sighed Mother Celane, and she kneeled down before him, gently grasping his arms. “I understand it’s tough. But know this. God always has a reason, whether good or bad, he has a reason. And he chose you because you’re smart. You’re brave. You’re kind. You’re thoughtful. She smiled, her eyes softening. “And you are worthy. Brood not over such things and be thankful for what you have.” He smiled and nodded, a little of the weight disappearing off his shoulders. Mother Celane picked herself up and dusted off her white skirts, grabbing his hand. They continued on.
