Sheryl

Several years ago ...

Hate.

I hate all of you.

Words alone cannot describe the sheer depth of what I feel.

But I keep my eyes shut and continue to chant in praise of Yah. Sheryl is a good girl. Sheryl is a devoted believer. The rough, poor fabric of my clothes start to itch, but I resist the urge to scratch. No need for anyone to pay attention here. I don't want to be the odd person out in this mass assembly. That's a sure way to draw the ire of one of the Elect.

My legs had begun to grow numb from the hours of kneeling. We were roused from our beds at the dormitory early in the morning and marched off to the communal praying area, where we knelt in our neatly assigned rows under the shadow of the transmission tower. The Elect refused to say anything, but the word had already begun to spread. The Directorate was back, and our faith was once more required.

I lick my parched lips and draw a sip from the bowl of water that had been provided to each of us. Praying was a matter of paramount importance in the Holy Empire, and the Elect would not allow us to go hoarse half way through a mass service. Around us are microphones meant to catch our voices and channel them into the tower, which in turn would serve as the beacon for the blessings Yah would grant us. Blessings that would bring us victory in the crusade against the Directorate.

I feel my mind starting to turn into mush through sheer force of repetition so I open my eyes a crack and find myself staring at the huge video screen mounted against the transmission tower. Scenes from the crusade play on an endless loop, filmed from every front of the conflict.

I watch as the screen shows a young boy standing in the middle of a scarred battlefield staring down a tank charging straight at him. The armored terror growls mechanically and tries to run the boy over, but with a flick of his wrist, the boy sends the tank flying through the air as if it was made out of paper. The scene then changes, this time showing a woman with her hands clasped in prayer, walking steadily towards a line of Directorate soldiers firing their guns frantically at her, every single bullet missing. And the final montage is of a man wielding a sword, sundering a towering skyscraper with a single swing.

These were the Elect. Yah's chosen. The ones who would ascend to the kingdom when the time came. Wielding the blessings of god, they were titans compared to regular men. When Yah made his presence known to all of us, the Elect took on the burden of leadership while the rest of us took on the burden of service, preparing the way for the birth of the kingdom.

I open my eyes a fraction wider and peer into the bowl of reddish water I had been given. Bitter. That's what it tastes like. Yah's judgment on this world, and we were meant to chug it down with a smile. I believed in Yah long before it was even fashionable to do so. Attending church. Being a choir girl. Going to a church college. Praying. I lived and breathed the word of Yah. And when blood began to rain from the sky and the livestock started to die off, I knew that my time had come. What the book said was true. My faith had been rewarded.

When the world governments fell, everyone dropped to their knees amidst the chaos and called out for Yah through the transmission towers, begging for salvation and forgiveness. And Yah in his generosity responded, selecting his Elect from among us, to lead the world toward its destiny. I eagerly prayed. And prayed. And prayed.

Then nothing.

I was not one of the Elect. Yah had chosen me to serve, not to lead. All those years of faith and belief meant nothing to god. He had decided that I was to die with the rest of the sinners. The Elect claim that through service we may redeem our souls, and for a time I held out some hope, that I would eventually be able to enter their ranks. But reality has a way of disabusing someone of the most tightly held illusions. Years passed, and I finally acknowledged that if a lifetime of faith could not buy me a ticket into the kingdom, nothing would.

My hands begin to tremble from consternation and the bowl of water tips over, scattering its contents all over the floor.

"Blast." I mutter, hurriedly grabbing at the bowl, saving a few tiny drops of sustenance. Who knows how much longer we need to stay here?

A strong arm hoists me up and I find myself being gently guided away from the congregation. I let my feet carry me blindly away, too tired to care. My unknown companion urges me through the door of the transmission station itself, the cool interior immediately granting me some respite.

"Here, Sister, drink." a low, masculine voice breaks my reverie and I finally open my eyes fully.

Its Elect Savan, one of the defenders of our commune and an old friend from church. Unlike the other Elect, Savan did not treat me like a leper ever since I failed to ascend like the rest of them. An impassable distance had opened up between us, causing our friendship to wither away, but Savan still tried to help me whenever he could. A fresh bowl of red water is in his hands, offered to me. I thirstily pour it down my throat, ignoring the rashes sprouting on my arms as I drink. A side effect of drinking the cursed water. The Elect were immune, but the rest of us had to put up with it.

"Thanks." I whisper hoarsely, "I needed that."

"Elect." one of the technicians objects loudly, "This is a secure area, you can't bring in one of the servitors as you please!"

"Its fine." Savan waves the objection away, "Sheryl's been with us from the start." The technician frowns but returns to his work without another word.

"You need to maintain focus when praying Sheryl." Savan begins to lecture me, causing dislike to bubble up again in my heart, "Faith is needed more than ever in these times."

"My heart is Yah's." I say, my mouth working automatically, "My faith both sword and shield."

"Sheryl, I'm serious." Savan reprimands, "You can't cruise through life by just putting in a token effort. Not anymore. Things have gone too far for that."

"I'm trying Savan. I really am." I assure him, feeling more hollow than ever before, "We'll make it to the kingdom together, just like we said we would."

"Look, Sheryl -" Savan starts talking again, but I interrupt him.

"Hey, do you still think that I'm cute?" I ask, smiling coquettishly at Savan.

"Well ..." Savan sighs and I laugh bitterly.

"Right, I know. I use the mirror every morning." I smirk painfully.

Breathing polluted air, drinking cursed water and eating mystery meat hadn't done me any favors. Like most of the servitors I probably looked several decades older then my actual age. At least I still have all my teeth. Thank Yah for small blessings. I start awkwardly scratching my rashes as an uncomfortable silence settles between us. Savan eyes me worriedly, his neatly trimmed beard and clear skin a stark contrast to my own condition.

"Come here." Savan murmurs and drags me by the arm to a quiet spot in the station, far away from all the technicians.

"We going to make out?" I joke, but Savan remains deadly serious.

"They're going to start airing the prayers through the system." Savan whispers, "Keep quiet and listen."

And right on cue, the melody of a chorus starts playing throughout the station, sounding nothing like the garbled, barely intelligible mutterings the congregation had been groaning its way through. Was this how we sounded like to Yah? Did he hear our faith, rather than the actual words? Its beautiful. Really beautiful. Tears begin to flow from my eyes as I remember why I started believing in Yah before the transmission stations were ever built.

But there's something else as well, just at the edge of hearing. At first I dismiss it as my imagination, but my ears keep insisting that I'm missing something incredibly important. Its there, I just need to concentrate in order to find it.

"Do you hear it?" Savan says in a hushed voice.

Yes? No? Maybe? I shut my eyes again, shutting out the world.

And there it is.

"Static." I reply, "There's a bit of static in the chorus."

Savan grabs my arm tightly and his voice becomes more urgent, "Tell me what you feel when hearing the static."

"Its like ... curdling? Yes, a curdling sensation." I frown while considering Savan's question, "Its as if the chorus became sour the moment I could hear the static?"

"That's a denial field." Savan says incomprehensibly.

"A what?" I answer, opening my eyes to his frazzled expression.

"A denial field." Savan repeats, "Some kind of Directorate invention. They can't oppose the power of Yah, so they did the next best thing. They're cutting us off."

"No way. Yah's all powerful." I deny the sheer absurdity of Savan's statement, "He's omnipotent and omniscient."

"The static is the proof." Savan's voice is calm, but his grip on me tightens further, "The Directorate realized that we had a weak link. The works of man."

"But -" I protest, but Savan's expression becomes even more grave.

"We're losing the war, Sheryl." he mutters, "The denial fields are starting to spread and our blessings don't work within them. That's why we don't screen new battle footage."

"There's a way to deny the will of god?" I ask, completely taken by surprise.

"Stay focused, Sheryl." Savan urges, "We know that faith allows the prayers to resist the effects of the denial field. That's why we have mass congregations praying for hours. So Yah can still hear us out."

"But if the Directorate is using its denial field on us, doesn't that mean we'll be attacked soon?" I almost blurt out, realizing the implications of this information.

"A probing attack most likely." Savan agrees, "The field is probably not strong enough yet for their liking. That's why we need everyone out there, praying as hard as they can."

"I see." I hum, "I'll do my best. I always do."

"Yeah. About the other thing ..." Savan's gaze turns away from me.

"Its fine." I shrug, getting the hint, "It wasn't going to happen anyway, what with you being an Elect."

"Its the rules." Savan mutters to himself, looking downward, "Elect can only marry each other since we're the only ones able to enter the kingdom."

"I said its fine." I pat Savan by the shoulder reassuringly, but bile rises in my throat.

"When the crusade is over," Savan clasps his hand over mine, "You'll be invited to the wedding. I know you'll love Jen as much as I do."

"I'm sure." I smile back, "Looking forward to it."

"We still need you." Savan grins, his spirits lifting.

"Go get them, tiger." I say blandly as the two of us walk out of the station. Savan rushes back to his post while I wander slowly toward the mass congregation.

'We still need you.' he said. We, not I.

My sleeve is damp with blood. Savan had popped several of the rashes when he gripped me by the arm. I stare at the crimson stain, hypnotized.

I thought Yah and Savan needed me. It was just lies at the end of the day.

But if that's the case ...

Maybe I don't need them either.