84 - Meeting the angels.
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The other night I'm writing in my book, sitting in
the cabin on my cot. And Ami comes in and lies
down on theirs, stares at the ceiling for a
minute, and then rolls on their side to face me.
Their eyes are closed, and they say, "Tomorrow, I
will be meeting the angels." And to hear that said
so level, so neutral, like how they'd say the
beans at supper were under-cooked, well it kind of
froze me up for a minute. Finally I'm going to say
something, but Ami rolls over to the wall and I
hear they're asleep.
In the morning, their cot is smooth and perfectly
made, and Ami is gone. Never seen them again
since. And the others, they all just sort of shrug
if I ask about it. This place, there's new people
every so often like me. But even in my short time
here I notice there's people I don't see after a
while. It's like we're always about an even
hundred or so. Maybe exactly that.
You know I'm grateful for them somehow curing
whatever was ailing me a few weeks back there, but
I still got my doubts about this cult. There's
lots of weird stuff. My turn at three-day burying
is coming up soon. That's important, and our
whole deal revolves around it. I'm studying up
and doing my homework, but I still don't quite get
how it works. And there's lots of other baffling
stuff. Like for instance, I don't care how much
the senior leaders insist that it's all a vital
part of our mission to save the world's
freshwater: the mandatory hand jobs we all got to
take turns giving them, that's such a pile of
crap. And I'm getting pretty sick of it.
