'I want an answer,' Simon said. He stood in his apartment and stared up at the ceiling above him. 'Answer me!'
No answer came. There were no flashes of lights or angelic choirs; no booming voices from the heavens that shook and tore open the earth. There was only the silence of the apartment.
With a powerful sweeping arc of his arms, Simon swept everything off his living room table. Plates, knives, forks, and glasses all crashed onto the ground.
Still no answer.
Simon rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. 'I want to know why I have this ability,' he said. 'I want to know what I'm supposed to do with it.'
No answer.
Defeated, Simon fell to his knees and knelt forward. 'I just want to know, Lord.'
The soft crunching of glass underneath a shoe made Simon look up. He could see legs in a pair of dirty shoes and instinctively jerked back and away from whomever was in his apartment. He lost his balance and fell backward, cutting his hand on a piece of broken glass. Simon flinched and jerked his hand back. The pain was excruciating. He clenched down on his teeth and tugged at the piece of glass protruding from his hand. In one swift motion, he yanked it out. Only then was he able to shift his focus and look at the man standing not too far from him.
'Who are you?' Simon asked as he pressed his palm against the wound to apply pressure.
'You wanted answers,' the man said calmly, unhindered by the blood.
Simon tried to remember if he knew the stranger in his apartment. He didn't. 'How did you get in here?' he asked.
'You will get your answers, Simon,' the man said.
'How did you know...?' Simon found it ironic that it was a stranger that knew something about him for a change.
The stranger didn't say anything. He merely looked at Simon and smiled.
Simon recognized the man, but couldn't place him. 'Where do I know you from?'
Glass crunched as the man walked towards Simon. He hunched down, took Simon's bleeding hand, and covered it with his own. 'The answers are coming, Simon,' the man said and let go of Simon's hand. Simon turned his hand around and studied his palm. There was no trace of a cut ever being there.
'How did you...?'
He looked up.
The man was gone.
Read Chapter 10, Scene 8
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