My first submission, and the first chapter to the first novel I ever wrote. Please read and enjoy.

Chapter I

Imagine a future where everyone has powers. Now when I say powers, I'm not talking about fire-breathing or super strength. These powers are very real. In fact, they exist in your time, just not many people are aware of them. Perhaps "powers" isn't the right word; a better word would be gifts. Spiritual gifts endowed by the Holy Ghost to be one hundred percent accurate. The story starts in the year 2239, about a century before I was born. Science has finally admitted defeat and has acknowledged that the True and Almighty God exists. The world went through some radical changes after that. First, Christianity swept through nations and quickly became the singular religion. That did not mean a perfect world, however. Each denomination claimed they were the correct one and the "Holy Wars" followed. These wars caused mass destruction and different denominations set borders forming new countries. Yet, God brought good out of these wars. Understanding about spiritual gifts became common knowledge, and everyone soon began to develop and discover their own. Every gift described by Paul and many others in the Bible became recorded, from amazing Gift of Healing to the jealousy-inducing Gift of Wisdom. One late October night in the year 2356, I knelt at the foot of my bed, hands in the prayer position. Fresh tears streamed down my face every second. "God, are you out there? Don't you love me? Am I not your child?" I shouted in pure desperation with eyes shut tighter than a treasure chest. My issue was that even at age 17, I still didn't have a spiritual gift. I begged and pleaded with Jesus to show me some proof that my life wasn't hopeless. Furthermore, the tears wouldn't stop flowing. The sound of my bedroom door creaking and the smell of motor oil distracted me from my prayer.

"Amos, are you alright?" my Uncle Saul asked, peeking his head inside. He was on the shorter side as well as round. Uncle Saul was bald, but had a neatly trimmed beard. He had deep wrinkles in his forehead despite being only in his late forties. He had a sharp nose, like mine, and thin lips along with bushy eyebrows and intimidating deep blue eyes. Seeing his face sent memories flowing through my mind, reawakening old pains. About nine years ago my parents had been killed. Why or how was never made known to my sister, Ruth, or I. Neither of us had many memories of them, though doctors said I suppressed them due to emotional trauma.

Ruth had always been the lucky one, even though she was two years younger. She had developed the Gift of Prophecy at age two, and gave some great prophetic words at age six about how "a native born of New Canaan with a Gift of Mercy shall be a guide to the end of the line of the King." Well, when that had been reported to the King of New Canaan, my own home country, my sister had been sent to the House of Prophets. The ironic thing is that the Gift of Prophecy runs in the family. Uncle Saul, despite choosing to be a mechanic, and my father both had it. I alone was left with nothing special about me.

"Get out!" I screeched an octave higher than I'd be willing to admit to. Despite my demand, Uncle Saul ignored me and sat on my bed.

"I don't know what you're in such distress about, but if this about you having no gift, let me tell you something. When I was asked to take care of you and your sister, I prayed about it and you know what? God gave me a vision of you in the future developing your gift and following a wonderful plan He laid out for you. Trust me, soon something amazing will happen," Uncle Saul explained. It didn't make me feel much better, mostly because I had heard it several times, but I calmed myself down.

"Thanks Uncle Saul, that helped a lot," I managed through a fake smile and watery eyes.

"No problem, Amos. Just be sure not to forget your parents' gift," my uncle signaled to my necklace before leaving. I pulled off my necklace and stared at it as it lay in the palm of my hand. It was made of tungsten metal in the shape of a cross, and was about two inches tall and half an inch thick. It hung on a metal chain and was the one thing I had remaining from my parents. Without much warning, I began to muse over the memory of when I received the necklace:

My mother handed me the necklace as I tried to make out her face. It was mostly indistinguishable, except her inky black hair that matched mine.

"Take this. After today, you'll need more. Or at least, that's what your father said," she said giving me a smile and kissing me on the head.

"What do you mean? Where are you going Mommy?" I asked in the innocent voice of a nine year old.

"Hopefully nowhere soon," my mother smiled again before ruffling my hair.

That had all been the day before she and my father had died. I felt tears welling up in my eyes, and I burst out crying again.

"God, it's not fair! Jesus, can you hear me? Why can't I be happy?" I wailed like the child in the memory.

Suddenly something came over me. It felt ancient and powerful, but at the same time more comforting than any blanket.

Hebrews 4:12. The presence seemed to say. It wasn't in my head, nor was it out loud. The message came from all the way down in my heart. Instinct told me it had been the Holy Ghost. After slipping my necklace on, I moved over to my desk to retrieve my Bible. I flipped through as fast as I could until I had located the verse.

"For the Word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints, and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart," I read silently. Half expecting something to happen, I stood there for a moment, but was sorely disappointed when the only thing that happened was that my cross felt a little warmer against my chest.

"Is that it? You speak to me, and nothing happens. Fine, if you don't want to help me!" I shouted toward the ceiling, hoping God heard all my anger and pain. Retreating to bed, I cried myself to sleep.

The next morning, something felt different. I couldn't place it, but it felt like something was stirring in my heart. Ignoring it, I wandered to the bathroom to prepare for the day. I did my best to comb my hair, which was never a successful task despite it being straight. My own green eyes stared back at me in the mirror, rimmed with red from the previous night. Finally, I left the bathroom and got dressed. While my school, Galilee Private School, didn't have an official school uniform, you were expected to dress your best. I personally hated dressing up, so I also just slid by as far as the dress code was concerned. I pulled on a pair of khaki dress pants and an emerald green T-shirt, over which I pulled a black fleece. Looking in the mirror, I figured I looked nice enough, though most people would argue I didn't match. Not that I actually cared. I headed for the kitchen and was greeted by the sight of Ruth pulling waffles out of the toaster. Ruth was significantly shorter than me, with long straight black hair that reached past her shoulders and intense green eyes to match mine. In other words, it was no mystery she was my sister.

"Oh, hey Amos!" she grinned. Once every three months students at the House of Prophets got a week break from their studies to visit family.

"Oh, your break is this week," I mumbled, doing my best to make my tone sound irritated. My sister stuck out her tongue like she didn't care, but for some reason I picked up a vibe of genuine hurt, which wasn't something I'd expected. Suddenly, I saw an image. It wasn't like a vision, or hallucination, but more like a memory. There was a silhouette of Ruth, except instead of her image being black, multiple bright colors swirled around inside, not unlike a lava lamp. However, every now and then a dark spot was blocking out the colors, turning the sections black. They seemed painful, and evil.

"Yes, that is this week," Ruth groaned, sitting down at the table to enjoy her breakfast.

"Are you alright?" I asked as I prepared myself breakfast.

"No. Nothing. Why?" Ruth responded, though the image showed differently. One of the dark spots seemed to flutter and evaporate slightly.

"No reason," I shrugged, beginning on my own breakfast. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of looking at the clock as I took my first bite of cereal.

"Aren't you going to be late?" Ruth asked. I almost cursed as I shoved the bowl of cereal toward my sister.

"Yeah. Finish this for me will you?" I said before dashing out the door.

"No," I heard Ruth whine as the front door slammed shut behind me. My family lived in a small town far away from Jericho, the capitol of New Canaan, called Sodom. Everything was relatively close. Next to nobody owned a levia, a sort of hovercraft, and everyone pretty much walked anywhere they needed to go. It made me question how Uncle Saul made a living. Either way, the main thing that was on my mind was the weird image I had seen as I jogged to school. It had almost been like I had been sensitive to my sister's heart. However, as soon as I had her out of sight, the image had vanished. While trying to determine what it had been, I nearly ran over my friend Lydia.

"Whoa there. Be careful," Lydia giggled. She had an almost auburn hair color, which was about shoulder length and the hair bordering her face curled into coils. Despite a seemingly pale complexion, Lydia had a love of warm weather. That was why I was shocked at her clothing choice for that chilly morning. Lydia had on a frilly white skirt and pink blouse, with a white fur vest that was hopefully fake wrapped around her. In addition to her full lips and light blue eyes, she gave off an impression to match her normal hyperactive moods. Immediately, an image like the one from earlier flashed into my mind when I realized who it was. This one was of Lydia and instead multiple black spots, a singular large one was located right in her chest. It was slowing growing larger, creeping out tendrils to blot out the other colors.

"Hey, what's wrong?" I asked. Lydia's expression changed, giving a look of confusion before shifting finally to utter sadness.

"That's a bit creepy, but you are right, something is wrong. You know Tobias?" Lydia surrendered.

"Yeah," I replied slowly. Tobias was a long time friend of mine, and Lydia's boyfriend. In terms of appearance, he was more or less the polar opposite of both of us. For starters, his skin was a few shades darker, like he had a permanent tan. He had an ever-growing mat of curly brown hair that went along with the intensity with which he launched himself into things, all of which somehow complimented his Gift of Wisdom.

"Well, his ex has been causing problems, spreading rumors, that kind of stuff," Lydia sighed. I figured that was causing the darkness, so patted her reassuringly on the shoulder as best I could without being awkward.

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I'll put you in my prayers," I encouraged. Lydia treated me to a smile that reflected some hope, and in the image the tendrils of darkness retreated a bit. We continued our conversation with a more carefree attitude after that. Upon reaching the school, a shiver went down my back. No matter how many times I was forced to go, the school reminded me more of a prison rather than a place of learning. The main building was a huge cylinder made completely out of marble that glinted with the sunshine clearly visible in the sky on most given days. The top was capped with a dome made of variously colored glass that sent a spectacular design shimmering on the floor of the school lobby. Most of the classrooms were located in two wings that spread out opposite from each other and attached to the main building.

"Ready for another day?" Lydia challenged, giving me a mischievous smile.

"Sure. But first I'm going to go see the guidance counselor."

"Well, best of luck then," she said. The words seemed to soothe me, as might be expected from someone with the Gift of Exhortation. I waved good bye as I rushed up the steps of the school and toward the main office. I wanted to see the counselor was because it was their job to help students with spiritual gifts. After both my experiences that morning, I needed some help. First knocking, I entered the counselor's office, but it was empty. I waited a few minutes, and finally Mr. Lot walked in. He was laughing, but when he saw me, it dropped into a groan. Mr. Lot was an extremely tall man, with leathery skin, rough big hands, and coarse black hair. He had a thick mustache that mostly covered his mouth.

"You again." I'd been in his office several times, begging to let me take the Spiritual Gift Determination Exam, or the SGDE.

"I'd like to take the SGDE," I requested politely. Mr. Lot groaned again and sat in his swivel chair, spinning to face his computer.

"Like I said before, you have to show evidence of your gift before you can, which you have yet to do," he explained as he pulled up a game of Solitaire on his computer.

"You don't understand. I have," I countered. Mr. Lot spun around in his chair to face me, a deep scowl of disbelief on his face, but motioned for me to continue. I explained about the images I had received of Ruth and Lydia and described them in detail. After I had finished, Mr. Lot just stared at me for a short time.

"Very well. You can take the test, but I pray you don't get the results I'm suspecting," Mr. Lot said finally. I didn't understand what he meant, but was more than happy when he handed me the test. He warned it took about 50 minutes, which was fine by me since that meant I'd be missing my least favorite class. Truth was, it took me far longer. I read each question carefully, and answered each one honestly, all because I was anxious to see if I had really begun to develop my gift. Some of the questions were just general knowledge questions, others more personal, but more that just seemed random.

"Done," I announced at the eve of hour two. Mr. Lot took the test and answer sheet and began to do the calculations. I waited patiently, though my palms grew sweaty as each minute ticked by. A thought that the test would turn up negative results occupied my mind briefly, but was just as quickly dismissed. Finally, Mr. Lot looked at me, his dark brown eyes filled with a mixture of pity and surprise.

"Fortunately, your test turned up positive result. However, it may be better to say unfortunately, because the test has concluded without a doubt you have the Gift of Mercy," Mr. Lot concluded. My mind practically melted at that point. I was so excited that I had a gift. God had indeed blessed me, and it renewed my confidence in the Holy Ghost and in myself. The praying, pain, and tears had all been worth it. However, as I calmed down, reality set in. The King wanted all those with my gift dead. More accurately, he had already made it happen. My heart suddenly felt heavy, and my head clouded with fear.

"I'm in danger, aren't I?" I asked. Mr. Lot nodded gravely.

"Like I said, unfortunately," Mr. Lot said.

"But that's not possible. Both my parents had the Gift of Prophecy, so shouldn't I? It doesn't make sense," I argued.

"I don't know. However, first things first. Do you know what the gift of prophecy entitles?" Mr. Lot asked. I didn't want to seem like I was unknowledgeable, but I had no clue.

"Not exactly," I answered hesitantly. Mr. Lot then pulled out a huge book that was old and musty. He then proceeded to drop it onto my lap.

"Read this for a few minutes," Mr. Lot ordered. I did my best to make out the title, and I figured it said something along the lines of The Complete Guide to Spiritual Gifts. The table of contents provided the way to the section on the Gift of Mercy, and I read this:

Gift of Mercy

Detailed in the Bible at Romans 12:8

General Summary: To be sensitive toward those who are suffering, whether physically, mentally, or emotionally, so as to feel genuine sympathy with their misery, speaking words of compassion but more so caring for them with deeds of love to help alleviate their distress; demonstrates abilities such as reading hearts and emotions

"That's crazy. I can't possibly do that," I said when I had finished reading.

"You already have. Those images, as you call them, are you reading a heart. Now about the whole prophecy issue," Mr. Lot said.

"What do you think?" I asked. He considered it for a moment before continuing.

"At worst, you have a few days. I'd finish school today and pack your bags tonight. Then you leave town tomorrow," he advised. I swallowed nervously before nodding in agreement. I thanked Mr. Lot for his time before rushing off to my classes. Absentmindedly, I took the guide book with me, which would prove to be to my benefit.

However, much to my disadvantage, Mr. Lot's prediction on my safe time was severely off. That very afternoon, during my second to last period history class, the windows suddenly shattered. I was half asleep from boredom, so I was caught off guard when a dozen men burst in. That didn't mean I wasn't able to recognize a division of the Imperial Army. Soldiers in the Imperial Army wore all black jumpsuits with black belts and brackets loaded with various explosives. Over their heads they wore something similar to a biker helmet, except it was all black, including the visor, so everything from face to hair was hidden. The leader of the division was dressed in a white jumpsuit and white helmet, as opposed to those under his command. Anyway, the teacher and all other students went into mass hysteria, and they ended up tripping over one another trying to get away from the invaders. I did my best to blend in, so I wouldn't draw attention to myself. Once everyone had gathered against the opposite wall, and all the screaming had died down to whimpering, the leader removed his helmet. A long pile of blonde hair dropped loose resembling that of a surfer's, but the face did not match the haircut. The man's face was littered with wrinkles, even though he couldn't have been more than fifty. His eyes were so dark they glinted black like polished onyx. He sneered and for a moment I caught sight of his heart. It was covered in black, churning with malice and cruelty. However, a small glimmer of color was present every now and then.

"Please, your attention," the man requested. Our teacher stepped forward timidly.

"Yes?" she responded meekly. She was so pale I was scared she might faint.

"I am Commander Joel of the Imperial Army. We have received details concerning a student in this class of this school with the Gift of Mercy. We have come to arrest him and transport him to Jericho for execution," the man explained.

"There must be a mistake. I can assure you there is no one here with that gift," the teacher tried to argue.

"Very well. If no one will come clean, we'll just kill you all here," Commander Joel sighed. He signaled to his men, who trained various red dots sprouting from their bracelets, on several students. I couldn't just stand by and let all these people be killed, especially since I was among them.

"I'm the one with the gift. Arrest me," I said, boldly stepping forward. I tried to sound brave, but the obvious quiver in my voice gave me away.

"I thought he was an ungifted loser," I heard a couple other students whisper, along with other similar comments. While it hurt, it made me feel a tiny bit of confidence.

"Very well, prove it. Read my heart," Commander Joel challenged. I took a deep breath and it took all my willpower to look into those chaos- colored eyes.

"There is much darkness clogging your heart, anger, bloodlust, among other things. However, there are small pockets of hope," I spoke, but instead of fear in my words, they rang sharp and clear. They didn't feel like mine, which was a bit odd. Commander Joel recoiled with a distasteful sneer.

"This kid is definitely it. We'll take him to Jericho tomorrow. For the time being, we are going to use this school as a base of operation. All you kids and teachers, you are dismissed," Commander Joel announced. Everyone scrambled out of the room except me, having been detained by two soldiers. By the time evening had rolled around, everyone had left except the division and me. I was locked in one of many jail cells found beneath the school, ironically enough. Apparently, the school had actually been a prison at one point. The cell had two bunk beds, an absence of windows, and a small toilet and sink. The walls were grey with dust, and no windows made the room seem to smell even more like mold. The only source of light came from light bulbs in hall outside the cell, which shone through the cell door. The bottom half of the door was a solid metal slate, but the top had bars across it like a traditional cell. Fortunately, they had dumped me in the cell without confiscating anything, including my necklace and backpack. In a matter of minutes after I had been locked in and the soldiers had left, I began to feel myself break down. Tears welled up in my eyes and ran down the side of face. I began to scream and punch and kick the imprisoning walls. Sweat began to form on my body, which made me feel even more disgusting in the moist conditions. Eventually, I calmed down to sniffles and tears. I kneeled on the floor and began to pray. My knuckles were bloody, and I gripped my necklace with such deadly force in my right hand, that my palm began to bleed.

"Father God, why all this? Why would you give me a curse, not a gift? Please, if your plan is for me to die, spare me!" I prayed, screaming with a volume that hurt my vocal cords. Soon, I resorted to screaming gibberish in an effort for salvation. I didn't want to die.

Hebrews 4:12. The powerful Voice echoed within my body. It reassured me, though my fear and desperation did not melt away. I prayed the Holy Ghost had spoken to me, and then I struggled to speak normally.

"For the Word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints, and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart," I repeated from memory. Once again, my necklace began to feel warm. I didn't expect anything else to happen, but the cross began to feel hotter and hotter, until it was searing my flesh. I screeched in pain, ripping the necklace off my neck. I tried to throw it out of the room, but the cross pendant stuck to my hand, continuing to sear it.

"Jesus save me!" I begged. There was a bright flash as the necklace began to near molten level, and I adverted my eyes. Strange enough, I felt the cross begin to change and morph. When the light had died down, my hand suddenly felt like it was supporting an immense weight. My hand went slack, and the clang of metal rang out from the floor. I glanced for a moment, afraid but also curious. What had once been my necklace was now a full sized sword.

Many more chapters to come. Please review, I love reading them. Thank you