According to Marissa
Chapter Four - Part Three
"Pfff…the greatest of men." Marissa huffed. Marissa growled. She (pff-ack!) suddenly sneezed. Marissa wiped her nose with the back of her hand, the one that was full of stone and leather. The stone felt light in her fingers, lighter than the others she'd practiced with. She tossed it a little feeling (pff-ack!) a little doubtful.
(pfd-ack, pff-ack!)With clumsy movements, she hoisted the rock into the slingshot before gathering up both strings. She roped one end around her forefinger and then, with quicker, more cautious movements, she began to twirl the slingshot across her body, not over her head, like in the pictures. Marissa stuck her tongue out as the sac twirled. Once, twice, three times. She (pff-ack!) Then let go of the rope.
The rock flew… kinda. It sailed quickly towards the intended target, a wooden board leaning against a tree. But because of the sneeze, it landed short hitting the trunk and not the board. Marissa stomped her foot. She groaned and then violently sneezed (pff-ack). She must of caught a cold. She wiggled her nose a little… well, maybe, she wiggled it a lot. "I can't do it!" She sighed.
Marissa threw the slingshot across the field and then stifled a cry. Some of the nearby lambs scattered. Others just lazily stared. She tried not to scream at them, even though part of her wanted too. She could feel her tears begin to leak through her eyelashes. "Lord," she cried, sniffing profusely. "Please help me. I'm sorry." In spite her efforts, the tears came quickly. Carmel pink fists rose to wipe them away mixing in with the snot already present. She could feel defeat and despair fall with each shameful drop. "She won't leave me alone. I… I don't want to be a ballerina. I don't want to wear pink or be "popular" or to give up my friends or become the Mouse King. I just want to be me. You used David just as he was. Why can't you use me like that?"
The hands that picked her up were strong and warm and familiar. Through her tears, she spied the messy beard, white tunic and red stained stash and instantly wrapped her arms around His scruffy neck. The man sat on a nearby boulder and just held her. Marissa cried into His shoulder. Her tears were hot and His clothes grew damp as they painted the fabric a darker shade of beige. "Just because I used him as he was doesn't mean that I didn't prepare him before hand." The words were nearly inaudible still she could hear them, plain as day she could hear them.
"Out here, he learned to fight. He learned to lead." Out of the corner of her eye, Marissa noticed his gaze shift to the flock around them. "Even the music he learned to play out here, I used to prepare him for the life I anointed him for. He had to grow, but he didn't do it on his own. He needed help, just like you do. Sometimes, it's good to get help and to allow others to guide you. But at the same time, getting help isn't the same as allowing others to dictate who you are. You are Marissa," the man said happily. "That's all you need to be for me, hmm?" Marissa nodded and then, she felt Him place her on the ground. "Good," He said.
Again, Marissa nodded rushing to get the slingshot. Picking it up, she was about to run back to Him when suddenly she heard a steady growl erupt from a nearby bush. Marissa looked down locking eyes with pupils as orange as the fur around them. Marissa swallowed as the man behind her crossed his arms. "Are you ready?" He asked.
Marissa shook her head.
The pelt was beautiful. It was well cut with no noticeable damage. David's father ran a questing hand over the blackened mane before his gaze lifted to those of his son. They were wide with happy triumph. "You are not injured this time," David's father quickly noted. "You are getting better." He paused waiting for the words to come, for the question that had come perpetually since his other sons had left. When it didn't, David's father pondered. Instead he followed his son to the dinner table and ate his meal in relative peace, a peace that faded as the days continued to pass and the number of pelts began to grow.
The next day, his youngest son brought two pelts home. The next day, three. the next day, four. By day ten, he had more than he knew what to do with and still the question did not come up. Standing over the ninety pelts, David's Father was at a loss. All he could do was stare at his son, his earlier decision hanging starkly between them. It was his wife that eventually broke the silence.
"What are we going to do with all of these? Where did you get them?" She turned towards David and Marissa smiled back at her. The words came blatantly from her mouth.
"The Lord gave them to me. He taught me to shoot and fight. He gave me a real challenge today, but look, I beat it. Well, He and I, we beat it."
"I can see that," David's mother exclaimed… slowly. "Ah... blessed be the name of the Lord. Just, can you tell him to stop?" She laughed. "We have more than enough pelts now. Maybe we could sell them?" She looked to her husband who had yet to speak. He was just staring at his son with something akin to amazement. Eventually, his lips parted. Eventually, words he had not expected to say came tumbling out.
"Perhaps," he said. "Perhaps, you are the Lord's anointed." He blinked and then smiled reaching a hand to rub his neck. "I'm sorry I doubted you, son." He looked to his wife, who looked back at him with a little doubt. He nodded. "You are right. We don't need all of these. Why don't we send them to the front. I'm sure the boys will need them?" Marissa grinned and his wife smiled. Excited, she ran to the adjoining room mentioning about sending some bread and cheese along with him.
The wagon was fully packed the next morning. Marissa looked back at the small house and then down the path before her. Samuel watched her from David's tree until her shadow disappeared into the sunrise.
Thank you reading. To answer some of the questions posed in the comments. I sign my name at the end of each chapter because at like to leave room for notes like these. Marissa will be a series depending on how well this goes. We'll see. — Calla