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There is a blessing coming.
It is all the adults can talk about. Mother is particularly overjoyed. She vibrates, her voice trembling with excitement.
“Heaven has shown us favor once more,” She cries. Tears stream down her face and she falls to her knees. “Everlasting mercy! How kind is Heaven to bestow such gifts to our wretched land! Praises be to the Holy Land above!”
Zodyl watches her. Cockroaches scurry away from her as she hits the ground with a thump, prostrating herself over and over. He wishes they would run to him.
He wonders how Mother makes her face look like that. The way her expression twists and her face turns. He tries, but it is not the same.
The ground grows damp as rain begins to fall over their small clearing. His stomach rumbles.
The sky rumbles in return.
Mother stands up, looking around. She is looking for him. He is hidden in one of the blessed piles. She cannot see him, he made sure of it.
He burrows deeper into the pile. It is squishy, hot, and cold at the same time. Something is dripping onto his head, red and thick. It slides down his cheek slowly. There is something sharp next to him that he is careful of leaning against. His lungs are burdened with each breath, each inhale more laborious than the last. There are hundreds of little bugs crawling all over his skin. It tickles. He picks up a particularly annoying one near his ear and puts it in his mouth.
“Zodyl?”
He shifts to get a better view. From his little hole, he can see how her tattered robes sway back and forth. She asks the others where her son is, and if they’ve seen him. They scoff at her, ignoring her, assuming their positions, kneeling. It is time for worship.
“Zodyl, come out!”
She wants him to join her.
Worship is important. It is how they show appreciation to Heaven, for bestowing them with the honor of life and abundance. That’s what Mother says. But worship takes so long. And sometimes, people ascend during worship, having been chosen. Mother says being chosen is an honor.
He eats another roach. Zodyl does not participate as much as his mother would like him to. She says that his behavior is displeasing to Heaven. If he continues his behavior, he will not be chosen. Does he not want to be chosen?
Father was chosen. Little Sister was chosen last week.
A mouse scurries across his feet. He races to catch it, moving too fast for his little burrow-the entire pile shifts, uncovering him. The mouse scurries away, running into the safety of another pile from Heaven. Zodyl is exposed. Immediately, his mother notices him, rushing over and grabbing his elbow.
“Zodyl!” Mother cries, exasperated. “What a troublesome child you are.”
Her touch is hot. Her nails dig into his skin. It hurts. He squirms to ease the pain. She swats him with her other hand, before getting down on the ground, kneeling. The ground is slick, cold and wet from the rain, and he hates the sensation.
The other members are already praying, their voices combining into a disjointed hymn. The clouds, black and threatening, begin depositing gifts. All around them, they crash down, and the noise hurts his ears. He covers them, but she yanks his hands away. A large stone slams down next to him, and the debris flies into his arm. It hurts, he flinches.
Mother takes pity on him.
She wraps her hands around him and holds him tight. She cups his face, her eyes bright and striking and alight with something that he cannot place.
“You must receive Heaven’s gifts with an open heart and mind, my son.” He buries his face in her neck, feeling her pulse race. He can feel Mother's every exhale and inhale like this. She rocks on her heels, swaying them back and forth as she prays for salvation.
A piece of wood hits her on the shoulder. She buckles from the impact, bearing down on Zodyl. It missed him by a hair, snapping in two harmlessly. She catches her breath before renewing her prayers.
Mother grows louder and louder. Eventually, the bangs and thumps of the falling gifts sound like music combined with her voice.
“Thank you, oh blessed Heaven, thank you…”
Zodyl raises his head and watches the blessings fall. He looks around, and watches as several people are chosen, ascending to Heaven, being released from the shackles of Hell.
He looks down again.
He stares at the ground next to Mother's feet.
There's another cockroach. It's huge, scurrying around without a care in the world.
Zodyl's mouth waters.