The upper classes and the lower classes alike wonder who I will give my gift to. The upper classes are sure that it will be one of them. It must be one of them. After all, they are educated, they are well-fed, they are well-off. After all, they think, they know best. The lower classes on the other hand know better. They know that whoever I give the gift to, it will be one of them. And they are right. 

The doctor thinks it will be him. He thinks that for sure it will be him. After all, he is a doctor. He is a healer. He is the one who takes care of the sick of the respectable people. And, he thinks, he even devoted some of his time to helping the people of ill-repute, to helping the lower classes. He thinks that he is the one who could do the most with the gift of healing. And that he is the one who deserves it most. After all, he thinks, he was right there when I made my announcement. It was him I decided to reveal myself and my intentions to. 

He tells all of his family this, with pride flowing in his voice. He stands there primping and preening in the mirror whenever he gets the chance to. He tells his brothers and his cousins this, and they smile and clap him on the back. They tell their families and those families tell their families until a rumour is being spread amongst the upper classes that the doctor is the one who will receive the gift of healing. 

The doctor's son becomes even more prideful and arrogant upon hearing this. He holds it for sure that he is the child of the one who god chose. He tells all the girls in his school this, and they all cling to his arms and plaster themselves by his side. He basks in the attention and he holds his head up higher than ever before. 

The doctor's daughter smiles wider than ever before. She tells all her friends about the news and they clap their hands in excitement. They buy sweets to celebrate, and they buy shimmering paper to make crowns out of for their little party. The whole school wants to be friends with them, and they are instant, young celebrities. 

The doctor's wife receives a promotion at her job. She takes it gracefully, with a large smile on her face. She tells everyone about her husband and how good he is and how kind he is. He tells everyone about how much he needs her, how much he relies on her, how he is nothing without her. They all congratulate the happy couple, and wish them luck in their journeys. 

All of the doctor's household is overjoyed. All except for one. 

And so I wait until my power reaches higher heights. And I come down to the doctor's house, when all of the inhabitants are sleeping. 

I take on a form, the form of an withered woman with dark curls and thin arms. And I pad down the hallways until I reach my destination. 

The kitchen, where the little girl sleeps under a thin, worn, ratty blanket, her dark little head on a thin, worn pillow. She does not look peaceful, not even in sleep. She looks small and frightened and tense and powerless. She looks mired in shadows and darkness. I bend down close to her. And I put my hands on her curled in shoulders. 

She awakes with a startle, and I quickly yet kindly shush her. She falls into a confused silence, looking up at me with her wide, dark eyes. I create a small flame between us, so that we can see each other's faces. It is a fragile, flickering thing. But it is strong enough. 

"My sweet child," I exclaim in a whisper, like a grandmother seeing their granddaughter after many years, "let me kiss you." I catch her face in my thin hands and pull her to me, the fire moving so that it is beside us. I kiss her, and rub my bony hands over her face, and hug her. It feels like freedom. It feels like victory. It feels like coming home. 

"Who are you?" the girl asks as I hug her.

"I am Avaldi, little one. And I have watched over you for a very long time. I wept at your suffering. I cried at all the hurt you have felt. At everything you have gone through over the years. And I have felt rage well up in my heart towards all who have hurt you."

At this the young girl begins crying. She cries in earnest, not just one or two tears. They come streaming down and down and down over her cheeks like rivers. And it's such a delight to see her crying. It's such a relief to see her finally allowing herself to express what she feels. 

I pull her into another hug and I we stay there for a long time. Crying in each other's arms. Holding on to the only gentle touch the little girl has had in a long time. 

"I love you, my sweet child. I love you." I whisper this to her over and over and over again, through my own tears. I need her to know. I need to know that she knows. "I love you. And not only me. Your true family loves you. They miss you so dearly. All your community loves you. They feel the hole that you've left so acutely. All your people love you, and they hate the fact that you are being hurt. We all love you. All of us."

"It feels like no-one loves me," the girl sobs quietly. 

"Of course it feels that way. You are entrapped by these horrible people who are keeping you captive. But know this. There are numerous people the world over who love you so much." 

"I ... I'll try to remember."

"That's the spirit. Now, child, listen to me." I draw back from her a bit, still keeping my arms wrapped around her, stroking her hair. 

"Yes, my lord?"

"No, none of that 'my lord' nonsense. You will call me grandmother, or whatever else your heart desires."

"Okay, grandmama."

"Now, anyways," I whisper to her in the darkness, keeping my voice as supersaturated as possible with kindness and softness and love, "I will give you a gift, if you wish to receive it." 

"What is it?" The little girl whispers, amazement in her voice.

"It is the power to heal anything and everything, except save for what can never be healed."

"Oh wow! Really?" Her large, gazing eyes are disbelieving. 

"Yes, young one. You will be able to heal everything. Not only bodies, though you will be able to heal bodies as well of course. But you will also be able to heal broken hearts. You will be able to heal shattered spirits. You will be able to heal aching minds. More importantly, you will be able to heal society itself. You will be able to heal all the injustices, all the inequalities. You will be able to stop all the hardship that people face. You will be able to put families back together, to bring people back home. And you will be able to heal the future. You will be able to heal the hope and the confidence of the people. You will be able to heal their fighting spirit."

"But ... how?" She looks up at me and I know that she doesn't believe me. She doesn't believe that she can yield this power. But I have to tell her otherwise. 

"You have the power to do it. You have the power to do it all. All that you have to do now is follow your heart." 

"But my heart ... it feels like it's dead. How can I follow it?" 

"Your heart may feel like it's dead but it's not. It never can be. It's living and growing inside of you always. It's protecting you always. And you can follow it. All you have to do is believe. Do you believe in me? Do you believe in your people?" 

"I do." And I know that she does. "But," she continues, "how am I strong enough? How am I good enough?" 

"You are good. You are strong. You are kind. You are wise. You are revolutionary." I tell her these truths and more. "I should know. I am god. I am god, sweet child, and I have been watching you for all of your life. I watched every moment you lived, every step you took. I saw each of your thoughts, your words, your actions, your emotions. And you are worthy. You are beyond worthy. You are amazing. And you can save save the world. Do you choose to take up this mantle?"

She sits there thinking for a long time. I stroke her cheeks, her shoulders, her hair. I pull her close to me and kiss her and hug her. And she thinks about all the things that I have told her.

"Are you sure I can do it?" She finally asks me. 

"I am sure you can do it. I'm absolutely certain. More certain than of anything I have ever been in my life. You are meant to be my prophet of the new age, you are meant to be the saviour of the new world. And you can do it. I am sure you can do it."

"What if I fail?"

"You won't fail. Trust me. I don't pick my saviours easily."

She thinks about this for a long while, chewing the bottom of her lips. I continue to cuddle and caress her. 

"I will do it." Her words are final. She carries surety in her voice. She carries a sort of confidence that she hasn't had in a long, long, unbearably long time. Her spirit is full. It is still scraped raw. It is still broken and bleeding. But it is full. And feeling that within her makes me cry all over again. 

"I love you," I tell her. "And I don't love only you. I love all the people who are hurting in the world. All the people who face injustices. I love you all immensely. And you all deserve so much better."

"I love you too."

We stay there cuddling and talking all night. And with dawn's first rays I steal away so that the doctor and his family will not find me. I tell her that I'll be watching over her. I tell her that I will always be right there, in her heart, connecting her with everyone else. 

It won't decrease the grief and the pain and the hurt. It won't decrease the loneliness. It won't decrease the desolation. It won't decrease any of the many miseries that have plagued her and are plaguing her throughout her life. I know this. I know all of this. But still, it will give her something to cling to on the midst of the storm. 

And so I watch her. And I watch all my people. And I watch them hurt. I watch them grow. I watch them bloom. 

I watch the bright and radiant leader that the girl becomes. The dark and secretive leader that she becomes. I watch her burn like the sun and soothe like the moon. I watch her inspire her people and spark the flame of revolution as it ignites and grows and eventually comes to consume the entire world. 

I watch her heal minds and hearts and bodies and spirits. I watch her heal families and friends and neighbourhoods and communities. I watch her heal forests and fields and deserts and plains. I watch her heal rivers and oceans and lakes and ponds. I watch her heal the earth itself. I watch her heal everyone and everything. And I watch her heal society. 

The flames of revolution burst forth everywhere. People across all the lands, people across all my lands, they come forth to revolt. They gather together in streets and under trees. They create a vision for a new world, a fairer world, a more equal world, a better world. And together, they fight for that vision with everything that they have. 

Soon the world remakes itself. It renews itself. All walls and borders are broken down. All the lines and stations are destroyed. And I smile to see what my people have created. And they smile to see what they created as well. 

The young girl, now a woman, addresses the crowd gathered around her. 

"My name is Onima," she states.

———

If you like this piece check out my Twitter my handle is @FSairuv and I post about human rights, social justice, and the environment.