Chapter Five

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Awakening, The Prophet

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A lot of things had influenced Moses in his writing of Jesse King.

Movies, Books, People, Games.

Braveheart, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, X-Men, U2, the Bible, Beethoven, Brotherhood of the Wolf, Jim Carrey .. The list is long. Stephen King’s Dark Tower series. George RR Martin’s A Song Of Ice And Fire series. Robert Jordan’s super-epic Wheel of Time. The original Deus Ex game from Ion Storm, and the classic Planescape: Torment.

At this moment however, none of that was on Moses’ mind. He sat in the coffee shop, a startled look on his face. A woman had just walked through the main doors, and was coming over to him.

Mischa White.

She who Jesse King loved.

Surely this was imagination. Moses closed his eyes, rubbed them with his hands, then opened them. Before him stood Mischa. He’d gotten her name from an old teen soap.

D.C.? No, that’s the comics. Fruit, why fruit?

His thoughts were broken when Mischa spoke.

“Prophet.”

Moses looked at her eyes. They were the purest blue he had ever seen.

“Prophet.”

She was talking to him, calling him prophet. What did that mean?

“I’m not a prophet.” He said to her, and couldn’t look away. She was beautiful beyond his imagining. And indeed, it was his imagination that had created her.

Mischa smiled. “You are, and denial will not change the truth.” She glanced down. “You let your body waste away. This should not be.”

Forthright. Just as I wrote her.

“That is true Mischa,” The name came out different. “But you cannot exist. You are a character out of my mind.”

Moses shook his head, closing his eyes again.

She is still there. I can hear her breathing.

The excitement within him, the feeling of joy, or something, was reaching boiling point. There was a song, jubilant singing, in his ears. It reminded him of his grandmother.

“I am here Prophet. That is enough. I don’t know this place, or these people, but I am here nonetheless.”

“Go down, Moses. Way down to Egypt-land.”

Deep sonorous tones rang through him. A song sung on the cotton fields, and many other places besides. His grandmother had sung it to him as he fell asleep. Other songs too.

But this one I always remembered. It was about me.

“Prophet, you must come to Jesse’s land. Travel with me, for I have been sent to pull you to us.”

What is she talking about? None of this exists. Perhaps Jasmine put hallucinogens in the eggs.

He stood up, wanting to try and ignore this apparition and walk outside, run, escape his own mind. But she grabbed his wrist.

Real enough to stop me. And strong. Like I wrote her.

Mischa had many secrets, but probably the greatest was her parentage. Her father did not know he had a daughter. Her mother was dead.

At least, that’s the way it is in my head.

“I must leave now, the power of the Three is waning. But I will return again, and you must be ready. Ready to come. It may be tomorrow, or not. But be ready. Watch and ..”

Moses, who wrote the language she spoke, finished the saying for her. “.. And stay on guard for the dark.” He laughed. “This is too much. Whoever put you up to this is having a big joke. You’re a very good actor.”

But her words stuck in his head. Noone else knew about the Three. It was something that he had been developing in his imagination for some time now, and only vaguely hinted at in the last few books.

The stunning figure, the presence, the beautiful face of Mischa White departed from San’s Coffee House. Although they were unaware of it, people looked up, as though they were missing something.

She is as I wrote. When leaving the room, Mischa White takes part of her surroundings with her.

Moses put his hands up to cover his ears. The song now rose in volume. Not like a rock and roll band, but like a choir. Crystal clarity. It hurt his mind. But he found he didn’t care.

His own creation, a work of fantasy, was alive before his eyes. Like some kind of Stephen King tale, but more.

Because it’s me. Everything is changing.

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