The Chosen Read Online Free
Author: Sharon Sala
although there wasnât another car in sight.
âCome on, mister. Weâre beat,â Dee-Dee said. âNo oneâs coming. Drive through.â
âThe laws of God werenât made to be broken,â he said softly.
Dee-Dee snorted. âGod didnât have anything to do with traffic lights.â
âGod is everywhere,â Jay answered.
âCrap, mister. What are youâ¦some Jesus freak?â
âIâve been to hell. I donât want to go back,â he said.
âYeah, well, we live in hell, so step on the gas and get me there fast. Iâve had enough of your shit.â
âIâll pray for you,â Jay said a few minutes later, as he pulled up to the curb of the address theyâd given him, and stopped. âGo with God,â Jay added.
âWhatever,â Dee-Dee said, and slid out of the back seat.
But the girl with the black eye wasnât as callous.
âThanks a lot,â she said, then added, âDee-Dee didnât mean anything by what she said. Sheâs just had a hard time in life.â
Jay eyed the purple-hued bruise on her face.
âGo home,â he said.
âWeâre already there,â Phyl said.
âNo. Not here. Go back where you came from.â
This time, she was the one who laughed in his face.
âSo my motherâs old man can fuck me for free again? I donât think so. At least out here I get paid.â
She slammed the door and dashed through the rain into the apartment building.
Jay sat for a moment, listening to the rain hitting the windshield. As he sat, pain suddenly struck behind his right eye. It was so sharp and so unexpected that he grabbed his face in reflex, as if it had been dealt a blow. He doubled over the steering wheel, wondering if he would draw another breath. Slowly, slowly, the pain subsided and he was able to look up. When he did, his sight was blurred, and for a moment he feared he was going blind; then he realized it was only rain obliterating the view.
He was struck with an overwhelming sadness. So it had begun. The doctors had warned him it would. Panic hit him like a fist to the gut. He had hoped for more time. He wasnât ready.
Then he reminded himself that he wasnât the one in charge. So what if he wasnât ready? That didnât mean he couldnât get that way fast. Satisfied that it wasnât too late, he put the car in gear and slowly drove away.
Even after he got home to his one-room apartment, he felt a sense of urgency. Memories of the symptoms of his previous illness began pushing at the back of his mind. So far these symptoms werenât as severe, but he felt off-kilter. What if he didnât live long enough to offset the sins of his previous lifestyle? Heâd been preaching and trying to do good to his fellow man, but now he felt it wasnât going to be enough. The panic that ensued left him weak and shaking. He didnât want to go to hell.
âGod help me. What do I do?â
The answer came as a thought, soundless, quiet, but affirming.
Live as I lived.
Two
J anuary was getting ready for a live on-the-spot interview with a man who, only an hour earlier, had rescued a woman and child from the Potomac River. She glanced at her watch. In less than three minutes, they would be live on the air, but the hero of the moment was still throwing up, due to what he called an unfortunate side effect of stress.
âJanuary, two minutes and counting,â Hank, the cameraman, said.
She glanced at the backside of the man puking in the bushes, and rolled her eyes.
âHow are we doing?â she asked.
The man shuddered, then turned around.
âIâm sorry, Miss DeLena. This will pass, I promise you.â
âWeâre on the air in two minutes. Is there anything I can get you that might help settle your stomach?â
He shrugged, then wiped a shaky hand across his face.
âSometimes something salty
âCome on, mister. Weâre beat,â Dee-Dee said. âNo oneâs coming. Drive through.â
âThe laws of God werenât made to be broken,â he said softly.
Dee-Dee snorted. âGod didnât have anything to do with traffic lights.â
âGod is everywhere,â Jay answered.
âCrap, mister. What are youâ¦some Jesus freak?â
âIâve been to hell. I donât want to go back,â he said.
âYeah, well, we live in hell, so step on the gas and get me there fast. Iâve had enough of your shit.â
âIâll pray for you,â Jay said a few minutes later, as he pulled up to the curb of the address theyâd given him, and stopped. âGo with God,â Jay added.
âWhatever,â Dee-Dee said, and slid out of the back seat.
But the girl with the black eye wasnât as callous.
âThanks a lot,â she said, then added, âDee-Dee didnât mean anything by what she said. Sheâs just had a hard time in life.â
Jay eyed the purple-hued bruise on her face.
âGo home,â he said.
âWeâre already there,â Phyl said.
âNo. Not here. Go back where you came from.â
This time, she was the one who laughed in his face.
âSo my motherâs old man can fuck me for free again? I donât think so. At least out here I get paid.â
She slammed the door and dashed through the rain into the apartment building.
Jay sat for a moment, listening to the rain hitting the windshield. As he sat, pain suddenly struck behind his right eye. It was so sharp and so unexpected that he grabbed his face in reflex, as if it had been dealt a blow. He doubled over the steering wheel, wondering if he would draw another breath. Slowly, slowly, the pain subsided and he was able to look up. When he did, his sight was blurred, and for a moment he feared he was going blind; then he realized it was only rain obliterating the view.
He was struck with an overwhelming sadness. So it had begun. The doctors had warned him it would. Panic hit him like a fist to the gut. He had hoped for more time. He wasnât ready.
Then he reminded himself that he wasnât the one in charge. So what if he wasnât ready? That didnât mean he couldnât get that way fast. Satisfied that it wasnât too late, he put the car in gear and slowly drove away.
Even after he got home to his one-room apartment, he felt a sense of urgency. Memories of the symptoms of his previous illness began pushing at the back of his mind. So far these symptoms werenât as severe, but he felt off-kilter. What if he didnât live long enough to offset the sins of his previous lifestyle? Heâd been preaching and trying to do good to his fellow man, but now he felt it wasnât going to be enough. The panic that ensued left him weak and shaking. He didnât want to go to hell.
âGod help me. What do I do?â
The answer came as a thought, soundless, quiet, but affirming.
Live as I lived.
Two
J anuary was getting ready for a live on-the-spot interview with a man who, only an hour earlier, had rescued a woman and child from the Potomac River. She glanced at her watch. In less than three minutes, they would be live on the air, but the hero of the moment was still throwing up, due to what he called an unfortunate side effect of stress.
âJanuary, two minutes and counting,â Hank, the cameraman, said.
She glanced at the backside of the man puking in the bushes, and rolled her eyes.
âHow are we doing?â she asked.
The man shuddered, then turned around.
âIâm sorry, Miss DeLena. This will pass, I promise you.â
âWeâre on the air in two minutes. Is there anything I can get you that might help settle your stomach?â
He shrugged, then wiped a shaky hand across his face.
âSometimes something salty
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