Friday Fiction Don't Panic

Welcome to Fiction Friday! Christina Banks of With Pen in Hand is the host for this week. Be sure to head on over there to read some great fiction. If you are participating today with your own fiction, you'll find the Mclinky following her story.

As for my contribution? Sigh.

Uh-oh. That was the doorbell. Glancing around at the disarray, Sheila smoothed her hair and headed toward the door. Maybe they wouldn't look around. Maybe they wouldn't notice the boxes and rearranging and general messiness (aka: maybe they wouldn't notice the mess as she rearranged her blog design.)

As she opened the door and greeted her guests, she noticed for the first time that it was raining.

"Hey, is that your car in the driveway? Because I noticed it's been washed - must be why it's raining, it's all your fault!" (aka: "I noticed you finally took the snowman off your blog. Yesterday it was Spring, now it's snowing again. Must be all your fault!") Her dinner guest took the hat off his head, shaking off the water as he stepped inside.

Her hopes that they would not notice the mess were squashed as he asked,disheartened, "Uh - you did know we were coming, right? You did invite us over for dinner tonight, didn't you?" (aka: "You did remember it was Friday, didn't you? You did click on the McLinky dude, right?")

"Yeah, gee, I don't smell anything cooking, and I am kind of hungry!" his partner piped up as she entered behind him, also looking around at the mess. (aka: "You didn't get the next installment of "Dusty Dreams" finished, did you? I'm so disappointed!")

Sheila (aka: Sherri) sighed as she responded, "I am so sorry, I did lose track of time rearranging and cleaning out my apartment, but if you will stay we can have leftovers reheated in the microwave!" (aka: "I had good intentions, but so much going on that I did not get the next installment done, but if you would like you can stick around and read a rerun, "Don't Panic.")


DON'T PANIC


Reubal cursed. Zipter was running toward him, shaking in fear. “I gave you an assignment,” Reubal growled as Zipter fell at his feet. “Why aren’t you in her room, keeping her gripped in fear as I ordered you to?”

“I can’t,” Zipter wailed. “He was there!”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know! HIM! HE was in her room!”

Reubal cursed, then stared silently at the demon crouching and wailing at his feet. “Shut up and get on your feet! What was He doing? At least give me a report on the situation, you cowardly twit!”

Zipter sniveled and got up shakily. “Well, He seemed to be feeding her.”

“Feeding her what, food?”

“No, He seemed to be feeding her words.”

“Words?”

“Yes,” Zipter replied, standing up a little straighter and speaking with more confidence than he felt. “He was feeding her words of faith.” He hoped his tone was matter-of-fact enough to allow no room for argument.

Reubal thought for a long moment, then scrutinized Zipter through evil slits of eyes. “So, she is being nourished on words of faith, while you cower here in front of me?”

Zipter silently stared at the floor. He had a retort in mind – “Why don’t you go in there if you’re so brave?” – but he dared not breathe it aloud.

Tracy tried to ignore the sounds of the noisy hospital hallway. Morning was still a long way off. She rolled over and closed her eyes. Sleep could help her forget her living nightmare.

“Tracy.” It wasn’t an audible voice – had she really heard it?”

“Lord, are you here?” Tracy prayed silently. “Lord, you have to get me through this. Jesus, I am afraid.”

“I know, Tracy. I understand. There are some things I want you to remember. First is that I love you.”

“I love you, too, Lord.”

“Second is that I am right here and I will not leave you.”

“Okay.” Tracy was beginning to feel a deep sense of peace.

“And third is this: Don’t panic.”

“Don’t panic?”

“Don’t panic. Is there any situation I can’t control?”

“No.”

“Trust Me. Don’t look at circumstances, look at Me.”

“Okay.” Tracy drifted peacefully into sleep.

Reubal had a plan. “Use someone to carry the message, that way it won’t really be you saying it!”

“Well, I don’t know if I can…”

“Shut up! Get to her door, and use whoever goes into that room! Your assignment is to get her firmly gripped by fear! I don’t care who you use, just do it!”

Zipter tripped over himself in his haste to get away.

Tracy aroused from sleep. Even as she realized she had slept through the rest of the night, she recalled that The Lord had spoken some things to her and she focused on trying to remember what they were. Oh – that He loved her. She did know that. It was something she had been told since childhood and she didn’t doubt it.

The second thing – that He would never leave her. What a comfort that was, especially now! But the third thing, what was it? It was a bit odd, she did remember that. “Well, Lord,” she prayed silently, “you are going to have to help me, because right now I don’t remember it.”

For no reason he could discern, Dr. Marin was feeling exceptionally sour this particular morning. The patient would appear fearful, they always did. The news was the worst possible. She would cry. He would be polite and make his exit. What a routine. He stepped into the room with a heavy sigh.

His hopeless message was delivered, but Dr. Marin was baffled. A little voice inside his head made him repeat, “It’s cancer. It’s inoperable. There’s nothing we can do.” He felt oddly almost angry that his words didn’t seem effective. “I hate to be the bearer of such hopeless news…” Was the woman deaf?

The voice in his head was getting louder. “Tell her she’s dying. Say it again!” the voice raged.

“Don’t panic,” Tracy remembered, and smiled slightly. “What an amazing God I serve,” she whispered to herself. “Jesus, I love You. I won’t panic, if You will help me not to.”

Aloud, she said, “Thank you, Dr. Marin. Now I want to call my pastor and some friends from church.”

The voice inside the doctor’s head screamed, “They can’t help you! It’s cancer! All your little church friends can’t do anything!”

Dr. Marin said politely, “I’m sorry.” As he left, the voice kept screeching, “It’s cancer! It’s cancer!” Dr. Marin sighed and muttered, “I really need a vacation.”

“You failed!” Reubal screamed. “Can’t you hear the sounds coming from her room? That’s a celebration! She should be crying in fear! Instead they are praising God for His goodness! Get out of here before I kill you!”

Zipter fled.

***