Jan 30, 2020
“How so?” I asked.
At first, Seven didn’t say anything. He looked at his hands, as if studying them.
“How so?” I demanded again. “How can you, who looks like a slave here, help me?”
“I’m not a slave,” Seven said quietly.
“No? Then what are you?”
Seven drew in a long breath and slowly let it out. “I’m, well…” He paused. “I was supposed to be a minister, but…”
“A minister?” I questioned and laughed
Seven scowled. “I’m supposed to be a seven!” He narrowed his eyes at me then looked away, seemingly upset.
I rolled my eyes and asked, “What is a seven?”
Without looking at me, he answered, “I already said, it’s a seventh daughter, or son, of a seventh daughter, or son.”
“So are you?”
“Am I what?”
Wow, he was being obstinate.
“Are you a seventh son of a seventh son?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“So, you’re a seven then, right?”
He looked at me again, sadness in his beautiful glowing green eyes. I swallowed.
“Yes,” he said, “And no.”
I rolled my head back in exasperation. “Wont someone give me a straight answer?”
Seven sighed. “Do you not know the significance of a seven?”
“Obviously not.” I looked at Seven, ready to punch him, jump up, and leave. This conversation was getting us nowhere fast. I’d do better on my own. I hoped.
But, surprisingly, he gave me a complete answer. “A seven is special. I mean, a seven is imbued with powers, usually to heal, sometimes to see beyond.”
“Beyond what?”
“You know, beyond. Like see into people or see the future or, I don’t know, just see other things.”
“Okay.”
“I was born a seventh son of a seventh son. I should at least have the gift of healing. But when I went through the ceremony, the ministers quickly learned I did not have the powers of the seven. Still, they had hope. Maybe the gift would come to me later. So I entered the school of ministry. I went through all the training. I spent years there, learning, hoping to come into my seven abilities. But nothing ever happened. The power never came. I’m a dud. So they sent me here to serve.”
“And where is here, exactly?”
“We are at the Royal Rehabilitation Center.”
“Rehabilitation for what?”
“Everything. Any ailment. It’s like a hospital, but the people come and then forget they came.”
“Why do they forget?” I asked.
Seven shrugged. “They don’t want people to remember.”
Recalling my vision —if that’s what you could call it —of the room with the bald people and the long metal white and gold stick, I asked, “Are other memories taken as well?”
Seven looked devastated as he answered, “Yes.”
My eyes widened, “Yes?”
“Yes. This is not a good place. The people come to be healed but they are brainwashed.”
“Why?” I asked in horror.
“So they are more loyal to the RGB.”
“RGB?”
“Royal Governing Body.”
“Your government?”
“Yes.”
“That’s horrible!” I exclaimed.
“I know.”
I hunched over. “That’s what they wanted to do to me?”
“Yes.”
I grew angry. “And you were going to let them?”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“But you did! You made that choice only when you learned I’m a seven.”
Seven looked away. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? That’s all you can say?”
Seven looked at me again, but his demeanor had changed. Where he looked humble and sad before, he now looked strong, resilient, determined. “I made that choice because I felt you could help me.”
“I thought you just said you could help me. Is that not true? You were lying? You’re really looking out for yourself?”
“No!” he yelled. “Will you stop jumping to conclusions. I’m trying to say that we can help each other. I can help you get out of here. And you can help me escape the RGB.”
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[VIDEO?]
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