TW: Hints at Religious Trauma from the Christian Church, Anxiety Attack Depicted

I inhale a deep shaky breath as I stare down my old enemy. The multi-story, multi-spired, Christian church looms over me trying to threaten me back to the person I used to be. It's been years since I set foot in a church but my momma asked me to come for the "experience". My breathing becomes ragged but I ground myself knowing I have faced worse demons than this. I march towards the building, determined to not crumble under the weight of, what they would call, my sins.

The large double doors greet me like a gaping maw ready to devour me whole. The flashbacks threatening to resurface as I enter this "hallowed ground". This monstrously large cathedral may be miles from the church that burned this trauma into my brain but it was still part of the large scale Church that reinforced the ideals that broke me and made me unsure of who I was.

I finally manage to enter the building and admire the gorgeous artwork, including the stained glass windows. The story the windows follow seems eerily familiar as I pace down the halls looking them over. I recognize my life as the images pass in front of me.

I nearly faint as I look around at the story of my life played out in glass. The room spins and my breaths catch in my throat. My eyes go foggy and then everything stops.

"So you've finally decided to join us," a voice booms from behind me.

"What?" I ask as I try to regain my bearings.

"Come now, sister. How could you not recognize your own brother?" The voice cackles loudly.

I look to the figure as he approaches me with his arms outspread as if for a hug. The deep thick scars that mar his wrists and ankles stand out against his sun-kissed skin. As he moves, another scar peeks out from his robe. This one much more ugly and prominent along his rib cage.

"No. You can't be," I gasp slowly backing away.

"I can't be what?" He asks, frozen in place upon my rejection.

"Jesus? Emmanuel? I- I'm not sure what I should call you," I stammer, trying not to let the pain and rejection show.

"Either one," he shrugs, "I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you, little sister. I never condoned any of what they said or did in my name."

"I don't need your pity," I spit, feeling the venom from the years of trauma spill out, "I don't care that you're sorry. You sat here and did nothing. You just watched as it happened. You saw them reject every last bit of who I am and stood silent."

"Sis-"

"No! You don't get to bring me here and tell me you're sorry! You don't get to say they butchered and abused your name for their own purpose! You knew every last thing they did to me and now you're 'sorry'? Sorry doesn't fix anything," I growl, finally unleashing everything I had pent up and told myself I would say to Him if I ever met Him.

I watch as he hangs his head. Tears drop to the floor and pool around his feet. My anger dissipates watching the highest power to some crumble beneath my words.

"Send me back. Let me go home," I say softly.

"I can't," he chokes out through his tears.

"What do you mean?" I ask numbly as if all of my emotions were simply gone.

"I can't send you back the way you were. You are to be the new Messiah," he says looking up at me.

"What?"

"Please don't fight it," he says softly as he lays a hand on my head.

His thumb rests between my eyes and suddenly I'm seeing visions, memories of the events from the Bible. After what seems like ages, the memories end.

"You know what you have to do?" He asks, removing his hand from my head.

I simply nod trying to comprehend all I just saw.

"Then go," he says as he sends me to bring about the events from Revelations and to bring the Church to its knees.