I had the for front role in the play. It was opening night. The crowd chattered while I stood with my stomach in knots behind the curtain. I ran my fingers over it’s smooth silk. This was important. If I messed it up, I was finished. I had to get this right.
Or did I?
The prophet was never believed. He lied so often that it was kind if hard to believe that he ate a waffle this morning. But this time, it was true. Or so he believed. Was he going insane? Was he out of his mind? He would never be sure, because no one was willing to see if he was. Maybe he was wrong…