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This is the summary of the story below:
In the pulsating sound of the drums was rhythm of life while the revival turned frenzy. In the gyration of the prophet I found expression I haven't had in many years.
His garment stunk. Draped below his protuberant belly was a red sash. Making a deafening noise, an awkward bell he intermittently jerked with his left hand.
From rear two Rastafarians sprinkled holy water on me, speaking in tongues.
Fragments of twigs scattered everywhere. Naked, I was bound with withe and red sash. Weals filled my back and were across my budding breasts; and my face was streaked with tears.
His dreadlocks tossed side to side, and swirled forth and back.
He charged at me, tweaked and flared his bulbous nose. I could almost see his entrails through his nostrils choked with unkempt tuft of hair with fleck of grey. He stroke my bare back with broom.
By the bluster of imminent rain, the lame flame of the lamp in a corner my mom earnestly prayed was cast out into dark outer world. Her red eyes must stings with tears as mine.
The prophet swung from me, his garment whirled round and tripped him. He thudded with a loud sound. As he managed to stand, he lost his balance and the fluttering flame of a red candle clutched his flowing garment.
As the ecstatic trance evolved to farse, I broke from chuckle to cackle even though the broken twigs in my back stung...
Why did mom want to exorcise me from me? I pried my shadow at noon and probed the stars at night because grandpa once said there are our destinies. I explore life in silence and gathered my thoughts in my diary. I am not a freak! I am just a special child.
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