Prism - By Rachel Moschell Page 0,106

you could use for weight-lifting around the house, if you ever did such a thing.

Where were those kinds of books here? The shiny books Stalin saw lined up around this bookstore seemed to be about anything except Christianity. Wasn’t there anything here that just told about Jesus?

Plop!

Stalin stared in horror as the mushy pink mound that was left on top of his cone slid onto the floor with one fluid motion, falling with a soundless whoosh onto the cherry red carpet. Now he did swear, albeit under his breath, then jerked his head up as he heard a soft chuckle, coming from nearby.

Spiky, white high heels turned into long legs, then a flowery skirt and a tight, lilac-colored jacket. In front of Stalin stood the most beautiful woman he had ever seen—and that was saying a lot. Her hair fell to her waist, and was chestnut brown with shimmers of red. With twinkling eyes, the woman was regarding Stalin with amusement: first his face, which he intuited must be a shade between lobster and beet red, and then the flattened pile of melting ice cream staining the carpet.

“Too hot for ice cream today,” she remarked, and then twisted her waist gracefully to pull a packet of tissues out of her purse. “Don’t worry; this carpet is so worn no one will ever notice.”

And just like that, she scooped up the fallen ice cream with a wad of tissues and tossed it into a trash can standing against a pillar in the middle of the small room. Stalin felt his mouth hang open as she raised her hand and he saw long, perfectly-manicured nails painted lilac and silver.

Most importantly of all, he saw no wedding band.

“I’m Shannon,” the amazing creature said, holding out one perfect hand towards Stalin. “My father always loved Ireland so he gave me an Irish name.” Her accent told Stalin she was all Spanish, however. He forced himself to close his mouth and reached out to shake her hand with one of his own sticky ones.

Many smooth things to say flooded Stalin’s mind at the moment, but unexpectedly, all of them seemed out of place here in the middle of this Christian bookstore, surrounded by the surreal sound of churchy music floating from a stereo. Instead, he said, “Don’t they have any books here that talk about something…serious? I feel like I’m in the self-help section of some bookstore. Where can I find books about something like…the atonement, for example. Or the theological arguments for why Jesus was divine.”

Stalin found himself taken aback when Shannon chuckled again, a deep, full-throated laugh. “You won’t find anything like that in here,” she said in a conspiratorial tone. “If that’s what you’re after, the man you want to talk to is my father.” Stalin blinked in surprise. “He’s the pastor of an evangelical church here,” she explained, “but he’s also quite a scholar. My daddy has written three books, and he has a whole room for a library with all kinds of fat books about everything you can imagine. There are a lot about the atonement.”

Stalin felt himself staring. “Have you ever read any of them?”

“A few,” Shannon flicked her hand dismissively. “Ok, quite a few. I’m working my way through them. I’m getting my PhD now and my thesis is quite…theological. So I get some studying time in, yes.”

Shannon pulled a purple cell phone out of her purse and glanced at the time. “Daddy’s waiting for me at home now, so I’ve really got to go.”

Heart sinking, Stalin pressed his lips together so his jaw wouldn’t hang open again, gawking at Shannon. Then, in a magical, wonderful moment of awe, Stalin saw Shannon’s full lips open again and the words that she said were: “Why don’t you come home for dinner tonight? A guy like you, interested in learning more about Jesus and theology…my daddy would love to talk to you.”

Stalin felt as though the flaming arrow of Cupid had pierced his chest.

“I’ve really got to run, though, so make up your mind quick.” Shannon placed the phone into her purse and half-turned towards the door, beginning to walk out. Stalin took in the skirt, the legs, the high heels, and one millisecond was all it took for him to propel himself forward, like a dog hooked to a leash, towards Shannon and her daddy the pastor who would tell him all about Jesus.

THE END

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Cotton Candy Sky

Tehran, Iran, 2017

TO SAMI, THE WHITE-HOT EXPLOSION OF SUN that staggered him as