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Genre is story telling, based on non-fictional account.
Bathed in moist, soothing darkness, Zack slowly returned to the peaceful state from which he was so abruptly jostled. A cadence of comfort once again gently bounced him from side to side in his crowded quarters. Taking a deep, sighing breath he drifted into an unimaginably dreamy world. Immersed in light, strange scenes began to fill his narrow view. For the first time he glimpsed the vast unknown that lay beyond his cramped confinement. Magical shapes moved in the light, fuzzy at first but clearing into mystical beings.
Pursing his lips, Zack uttered a bubbly, “ooh.”
Just ahead a mysterious shadow waded into a sparkling, flowing stream. It was as if Zack were suddenly there, beyond the warmth he had known, shivering and afraid. The glowing form of a man joined the shadow. A peaceful aura surrounded them. They approached, paused, and then disappeared together into the wetness below.
“Uh, oh,” Zack muttered.
Suddenly the shapes returned, dripping, dripping. Zack was blinded by powerful light. A majestic voice shattered the eerie silence. Heavenly sounds and flying shapes burst into panoramic view.
“I have seen this before,” Zack thought.
An urge grew unbearably within him. He must find the glowing presence and disappear with it into this wondrous pool. He must see once more the soaring, singing, angelic visions. Striking the sides of his chamber Zack’s cadence quickly sharpened. He lurched forward, and a new world violently burst into view. The shivering cold returned. Blinding light reappeared. Moving shapes bent over him, grabbing all his parts. He punched and kicked, but there was no chamber to receive their blows.
“What is he called?” a gruff voice shouted in the distance.
Zack heard the soft reply of a gentle lady, but could not understand. It was obvious, however, the man did not approve.
“That is not his name,” the voice returned, “None of your fathers has used that name.”
“Put me back in my cell,” Zack tried to scream, but no one seemed to hear. He lay confused knowing neither his place nor who he was. Nor could he understand what happened next for, like Zack, the next visitor could not speak.
Stooping down, an old man scratched a slate for the others to see, “It is as Elizabeth has said,” he wrote, “His name is John.”
John snuggled into his new chamber, warm and dry. His pulse returned from its quickened beat. He was where he should be. He would never again hear his old name. And someday, someday, he would kick again and bathe with the Wondrous Light.
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