Crusade

Beware those who want to do good deeds but in the wrong way

He approached me about a month ago. That Sunday I was at church at night, since my family could not go in the morning. He sat next to me while my parents were talking to the priests. He was dressed like a priest, but something seemed different about him. I was not sure if it was his glasses, or the scar on his cheek, or his long fingernails, but something seemed strange.
“My name is Noah,” he said.

The teacher called my name. I got up just as the previous student was leaving with a smile on his face.
“Len always gets an A,” I thought as I passed him. I sat down in the chair next to my English teacher, Mrs. Enmity.
“Destiny Paz, how do you think you are doing in my class?” she asked. I already knew the truth and stared at the wall.
“Not well,” I responded. I could see my friend, Faith staring at me, trying to figure out my grade by watching Mrs. Enmity’s body language.
“You do great on quizzes, tests, and projects. But you don’t do your homework. With that, you have an F average.”
“Okay,” I said in a low voice, disappointed in myself.
“I know about your dyslexia and that junior year is a hard year of high school. But hand in your work, even if it’s late. You can’t afford to fail my class.” I nodded and then she told me I could leave. I sat down next to Faith just as the next kid went up to listen to his grade.
“So?” she asked.
“F,” I told her. She looked down at her desk with a sad look: she too was failing the class. Unlike her, I wanted to cry and ask myself why.
“What about your other classes?” she asked.
“Failing science, the rest are all C’s.” Faith shook her head and went back to her reading.
I returned home to tell my parents. My father worked in New York City as a businessman, while my mother worked as a nurse at a local hospital. At dinnertime, I broke the news to my parents. They got extremely angry and I thought they were angry with me, but no, they were angry with the school.
Just last year I discovered that I had dyslexia. My parents were not that surprised. But my past with the school system was not great. In middle school, my teachers often yelled at me because I would ask too many questions and they never wanted to repeat something they said. I never wanted to read in front of the class, but my teachers made me do it anyway. I got low grades in middle school, which is why my parents went to so many parent teacher conferences. My teachers always told them that I just made it. Now it seemed as if my parents had just given up on everything involving school.
“I’m going to my room,” I told them.
Sunday came quickly. I never liked Sundays because I would have to finish up all my schoolwork, since I don’t do it on Saturdays. But on Sundays, the day seemed to go by so fast.
“Destiny! It’s time to go to church!” yelled my mother. I changed into a light blue collared shirt and black pants. I met my parents downstairs. My father was dressed in his business suit and my mom was dressed in a nice blouse and black skirt. I did not mind going to church because it was a place where I could think and ask God and myself questions.
After mass, my parents always wanted to talk to the priests. They were good people, and one of the priests, Father Isaac, was my CCD teacher for many years. He was almost like part of the family. Instead of joining my parents that night to talk with the priest, I stayed in the pew, then got up, and walked to the bottom steps of the altar. That was where Noah appeared.
“My name is Noah,” he said.
“Destiny,” I told him. He put his hand out and I shook it. His hands seemed cold and wrinkled.
“I can tell you’re special. Are you gifted? Let me guess. Drawing!” he said.
“No.”
“Writing?”
“No.”
“Chess?”
“No, I don’t have a gift.” But for some reason, Noah put on a sinister smile. It made me want to laugh but also made me want to cry.
“God gives us all a gift. From birth. Something that separates us from the world. My gift for example is teaching.”
“Teaching?”
“I taught at Princeton University. I taught education for children with physical and mental disabilities.” He then looked at me with curiosity, as if he already knew about my gift. The gift that I called a curse.
“Do you teach students how to deal with children with dyslexia?” I ask. He then had a huge smile, a smile that brought me hope and fear.
“Do you have dyslexia?” I nodded. He smiled compassionately.
“Dyslexia is a gift. You just have to realize it.”
“It always gets me in trouble. No one knows what to do with me in school anymore. My parents gave up and my teacher,” I stopped short, too upset to continue. He then put his right hand in his pocket and took out a card.
“I will have a seminar. I hope you can come, if you’re interested. It’s on students with disabilities, from as young as kindergarteners to as old as college students. Bring a friend.” I put the card in my pants pocket. He put his hat back on and left.

“This is it,” I told Faith. We both stared at the building. It was a middle school, apparently the seminar was being held in a gymnasium room at a private Catholic school.
“Who is he?” ask Faith.
“His name is Noah. A professor from a university. He teaches special education at the college level.”
“Why does he want us at a seminar?”
“I don’t know. But let’s listen. It might be interesting.”
The two of us walked in through the front doors. We weren’t the only kids there. Most of the people who had gathered were students from all different grade levels, with different types of disability, from those in wheel chairs to kids like us.
“They all have disabilities,” said Faith.
“I’m not surprised,” I replied. There were so many kids in the room just talking, drinking soda, and eating chips that it was difficult to count. The younger kids had adults with them; I guessed they were their parents. But I also noticed some kids from our own high school.
“They’re all IEP kids, like us,” said Faith. The IEP is a system in the school to help kids with disabilities. Many, including my parents, said that it failed and was a flawed program.
“Sit, please,” said a voice over the loud speaker. We all turned to see Noah on stage in front of a microphone.
“My children. Thank you for coming. As most of you know I am Noah. A professor from Princeton University, and I am here to spread the words of God. God came to me in a dream and told me that the IEP system failed to meet the requirements to help you. So I went to many schools of all levels, and saw this to be true. God then returned to me in a dream and said: ‘Spread my word. Find the lost children and teach them my teachings, because they are the future. Not the students who are average, nor the ones who do not have an IEP. But you!’ So I spread God’s word to you, my children. He says that they are of the ‘old’ race and we are the ‘new.’ Many more of you will show up and we need to praise you. Not banish you, not get angry with you, not abandon you, but praise and rejoice. God gave me a vision. We are to go to a county and eliminate all the ‘old’ race children, from the youngest in kindergarten to the oldest in college. This county shall be a new genesis county!”
Faith and I stayed to listen to the rest of Noah’s preaching. I realized that this wasn’t a seminar, but a rally. Noah told us that God favored us and that other “normal” children were sinners. Noah was a prophet of God and wanted us to eliminate the ‘old’ race. I turned to Faith who had a smile on. She started to shout and praise Noah with the other children. Even the college students were praising this new God, this new Allah, this new Jehovah.
“It makes perfect sense,” she told me. Then I started to question my belief. After so many years, was there really someone watching over us? Us, the forgotten kids whom many just tossed aside. Was God always with us?
“Here is the plan,” Noah began. I stared at Noah and my true beliefs came forward. I was ready to be a soldier for this new God.

Room 203. Room 203. That was the room I was assigned. When the signal went off, I quickly got out my handgun and ran to room 203. I watched the others move too. The college students arrived for back up.
“Kick the door down,” I said. The college student named David kicked it open with one kick. Jacob, another college kid, and I entered. We found the kids and the teacher in a corner. We held up our guns to them, but did not shoot.
“Destiny,” someone said. I stared at Mr. Aid, the teacher. Mr. Aid was my English teacher last year, and even though he was still very young, he was only one of two teachers in my life who has ever help me in school. At the beginning of junior year, he was no longer my teacher, but a friend. I stood frozen.
“What’s wrong? You look pale,” said David. Mr. Aid helped me, he saved me, how could I do this to him? After all he did for me, was this how I was supposed to repay him?
“Redemption,” I ordered. David and Jacob grabbed Mr. Aid. Mr. Aid could not fight them because they were both football players and so they were very strong. They tied Mr. Aid to his desk.
“Who shall be first?” ask David.
“I don’t care,” I said. One by one, David and Jacob took a student, tortured him, and killed him.
“Stop! Why are you doing this! Destiny, what happened to you? Kill me!” yelled Mr. Aid as he watched his students final moments. After the last one was killed, Mr. Aid was untied. He fell down, all shaken up. I walked up to him and stood over him.
“Destiny, why?” he said with a shaken voice. He looked sick, about to throw up.
“My name is Judas.”