really short story: The Healer

The cripple wheeled himself up.
"Will you heal me?"
"Yes." The healer was confident; he had healed much worse cases than this. He got down on his knees and prayed the words he always did, and then opened his eyes. The cripple was still in his wheelchair, his legs limp. "come on, get up."
"I can't. I'm crippled." This was a first. Perhaps he had missed a word in his carefully scripted prayer. He returned to his knees, and went through the prayer again. Once again, the cripple failed to rise.
The healer fell to his face and begged and pleaded. But to no avail.
He shouted, cursing his uncooperative God, who had failed him.
Half an hour later, the cripple wheeled himself away. The healer wished he had a wheelchair for himself; he felt like his own legs had been swept out from under him. He slowly walked off the stage in defeat, leaving the studio audience in a stunned silence.

The healer sat in his office, watching his career fall apart. He had not gotten much sleep the previous night, and it was not helping his mood. There came a knock at the door, probably another sponsor stopping by to terminate their contract. Reluctantly, he got up.
"come in."
The door opened to the last person he ever wanted to see.
Standing outside was the cripple.

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