Fists for Faith (Jake’s Story)

In the nighttime, my fear grew unbearable and I started to realize the world around me isn't as brightly lit as ever body else perceived. I had discovered this at about the age of nine.

        So my mom would stroke my curly hair until I slept and she'd whisper to me before I dozed off into my dreams, she'd whisper "Son, you're meant for so much more."

        Then a few months later, she gave me my Book of Sanctum, hundreds of pages that would keep me safe wherever I went- people call this the Holy Bible.

    

So everywhere I went, I carried a pocket-sized version of the book. I carried it to my job, I carried it to the movies, it went everywhere. But as I said before, it was with me at my job and where I worked I needed it. I was employed at a mortuary and my main duty was to fit the suits and dresses to each body I saw. Seeing so many bodies of who seemed to be pleasant people when they were dead and at peace, it could really drag your spirit down, but that's why I went to the dollar store every day.

At the dollar store, they sold crosses and crucifixes. I would always buy at least fourteen of them and tear them off of their small chains they were on and store them in my pocket. At work, when I figured what tailored suits would be assigned to each body, I would stick a cross into their breast pocket or a crucifix into the bow of a dress. I never got complaints for doing this, because I don't believe anybody took it as offensive, no matter what religion. I myself believed that what mattered was having someone out there was praying for you and looking at these dead bodies-these machines, these passageways into heaven I would always leave affected. I would hug the bodies of dead little girls, I would fix the hair of middle aged men with their eyes closed and I would straighten their ties before their funerals.

And when I left, I wondered why this had to happen. And as I exited the morgue, I buttoned my peacoat and I would walk in the dark. Scared of surroundings, I would pray to the Father, the Son, and the Spirit and I'd be okay. But the more and more I prayed, the more a loud voice tried to interrupt my thoughts.

        "You're next." I heard. "You're going to find yourself laying on one of those autopsy tables. I promise."    

And as I remained terrified, I continued going to my job, but things started to become strange. As I went to find the right fit for suits, they would jump up, grab my arm and scream. Sometimes the little girls would cry and ask why I killed them and sometimes they would get up and chased me. But all it took was for me to place a crucifix on a little girl's lips or put a cross by the dead assailant's temple. It was then that their eyes grow wide and they went back to peace. And it seemed I could stomach this until the reflection became me.

He grabbed and began to grow wide eyed, water spewing out of his mouth. Gasping, heaving for air, he just gagged on water, skin greenish and face flushed. I almost threw up but nonetheless I laid the cross on him and ran into the bathroom, opening the Book of Sanctum.

So I prayed to the Father, the Son, and the Spirit and they told me to evacuate my evils, I had to face them head on.

And for some reason, I knew we're my enemy would be. In the underbelly of the city, that scared pit in my stomach, under a sewer grate, it resided in there and as I went deeper down this filthy ladder, I started sweating. After enough climbing I looked down and saw exactly what I had expected, the Lake of Fire. And as I jumped down into it, I realized, contrary to popular belief, the Lake was the exact opposite of what was expected-it was the coldest thing you could imagine. It reeked of sorrow and pulled onto my ribcage as close as it could until I thought the chill was going to prevent them from in taking air. But as I pushed through the inferno, I felt something warm gracing my back. It touched me and made me smile and I realized I had the Spirit right behind me.

And for a moment I thought maybe how quickly I went to fight the demons was a bit senseless, but there are journeys a man has to go through and this felt like one. As I walked I saw it. What I had to face. It had many names, but I preferred to refer to it as the devil. It was slumped, halfway underwater.

    But as it rose, I could see the long black streaks of what was hair. It had eyeliner and pouting lips, it had a rounded pelvis and different curves than I. Before me was the beast, the demon, the devil, no, before me was a woman.

She stood naked trying to lure me over, but my stomach started to twist and I was prepared. My Book of Sanctum had warned me of this deception and I had awaited all of this, I had expected all of this, I had read all of this. "I KNOW WHO YOU ARE! SHOW YOURSELF, SHOW YOUR TRUE FORM." And she twitched into little spasms. I began saying prayers and seeing my Father, his Son, watching me with approval and I watched the demon shed forms as she remained the same but her eyes drew to the back of her head and she grew claws. The Father and the Son laid a sword upon my hands and the Spirit guided my arm slightly with me swinging in the air, backing it away.

The demon grew angry, she backed up, and charged, and I put my sword up, trying to block the fury of Satan itself.

Bite marks mark the dubious mash, but sword slashes mark the devil's defeat. And to this day, I still believe my mother. I knew she was right and I was meant for more. I was meant for a deeper understanding. And I'm not afraid anymore and I never will be again. I now know who's guiding the blades of my back, who watches me for my judgment and who makes sure I'm alright and ever since then I've traded my fists for my faith and I've never felt wrong about it.

The Circus

The condensation strewn, covering the windows, cold and wet from the snow that just fell down a moment ago. Covering the city like a blanket, putting it to sleep. My parents are talking the front seat, but I can't understand what they're saying. Me, I'm Abel, I'm from Slovakia, and my parents have always force fed me rules and regulations that aren't really what you would call regular. We're on our way to the local circus right now. I know, I'm 8 going on 9, I'm a little too old for this, but my parents never baby me anymore and I thought this would be the closest thing to it. The green signs are passing me up so fast I can't read what they say. I don't know how to get to the circus, but I don't think it's on a dirt road. My brain is bouncing off the sides of my head and my hands and fingers are dancing inside my coat pockets. I hear the snow crinkle in between the tread of the tires, and the pebbles crackle in and out of them like minuscule bones. This road is really bumpy and I have a feeling I'm on my way to a place much more different than the circus.

We climb to the top of the hill. I see an abandon building. Half of the front what was probably an entrance caved in with bricks that used to touch the sky. We got out of the our vehicle and some strange man in an all black velvet business suit walks up and drives our car to a safe place. My dad grabs my hood like a leash. Like I'm a dog, and drags me to a booth. In the booth, a fat bald man with a lazy eyes watches pornographic movies on his portable DVD player. My dad discusses with him with a horrible Slovakian accent behind his English that the price for youth is outrageous. I grab his hand and look up with my bright green eyes and say, "Father." He continues discussing. I tug, "FATHER." My father looks down and spits in my face. I sneeze and wipe his streaming saliva off of my eyebrows and eyelashes. We proceed forward. My mother just following us like she's our caddy. Like we're playing golf. We step over those bricks that used to touch the sky, then I hear violent screaming. I stop dead in my tracks. My mom pushing me forward. My father tugging me, forcing me forward.

Internal monologue has set in, paranoia ensues. What am I doing here? There's cages and chains and shackles and chairs and high voltage hats. I don't want to get hurt. I don't want to die.

We continue forward. I see a man. He has a bag of candy. I ask for a piece of bubblegum, he hands me a piece and says "Go have yourself an adventure." He sounded sarcastic, almost pissed to be there. I bite down and the sweet sensation of bubblegum jolted through my teeth leaving me with a big smile on my face. Very opposite of what I was feeling. We keep walking down this narrow hallway lined with cages. Replicas of jail cells. Elite Hunting. My father's job. His fucking profession. Torturing people, letting them suffer. Making them not bite the bullet, but swallow it. My thoughts were then interrupted by a man lashing out and screaming. Sounding like pebbles hitting the floor, "I'm scared." I say out loud. "Shut the fuck up, Abel." My father yells. My jaw quivers, my eyes clear coat with tears. I looked down at the ground. We've been walking on a path made of preserved bones this whole time. We stop. I'm thinking we need to talk to another hunter. "Follow me" he says in a dark ominous tone. He hands us three lab coats. One for me, one for my father, and one for my mother. "Check your pockets" he says. We all pull out hospital masks. At this point, I'm crying.

I kick the wall, throw the equipment on the rugged bone floor and scream, "I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS! YOU TWISTED PEOPLE! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY PARENTS?!" My father hits me. My mom forces my arms straight out, adjacent to each other. She forces the lab coat on my limbs. My father covers my mouth so I could stop lashing out. My parents both force the hospital mask on my face. As soon as the last strap wraps around my left ear, I spew everywhere. No one saw. At this point, I'm crying, shaking, and puking my brains out while walking. We enter our cage. Our jail cell. I catch a glimpse of a man. A familiar looking man. I rub the river of tears out of my eyes to see it's the same man who gave me bubblegum. I look into his eyes, he looks pissed to be there. His mood hasn't changed at all since the last time I saw him. He's tied up to a chair. Helpless like an ant under a magnifying glass with the sizzling sun ray hitting on its back, killing it in front of it's own family. We're going to kill him. If not my sick-twisted parents. The virgin-minded me. He had "The Fork" on his neck like an unwanted necklace. The Fork is basically a midevil torturing weapon/tool just used to be jabbed into the chin making talking and movement of the head nearly impossible. My dad is already revving up the chainsaw.

I'm trying to stop crying. My father flaunts the chainsaw in front of the man's face, like you do with human food in front of a dog's dancing eyes. Except this guy, didn't want it. His eyes were trying to stop my dad from doing this. The fork was making him squirm. He couldn't move a muscle. He couldn't get away. My father looks at me. Finally, he stopped. He hands me the chainsaw. "Son, you do the honors, maybe If you do this, I'll respect you more and you'll be less of a pussy." I stare. "TAKE IT, GODDAMMIT!" I immediately put my hands out. And I hold the chainsaw. It's so heavy, but I can manage. I press the handle to make the teeth spin. The guy, is scared that his life is in the hands of an 8-year-old. I have the power, I'm in control.

All I could think of is if I do this, kill this man, maybe my parents will treat me better. So I rev up that chainsaw, with the teeth eating the air. I jam it into his groin. Blood splatters everywhere like one of my favorite pictures. My mind goes blank. I go from the groin to the inner thigh, to the knee cap, to the femur, eventually hitting his toes. My jacket is now a light pink. The moans and groans of the bubblegum man push me along to keep butchering him like a dead deer. There's blood in my hair and blood on my equipment. A demon has consumed my brain. I can't think about anything other than what I do next. I stop. I'm done. Step away, look at my masterpiece. It's struggling for life. The fork still around his neck. He's dead. I drop my jacket. I hand over the chainsaw to my wide-eyed father. My mother expressionless. It's then, I notice. My gum has just lost it's flavor. I walk away. out of the cage, the jail cell, not caring if my parents are following or not.

I'm walking away with blood in my hair, and in my fingernails. I still have the mask on. I walk over the bricks that used to touch the sky, and see my car. The snow crinkles in my shoes tread, and the man who took our car lets me in it warmed up and ready to go. I look in the rear view mirror, and realize that I like what I see. I don't feel like an 8-year-old. I don't feel like Abel. And that's when I knew, I became and Elite Hunter.

My name is Abel, I am now 24 years old, I have dark shadowed hair, with red tips to represent the day I killed my first victim. Only for you bubblegum man, your blood changed my life. Who's next?

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So, I wrote this a while back, but just wanted to share it with some people and get feedback because It's really the only serious thing I've ever written. Tell me what you think.

-Kayla

It Had a Human's Eyes Ch.1

before i post chapter one id like to give you guys an idea of what the book it about.-Mark Price was a normal happy family man living in Ontario, Canada as a Geologist. There has always been stories about the legendary Sasquatch in the area, but rarely anyone believes in it. After a hunting trip that changed their lives, Mark and his close friend become obsessed with finding the creature. they search for hours on end and quit their jobs and swear to a pact that they will find it. But they soon find out the more and more they go into the life of tracking Sasquatch, their old lives begin to disintegrate.

It Had a Human's Eyes

This goes to all my friends who enjoy the art of writing,

You guys got me interested

CHAPTER ONE:

I’m going to tell you this but I don’t expect you to believe it. Truth is, most people probably won’t believe me, but why should they? I'm looked at as an insane old man now, I wouldn’t even believe myself had it not happened to me. Here in Ontario, we always hear the stories; Stories of hunters who were just going out to get Deer for Christmas, who run into a strange creature with human like features, but also features similar to that of an ape. Stories of how this creature came into their line of sight and they apparently fired all their rounds at it, but none of their rounds actually went off. Stories about how they were too scared to shoot the creature. Stories about how they had put at least ten bullets into the thing, and it ran off into the woods, never to be seen again. Stories of the large footprints in the snow and dirt, measuring fourteen to sixteen inches in length were found near a stream. Stories of the hunters hearing two pieces of wood knocking against each other off in the distance. Stories of hunters seeing something leap across the road in front of their car. Stories of hunters waking in the middle of the night to loud screeches that send chills down their spines.

Around here most of the people will call you crazy for telling such a tale. They accuse even the most pure, to be drunks or under some sort of influence at the time of the sighting. The only people that believe in the stories are the individuals that had the experiences and their families and friends, but sometimes they don’t even believe them. That is what happened to me.

My name is Mark Price. At the time I was just an average Joe. I was slightly taller than most people my age, had short blonde hair and a medium build. Up until I was thirty-five, I can’t really tell you I had an eventful life. I didn’t have much of a childhood; same as everyone else up here. I went to school and had good grades, but that’s about it, just like everyone else. My family wasn’t the richest, but we weren’t poor either, just like everyone else. My father was a wildlife biologist, so I was always outside playing. My mother worked in town, at a gunstore, so I knew how to handle and maintain a rifle, but I rarely actually used one. Me and my few high school friends would go out drinking beer in the mountains, but we never ran into any creature, or heard any strange noises, so at first I never believed in it. If I were to ask my father about it, he would always go on the same rant he always did about how “he was a wildlife biologist for seventeen years now and knew every animal in Canada, and how the so called ‘Sasquatch’ did not exist, if it did, he would have ran into one, or at least found a footprint, by now”.

I met my wife, Elena, just after high school. She was the most beautiful woman I ever met. I loved how her medium length brown hair would flow even at the slightest turn of her head. I could stare into her green-brown eyes for hours on end. I loved to hear her talk; she had the most beautiful voice I had ever heard, and her laugh was the happiest, sweetest sound I had ever heard. She had a perfect body, she wasn’t a model or anything, she still had flaws, but it’s those very flaws that made her perfect. We fell in love right away and had a quiet little relationship, just like everyone else. We got married in college, at twenty-one, very young and unheard of around here. Her major was in Accounting; she was always good at math and loved numbers. My major was in Geology, I had a fascination with how the Earth was formed, but that all changed in a couple years or so- after It happened... We had our first child, Benjamin, when we were twenty-three, now a tall, lanky boy for his age. He had his mother’s brown hair and his mother’s green-brown eyes. And at twenty-five, we had our daughter, Julia; she also had Elena’s eyes, but my blonde hair. It was hard raising two kids while in college, but we managed.

After I had gotten my degree, I started working with this firm, studying the rocks in Canada and how they originated but that’s not important. Probably the most important thing about my work was that I met my best friend there, Kurt Anderson, a big guy, muscular and sort of heavy. Short, dark-brown hair and a face that was almost always smiling.He had a short mustahce-goatee combo. He and I had a lot in common. We both loved the outdoors, naturally. We both had grown up in similar conditions, his family was gun-crazy and his dad was a biologist. We would always joke around at work, and he would always tell me old hunting stories that I bet weren’t even true. Like one for example, he said he and his dad were hunting and there was this huge Buck, 7 feet tall, he would tell me. He told me how he shot it right in the neck and it sort of lifted its two front legs up like a horse would do and began to charge him and his dad. He was only 15 at the time so it was scary for him, but luckily they had strapped themselves into trees with tree-seats. And aparently the thing got underneath Kurt’s tree and started ramming its antlers into the bottom of the tree with “blood squirting out of it’s neck each step dude, so I was like trying to aim my gun directly down at him, but you know me, even at the time I packed big ones, so I couldn’t figure out how I could turn my Remington 700 right down on him and end it, so my Dad in the tree about fifteen yards from mine tried to do the same, but this thing’s moving like crazy, so he can't get a shot at it either. And I'm like almost falling out of the tree from the vibrations this thing is giving off each time it smashes into it man, so I just tried to hold on as long as I could and wait for the damn thing to die of bloodloss, and after like nine hours it finally gives up and dies right there, with blood all around it, dude, I'm serious, I’ve never seen so much blood! You really should have seen it man!” Kurt. What a guy. He had a very outgoing personality, but he did exagerate a lot. He was the kind of guy that if you had talked with him for an hour or so, you really wouldn’t think he was too smart, but in reality he was. He would always make simple mistakes, but when it was time to be serious, and he knew it was time to be serious, the guy could cut a piece of hair inhalf, longways, with a razor.

Elena was still in school, she also wanted to get a teaching degree in Math, typical for her. So for the most part, I was taking care of the kids with my one job while she was in school, but that was fine with me. The kids and I would play outside and I would teach them a little bit about the rocks in our back yard like how to identify limestone and such. We had a pretty decent sized backyard, it was on the top of a small hill, and at the bottom was a stream and a treeline, behind those trees were just a few acres of woods, not much wildlife in them, if we saw a deer there, it was pretty rare, but we saw lots of frogs and rabbits down at the tree line. Benjamin would always run up to me when he had found a rock with a fossil of a fish in it. He had quite a little collection, he loved fish. Just as Julia was beginning to learn to speak –her actual first word was “rock”- little Benjamin started to try and teach her what I was teaching him, of course he had gotten a lot of little things wrong, but I thought it was cute and let him teach her. They would always play in the backyard as I would be making lunch for the three of us.

I remember one day in the summer when the kids were out of school, they had just come outside to me while I was doing some gardening asking me about Sasquatch. Benjamin came up to me and said “Hey Dad?” his face was sort of scared, and Julia was close behind him. “Yeah?” I asked him. It took him a while but then he asked me “Is Bigfoot real?” I sort of laughed at the way he said Bigfoot. I turned to him and asked why, then he told me how he and Julia were eating their mac ‘n cheese and watching the TV and there was a program about Bigfoot on and how it had picked up large rocks and was throwing them at a fisherman. And how the next day the fisherman returned to the spot and found a huge footprint. I could see how he was scaring Julia by repeating what happened in the show, they both looked at me with such curious, trusting eyes. “No,” I replied. “Those stories are all fake, they just make them up, most people confuse what they think was Bigfoot, with a bear or some other large animal.” I could see his little mind could rest now. “Yeah they did mention something about bears on the TV” he said, this time he wasn’t as scared but he was now looking off into the woods behind our house. His mind was still on the TV program, I could tell. “Hey,” I said after a while, “why don’t we all go inside and have some icecream?” That changed the looks on both of their faces quickly. Julia ran into the house screaming “Yay! Yay! Icecream!” She was wearing this little orange dress Elena had bought for her. It swayed left and right as she ran through the door, into the kitchen. Benjamin followed her but then stopped about ten feet from the door, looked back into the woods, shook his head a little and then ran inside.

-Matt

The Finale

(This one goes to Matt. I told you I'd write you one.)

 

I stepped into that circle of dust and sand and beheld the opponents. There were five of us including myself.

We all acknowledged the fear in everyone's eyes. The sweat on our brows was not from the heat but from our anxiety. You could tell the difference in anxiety sweats. Because you feel cold. Cold like the winter back home in that forgotten planet. I think the place was Greenland, but the sun has whipped my memory. But I felt the cold and I swear to God they were cold too.

For we were surrounded by graves of all sorts. The revolution victims. The unfortunate prey of the plague. Those sucked dry by the outstanding heat.

And we knew all of us would be joining them today. All except one. This was not a game of strength or speed. The harsh lands have extracted those things from our bodies. The only thing left we could rely on is luck. And none of us felt very lucky.

Today we gathered here by some miraculous coincidence. It was a race to this place. The circle. For in the middle sat a chest. Placed by God himself they say. Or perhaps Satan. All five of us had raced here. Oblivious to each others existence until now. We all wanted that chest. And either God or Satan had thought it would be humorous if we all happened to arrive here at the same….exact….time.

We were men of sorrow. For no particular reason (I can say that for us all). Our minds couldn't grasp the happiness. Slut wives. Alcohol. Bereavement. We were the weaklings who could not overcome. And so the legends began. The chest placed by God (or Satan!) would answer our problems. That's what I heard…and I went for it. Followed the directions given by that crazy man who told me the tale. Head east toward the Zion Mountain Range. Climb over those. You'll find a valley. In three days time you will cross it. Swim across the stream at the end of this valley. And you'll find desert. Walk east continually. You will find it. A graveyard. And in the middle is a large circle. There is your answer. There you will find peace. God put it there for you my boy.

I now felt that sense of foolishness like the naïve boy who believed petting a sleeping bear's ears would keep it asleep allowing you to pass. Only to realize it doesn't work and the bear mauls your face off. How many people must have heard this tale? Apparently at least four others. And here I stood. On the right lower corner of the star we had instinctively formed in the circle. The left lower corner was a fat man. His gut nearly bursting the white buttoned shirt he wore. The sleeves rolled to his elbows.

The left hand of the star was a man with piercing blue eyes. Dark hair. And a whiskey bottle hanging by leather string over his shoulder.

The right hand was dirty person (exceeding the expected "dirty" of us travelers) with no leg. Leaning on a crouch. Gun in hand. It trembled in fear.

And the tip of the star was a short blond kid. No older than 17. What could he have needed this prize for?

If you must know I was (like mentioned earlier) the lower right corner and I guess I could say I was a pale man (regardless of the tanning effect). My mustache now grown in from the months of traveling. And I am so thankful that my dear mother (bless her soul) had given me a clean cut two months before my journey. A month afterwards she was kicked by a mad horse. Her old body couldn't take that punishment. The short hair (that has grown a few inches over this time) gave me great vision of the men.

I had come to the decision after those aching moments that I would come out a winner no matter the future. If I was shot right here, so be it. If not, the chest was mine.

We knew the routine. All of us shook away the confusion of running into each other and drew our pistols. Showdown. Ha!

This old buddy has survived much abuse over the harsh ages. My old grandmother used this weapon to shoot off the prairie dogs stealing her strawberries. Now I will shoot off the prairie dogs stealing my prize.

How do you have a shootout with five damned people? I thought to myself. We would have to work together to kill each other. One shoots the other until hopefully one stands at the end. That is unless we all shoot the person to our right or left and everyone fucking dies.

Bam! The ring of ricochet burst off the tombstones. The idiot missed. The boy at the top of the star had fired and fucking missed me! Shocked, we all open fired on him. One down.

Two men fired and killed each other. It was hilarious. It was a shame I could not enjoy the humor because it was me and the guy on the right hand. The guy on the crouch. Damn guilt trip. I couldn't shoot the poor guy. But he could sure as hell shoot me. No pity.

Bam! No ricochet because the bullet entered flesh. His flesh. The crouch flew from his grasp and he fell.

Loss of words. When you win a game of chance it leaves you empty and speechless. Not even happy.

Sighing I decided to wipe remorse from the plate and claim my reward. The chest was black and had silver metallic binding. There was no lock. Surely it was Satan's work.

It slid open with such ease like it weighed nothing. The inside was lined with velvet like material. After opening the chest was the only time I experienced maniacal laughter and weeping simultaneously.

There sat on the bottom of that velvet chest, a revolver. One golden shell lying next to it. Now I was only crying.

"Talk about peace…"

Bam!

 

-Jake T. Edmunds

 

This was inspired by The Good the Bad and the Ugly if you hadn't noticed. But uh…hope you like it. Give me some feedback. Umm….btw I'm gonna write a story for everyone. This one is for Matt (Feher) and expect one to be written for you (Miranda, Jon, Derrick, Kayla) soon.

This will also be my submission for The Overlook intro.

-Jake

Intro to The Overlook project...

Ok.
I have something I want to propose.
I would like for there to be an intro poem, short story, or something to be the opening to the Overlook (book).
I would like everyone to participate in this including myself.
The theme will be Wars without Battles.
It should just be something short and once every one has done it we will vote on who we think should be featured as the opening writer to the project.
This will be the weekly prompt as well.
So Post your Writings into the Weekly Prompt blog.
Once again the prompt is Wars without Battles (talk to me if youre stumped)

Well Guys...

I was out yesterday so I couldnt post the weekly prompt but I will get to that soon. And um.
I got an idea. Miranda and Derrick will remember Sitzkreig
Well
I figured...since we have all these amazing writers now,
I think I should put it together again.
but those of you who dont know. i started a project when all my friends would give me poems and short stories and put them all into one big collection, Sitzkreig (A war without battle)
so
I was wondering if I could have your permission to put all of our stuff on the overlook into a collecion. I dont know
I might call it Sitzkreig or maybe I could call it simply, The Overlook

Give my your opinions and feedback,

-Jake

HIM

I had an epiphany last night. And oh Jesus it has put me in a terrible position.

In the United States it was happening. Somewhere in Peru children clung to Bibles. In India families are on their knees praying. Oh God it is happening. Jesus help us.

He was born in Spain of all places. A star shown bright in the sky and all the kings of our world rushed to see him. The savior. He would cure the world. He would bring peace. He was called Aliah. Christians bowed to him, Jews kissed his feet, and nations fell. I knew who he was, mother knew, father knew, the church knew. I was a coward though. I watched as my parents confessed to Jesus as their savior, and their heads were then removed from their bodies. My little innocent sister slaughtered before my eyes. But Aliah took a liking to me. He spared me. I was a coward. "No, Aliah is savior." I will forever regret the words. As of now, I wish I would have been killed that day upon on that mountain. Oh so high. Probably took my family straight to heaven. A fate I have come to the conclusion that I will never see.

In Spain it was happening. I stood by his side through it all. I have executed young ones. I have conquered nations under his wing. He was no savior. The president was dead. All communists were dead. There was but one leader. And today was his final push.

I had a dream last night. Dreams of redemption. Of a world without Aliah. I only woke to the clamor of his voice. So shrill and dead. The voice of a devil.

"Today is the day my boy." He stroked my hair while I opened my eyes. "Let's go."

I proceeded to grab my sword and follow him to the mountains.

He was beautiful. He wore gowns of white silk and gold. His skin as pale as pearls. His hair resembling darkness. His eyes were blue like the sky I once knew.

"Stay here." He touched my chest. He continued to walk to the edge of the cliff-side. We had taken over most of Europe by now. The only free areas left in the world were there. The only people to oppose him. Today we "ended it".

This makes no sense. Our savior is on his way. The final battle is nigh. The dream.

He sat on the mountain side and watched his world go by. The lake polluted with bodies, the citadels smoking from bombs, the air putrid. And there was a peek of sun coming over the horizon. Its orange glow on all the chaos. I had to admit, Beautiful. He stood, and raised his arms to the sky. Aliah had a plan. Bring down the skies! There was going to be an event today. Something would fall from the sky. To what was going to happen, I have no idea. I only followed. But I knew one thing; it was going to wipe out all of Europe. Israel, Jerusalem, and the valley of Armageddon were going to be destroyed. And I was fortunate enough to stand by his side and watch.

The sky began to swirl as if a hole were beginning to rupture through it. I knew what I must do.

I began to step toward him.

Dear mother forgive me. I know what is right. Dear father I am avenging you. Dear sister I love you. Rest in peace. And more importantly. Dear Father in Heaven, I know I am no longer accepted into your realm. This is for the world, not for my redemption. But I ask one thing; forgiveness.

I drew my blade.

I walked the narrow path hanging over the valley.

"Aliah!" I screamed. He turned around mystified. The sky continued to swirl. And I whispered. "In the name of Jesus…" I charged.

Darkness. Had my blade fallen upon his neck?

***

There are only a few things I am sure of now. Aliah is alive being one.

That "666" still tattooed inside his mouth.

But hey,

Heaven is beautiful.

Too bad he will never get to see it.

 

    ---

So this was something I wrote really quickly. But I kind of like it. I'm sure there are a bunch of errors and it's not spiced up with my usually zesty use of language. But the story in itself is a good one I'm proud of. It's also a lot shorter than usual but see what you think,

 

-Jake T. Edmunds