Just a short piece I’ve been working on. I’m hoping to get a little feedback on it as I believe it worth continuing on. Please let me know your impression.

The Nostros

The Nostros sat in evenly spaced rows, their brown, cooling suits blending easily into the sand. They sat upright, and stared with their empty eye sockets into the ball of fire on the horizon. An image of stationary perfection, as immobile as cemetery markers in the old tales, they showed no emotion, did not even hint at their purpose. These men were the first line of defense, and the last hope of a dying race.

Evan sat on the wall above the shadows of the Nostros. Waiting with the men for whatever might come. Everyone knew the stakes, and these would be heroes were all that stood in the way of the death that had just crested the horizon.

When God came back, it marked the beginning, not the end as had been foretold. Celebrations lasted for weeks, even months. The lifetimes spent fighting ended overnight. Justifications for hate fell flat in the face of a living creator. He came as the last of the broken lands merged with the great continent. The world, divided since the prehistoric age, collectively held its breath as the two became one again. Evans and his parents had witnessed the event live on the Virtua Monitor in the living room. The image felt close enough to touch as the last of the water ran away from the swelling land mass, and the salty air blew into in the small cottage.

He didn’t come all at once. The earth had shook for weeks prior to the event and still did on occasion. During the big quake, He’d come from the sea. It was almost the New Year and He came in a wall of water, blocking out the satellite feed to the Virtua monitors for a few breathless seconds. Intently watching, Evan had jumped back; scared he had uttered one of the words absolutely prohibited in his father’s house. But the Virtua never went out, and during those short tense moments if his mind had betrayed him, his father hadn’t noticed.

Though they knew the big quake was imminent, many also believed God was holding it back, giving the Nostros the chance to change things they had no part in but would have to pay for if they could not reverse the damage.

In the ever-growing desperation to survive, the Nostros had come together as one. They spanned the distance to each horizon. The beginning and ending invisible to the eye, and although none of them could see the start or finish of the line each knew where, and who it was.

Nutrition tubes weaved between them connected to a central line tap that would feed them at regularly intervals. They did not sleep, nor did they need to. They stared off into the distance seemingly at rest, but each was working efficiently and to their maximum potential. Each individual thought, carefully considered by the brothers was crafted, and honed to a knife-edge before being accepted or rejected.  Their collective consciousness a by-product of genetic infusion, allowing them to tap the potential of each individual for the greater goals outlined in their memories of the beginning. Except for hair color and skin tone they all looked the same, the facial and bone structure genetically altered to provide the best-suited conglomeration for the activity of thought.

The Nostros empty sockets were nothing if not a badge of pride, it showed how far they had come, how far they had evolved. If asked, the enormous male consciousness would have said they’d chose this form regardless of whether or not it was God’s will.

Yet even after months of thought, the seas still boiled. Their beds, where exposed by the inrushing land, bubbled and stank of sulphur. And still the Nostros were undeterred, perhaps even blissfully ignorant of the chaos on the other side of the wall.

Evan’s mouth hung open, he’d come to see. The Virtua had gone out, in its absence, the city had become a bubbling cauldron of panic. He wanted to see. Must see. Then end was in sight.

A little something I came up with for #FridayFlash. Its exactly 200 words as per this weeks personal challenge to try on the Danielle LaPaglia style of writing. You can score bonus points with me on this one by commenting and guessing what movie I mashed up with Zombies to create the story. Enjoy!

Melvin Gets Dead

I alone can free the world of fear. After all, who knows it better? Of course I regret the years spent afraid, but the past no longer controls me. Death is not the monster in my closet. The germs wafting up the hall; I fear not. My hands are dirtier today than they have been since I could reach the sink and yet my mind’s response is to search them for a morsel, just one final taste. Now that Death has come and flourishes just outside the door, I find the freedom in it more empowering than counting the steps I take or even the hand washing that once consumed me. I now leave this room fully aware of the abomination I am and equally aware that acceptance, while something I’ve always longed for, is unlikely to find me. A mistake? Perhaps. The cupboards remain full and I’m quite sure the door is impervious to assault, but something’s changed, the sustenance I need. . . Verdell was such a good dog. I’m going to miss him I think.

Ms. Osterwald next door will have me. She is such a lovely old woman. She’ll have me, and then I’ll have her.

This story is part of 3 way write-off, or Duel, with Aaron Conaway, Danielle LaPaglia and myself. All of us used the same photo prompt you see below. It is courtesy of Icy Sedgwick. Read and comment, then go check out,

 ”Homesick” by Aaron Conaway

&

“Fade to Black” by Danielle LaPaglia

  Transparent Love

 They arrived a day early in order to snatch the choice spot. The bench was at the top of the hill and gave a clear view of the Gulf.  Now, the boards dug in to his back. He had never been so uncomfortable. The wild flower he had picked earlier seemed heavy in his hand and he quickly looked away from it feeling the tears sting his eyes at the sight. What he saw instead didn’t help. The black smudge in the sky was still there.

 Everything had been perfect; they had a front row seat to watch Man’s crowning achievement blast off on what would undoubtedly prove to be the most important mission in the history of space exploration. Forty-five nations and thirty-seven languages would venture out together. The world was watching.  Once the ship left earth’s atmosphere, while her head was still skyward, he would drop to a knee and produce the ring he had saved and scrounged for, taking extra shifts whenever he could for the last six months. According to the associate at Kay’s, it was the best his Gap salary could buy.

 They’d both trembled as it roared into the sky spreading its golden fire above the earth. Danni’s was from excitement. His came just from being with her. He watched, intermittently stealing glances at the sparkles in her eyes as it hurtled away. Flutters invaded his belly with each look

  When it happened, his first thought was wormhole, but then the ship wasn’t disappearing in a flash of speed, it was collapsing in on itself. They both covered their mouths as the large orange external propellant tank split open and the world above them exploded against nothing. A lake of fire spilled from the tank and spread over the sky. The super heated shockwave swirled the leaves above their heads. In the shocked silence that followed the blaze slowly made its way back to earth. Neither spoke. The sight was beyond words. As the last pieces of the galactic transport fell, the transparent barrier above, moved. The clouds behind it swam in and out of focus as it did.

 Before the last pieces had even completed their fall a face swam forward from the clear blue nothing. Michael and Danni both shook in terror. Their clear intake of breath was joined by others on the hill. The sound was unnaturally loud in the stillness. The face on the Nothing turned toward them as if selecting them, accusing them, damning them. Silence gathered like an electrical charge, even the rustling leaves on the trees stopped their chatter. Then words were inside his head and his mind reached out blindly for understanding.

 “The trial is over. Gather children, gather to me.”

 The face above radiated kindness, but beneath it a kind of sadness Michael had never felt first hand. His mother had given him the same look when she felt forced to punish. He never told her it was the look, not the punishment, which started him crying. Michael wiped at his eyes aware for the first time of the wetness there. The face vanished back into the nothing and Danni looked at Michael. Fear swam in her eyes. They both felt it, but also, irrationally, he felt relieved. The carnage below was devastating,  but it also served as an affirmation of all he knew.  Convinced he had just looked upon the face of God, he hesitantly smiled at her, but saw there was no reciprocal reaction waiting behind her fear.

“Do you know what this means? He. . . HE has come back.”

 Her face changed, confusion replaced fear and she shook her head defiantly making him wonder if she had seen it at all. Then, as if it had always been there, a cord appeared behind her. The radiant, nearly transparent, light blue strand hung in the air just below her shoulder. In his peripheral vision, he saw another blink into existence next to his own shoulder. Finally, she spoke, it was a single word, but one more than was needed.

 “Look.”

  She was pointing over his shoulder, back toward the carnage. He turned away from her and saw what she had. Tiny bundles, the children, they were the first to curiously grasp the cords and now floated above the city streets. Each was drawn toward the smudge in the sky where the craft had met oblivion only minutes before. They seemed to vanish before reaching the spot. Then others, larger shapes lifted upward. This time a larger smile broke over his face.  Michael was unaware his hand had gone up and hovered just below the cord when she called out.

 “No!”

He looked at her and lowered his hand, staring at it as if it were something alien. She was still pointing, he looked and the smile began to fade. Of the adults only a few had made it to the nothing, and they too, like the children vanished into it, but more, many more reached only a few hundred feet before the lifelines began to blacken. Then they were falling, many of them calling out. The impact of the bodies, even from a distance was audible; each one rang out like single kernels of corn popping over an open flame. He stood, looked back to Danni and held out his hand.

“Come with me.”

 Danni took his hand. From his pocket, he took the ring and knelt.

 “Spend eternity with me.”

 She smiled, her first since the failed launch, but the single shake of her head cut Michael like slivers of glass and her words cauterized the wounds like the fire below.

 “I can’t, the message wasn’t for me.”

 He tried to protest, but she cut him off with a finger to his lips.

 “Go. He’s waiting.”

 “Danni please. It’s not too late.”

 “It is though, I don’t want to end up like them.” She pointed again at the ones who had fallen. The flow of the upward and downward had slackened to only a trickle now as he assumed many questioned their faith. “Now go.”

 “No! I’ll wait for you. Think about it. Please!”

 Tears covered his face, but he saw that look, she was breaking. She brought her face to his and kissed him.

 “I do love you. I’ll think. Alone. If I’m not back in ten minutes, promise me you’ll go.”

 “But. . .”

 “Promise.”

 He nodded and nearly collapsed as she released him. He prayed and cried in the dirt beside the bench, looking up only occasionally to check the time, but as the sobs began to abate, he made his way sniffling back onto the bench. Beside him, he saw the wildflower she had left behind and knew.

 He broke his promise. It had been fifteen when his hand slipped around the cord. Light struck him from the inside out, as the line wrapped itself around his wrist and pulled him from the earth. Others around him also regained their courage and took hold.  He looked down upon the grand landscape as he felt his body begin to lighten, and become insubstantial. His last vision with human eyes was of the girl on the bench, the wildflower in her hand, and the cord beside her neglected. Then he was gone, and clean white radiance replaced all thought. Still, some part of him waited for her, it always would.   

By Jason Warden

Along the rutted path in the woods, John Jr. and Gracie walked hand in hand. The dust only they had previously disturbed, puffed into the air and clung to the moisture on their exposed ankles like a marooned refugee. 

Their faces were composed. Even with her split lip and torn dress, there would be plenty of time to get done what needed doing. He thought about what his father would have said, and smiled. The Lord did indeed provide. Maybe not everything they wanted, but what they needed always seemed to be there.

“I’ll fix the dress when the chores are done,” he said.

She only looked up at him, love evident on her face.

“Don’t wash it until I do. It’ll only make it weaker.”

As they rounded the big corner they could see the tin roofed house that remained standing despite its age and cobbled together materials his father had built it with, he squeezed her hand lightly and she looked up at him again.

“Go on, take the wash in and grab one of the chickens from the coop. We’re gonna make sure you have leftovers for the ‘morrow.”

She ran toward the house at full gallop and jumped a couple of times before reaching the front door. As she disappeared inside, he smiled and wondered how long her spirit would hold. It had been a long winter and the harvest would be late coming, if it came at all. He wished his father was here to tell him what to do, but of course, he knew, and a voice inside him seemed to confirm it. Keep on keepin’ on. What else was there after all?  Still, he hated that she had to live like this, she, at least deserved better.

**

He remembered a time not long ago when the weight of the water filled buckets was more than he could bear and he had to stop several times between the well house and the barn. Now, however, he carried them held away from his body to avoid the splash and easily crossed the distance. When the animals were watered and he had spread a bale of hay for the cows that were still lazily working their way up from the pasture, he hand-pumped water into the basin and washed his hands and arms. When he was younger, father always fed two bales, lately, he and Gracie weren’t the only ones on the farm who had to make do.

**

At the back porch he found her tying the little nylon strap around the chicken’s neck, it fluttered and squawked a couple of times, but she quickly, calmly stroked the bird and took hold of the hatchet beside the stump.

“Gracie. . .” he said curiously. “What are you doin’? You’ll likely chop your thumbs off and bleed all over my supper.”

She smiled, and John couldn’t help it, he smiled back and took the hatchet from her hand.

“You know we can’t afford accidents around here,” he said still smiling, but with warning in his voice.

“Sorry J.J. I just thought,”

“I know, and thanks for the thought, but it’s my job.”

He pulled the neck taught across the stump and brought the blade down quickly severing the neck and releasing a spray of blood. The bird then flapped and trundled about the yard hopping and skipping as if instead of being caught, it had somehow been set free. John didn’t see this however, as soon as the blade came down he had turned as he always had and walked around the side of the house trying to keep what was in his stomach, in his stomach. As it always had been with his parents, she would pluck and clean, he would cook and serve it.

***

They said their thanks and when the meal was finished, they sat looking across the folding table at each other. He thought again how she deserved better. Her eyes kept flicked from her empty plate to the bird on the counter. He wanted to answer the question in her eyes with a nod, but could not.

“Gracie, remember what happened today? I’m not going to let that happen again. And that means I’m sorry, not tonight. Now run and get ready for bed, you can get up early with me and help. I was thinking we’d run down the hill and pick some blackberries before school. She came around the table and hugged him. Her tiny form seemed far too thin and he felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

“Thanks J. J. Mom and Dad would be proud of you.”

He couldn’t speak, but it seemed he didn’t need to, before any words could have come, she was already pulling away and had run down the hall to the bathroom.

***

The house was quiet except for his bare feet on the boards of the kitchen. Her dress hung drying in the entryway, now once again whole. He took the paper bag he’d packed for her that morning and dumped it onto the counter. A square of two by four and a small stone fell out, and he again thought of just how far they had to go. Holding back frustration and anger, he sliced a thick piece of breast from the chicken and covered it in wax paper. In the morning they’d add the berries and maybe she wouldn’t have to endure another day of teasing and ridicule over things neither of them could control.

“We made it out, but didn’t survive. We made it out. Dead. Alive. “

Colin had repeated that so many times it’s hard for me to say when we stopped thinking about killing him and started planning to do it. We got to a point where the very sound of his voice was enough to make our hands become fists, our teeth become fangs, our souls forget we’re the good guys.

Before, I’d always thought him weird, but ok. He wasn’t someone I’d go out with, he was just kind of there; ambient noise in my otherwise pretty kick ass life. He was the artsy type, a bit eccentric but a good kid. I don’t remember him ever being kept after class or sent to the office. He just never figured out how to fit in. Mr. Townsend reminded me the day after we did it about last year’s talent show.

“I’ve never heard kids so quiet,” he said.

Me either, and that’s the truth. He read a sample of his poetry; some garbled, unintelligible treatise on the philosophy of Nietzsche and Lovecraft. Weird stuff, and all of it set to some creepy music he’d composed. No kidding it sounded like an electric cricket eating Funyons. But even then I thought he’d be alright. We all go through shit. He was just a Freshman then, but when you’re trapped in a ten by ten cell twenty feet off the ground, there’s no room for weird. That shit will get you killed, and it did.

He was the most expendable that’s all. When it came time to do it, that’s really all it was about. Mr. Reynolds, the shop teacher, got us in there, and he was probably the only one who could get us out. Mr. Townsend, was the principal and even when our hands were ready to kill, that still meant something I guess. I got a free pass because I’m a girl. That or one of the two men knew my father.  Colin, he was a wimp and wasn’t going to do any of us any good, besides, by the fourth day in there with no food or water, our nerves all but screaming for nourishment. It just became a collective decision, one I wish I could say I regret.

***

“We made it out, but didn’t survive. We made it out. Dead. Alive. “

“We made it out, but didn’t survive. We made it out. Dead. Alive. “

All night long, over and over. By then he was even saying it curled up in the corner asleep. I sat up, ready to throw something at him, but saw Mr. Reynolds and Mr. Townsend had beaten me to it. They were talking in whispers I couldn’t make out.

“Will you shut him up?” I asked. “I’m busy dying here.”

The two just looked at me and nodded. It scared me a little, but when things get that real, anything, even watching a classmate’s brains tore out beats dying of malnutrition while listening to that crazy shit.

They did it with the leg of a chair. They bent it back and forth until the metal gave and after they were both satisfied it was sharp enough, Mr. Townsend held it just above the skin of Colin’s temple. The sun was still just a crescent on the horizon when Mr. Reynolds brought the hammer down. There was a sound like an egg breaking, then, blood. Blood on the walls, blood on my face. It spurted in time to Colin’s spasms, but didn’t last long. Apparently the heart knows what the heart knows, and when it knows it’s dead it doesn’t argue too long or hard. I slept after that. It was peaceful. Quiet, and I woke up feeling better than I had in days.

 I sat up, looked around, and found myself alone and covered in gore. Most of Colin was gone. The body, ravaged, was in pieces all about the room, an arm, Colin’s arm, lay by my head along with my compact, already open and waiting for me to look. I didn’t need to, once I saw it open there beside me I remembered what had happened. I also realized I wasn’t breathing. I tried to scream, but nothing came out.  I looked at my reflection anyway. The slack expression, the wilted gray skin, even my blank eyes, all of it said – Them. They’d chased us here. If not for Mr. Reynolds we would have been one of them four or five days earlier, but he’d welded the door shut. A great plan until we realized we had nothing but a hammer to break it loose. They must have went out the window, that’s where the blood leads anyway, and the door is still solid. That’s where I’m going. We never risked it before because of the fall, but now that death is behind me, all I can think of is Mr. Reynolds and how he went on and on.

 “Every inch of weld holds a thousand pounds.”

We were trapped, dying, and all he could tell us was how hopeless it was, that, “Every inch of weld holds a thousand pounds.”

  I keep hearing it, even in my sleep. I have to find him. I have to shut him up.

John Wiswell suggested I announce this here since the commenting on the site seems to be a problem, so here it goes.

I have several stories coming up in anthologies and magazines in the coming months, but my latest published story is ‘Words Unsaid’. It began as a #FridayFlash story hosted by Danielle Lapaglia, and after a slight rewrite was released June 18th by Fiction365.com Stop by and give it a read, and leave a comment to let me know what you think. It’s a really short piece; coming in at only 650 words, but as the stories title infers, it’s the ones we leave out that count.

Thanks in advance,

Jason

Got this earlier today from my good friend Pete Malicki. He’s an author, one previously seen on ShadowCastAudio in Stage Fright as well as the novel Eyes and Knives. He’s taken a step back from writing fiction and now writes award winning plays. I’ve been pestering him fora video for awhile, and FINALLY, he came through. Here’s the message he sent me earlier today.

Hey J,
Earlier this year I had a play staged as part of Short+Sweet Sydney, the world’s largest festival of 10 minute plays. After winning Best Drama at the Brisbane festival, The Devil’s Aftershave made it to the Gala Finals in Sydney, which was the top 13 plays from the 196 performed. The very talented actor, Matt Charleston, won Best Actor Runner-Up at the Gala Finals for his amazing performance.

I just posted a video of one of the performances on YouTube:

Check it out if you’ve got 10 minutes. I’d love to hear your thoughts, it would be great to hear from you.

Hope all are well and happy Easter wishes,
Pete

Feel free to comment, I’m sure Pete would love to hear what you all think.

Book Review – Patient Zero

by Jonathan Maberry

Joe Ledger is good, really good, usually when he puts someone down, they stay down, but like the story starts “When you have to kill the same terrorist twice in one week there’s either something wrong with your world or something wrong with your skills… and there’s nothing wrong with Joe Ledger’s skills.”

In that first paragraph I was “all in”. Patient Zero grabbed hold and never let go. Maberry is relentless, he latches on to your greatest fears, shows you people you might know, people you may even love, then shows you the worst things you can imagine, and some you couldn’t.

From a literary perspective this book was fascinating, as the story is told both in first person (From the perspective of Joe Ledger) and also in third person when it is necessary to see things from another perspective. I’ll be honest, I haven’t seen this done much and never  this well. There was a moment in the very beginning of the when my mind wanted to shout POV violation, but once i saw what had happened I realized just how well it worked.

This is, bar none, one of the best books I’ve read in a couple of years, and THE best zombie book I’ve read. Don’t let the whole Zombie thing keep you from reading this. It’s not really about the zombies, it’s about the people. Jonathan Maberry doesn’t create characters, the PEOPLE in this book feel as real as you and me.

Ring the Bell

by Jason Warden

I ring the bell, but my life remains a shriveled, blackened husk. An eggplant left to rot, the soft mushy portion of my soul liquefies, collapses in on itself, splits wide, spreads and engulfs everything within reach of the putrescence.

 She could have saved me. If only . . . She did; for a little while, I was happy. A feeling I knew nothing about before, a thing I don’t expect to know again, but still, I ring the bell.

 Death is funny. In deep space, it comes in the form of an explosion. Rock, gas and light are flung wide, vaporizing everything in their path at one-hundred and eighty six thousand two-hundred eighty two miles per second.  There is no time for regret, no time to wonder if things could be different, and yet by our time standard death takes nearly forever in space. Our own star will eat us before it dies, but not for a few billion years.  My star died; I don’t have forever to wait.  

 After the end, the pieces are gathered by gravity, the gasses combine, everything is pulled together to create something new, as if even inanimate matter in space knows that being nothing is no way to live. Death in space is only a collection of births, new planets, new stars, new life. I believe this is what happened to her.

  I ring the bell, but those pale grey orbs still elude me, and yet I still feel her, smell her, hear her whispering, “Find me.” There are those who turn away; the ones that run from me, I don’t chase. I know when I find her I won’t need to. In my dreams, what remains of her clings, and steers her new self to me. I close my eyes at night and see her running down the sidewalk, her tiny feet pattering as one of them chases after her. I hold out my arms; kneel down to catch her. She lowers her head; a final burst of speed, finally, she barrels into my arms,  we embrace. Her small heart is beating at double speed, in time with my own, I lift her head to kiss her, to see her, but . . .

 Alone, I’m always alone. Before I even register where I am, before the anger, loss, or even the tears, before any of that, I understand I’m all alone.

 I ring the bell and hope. The rush never lasts long, it’s like aspirin for an amputation, but it’s what I have. It’s been five years and I still remember her smell, her laugh, the way her left ear hung lower than her right. Her love. I look for these things in their faces; I reach out with my heart trying to sense her within them, but mostly, they are dead inside. Hope is an illusion, a few minutes and it’s no more inside me than they are. Meanwhile, I ring the bell, and fight to keep my eyes open. If they close now, I’ll see her, and sometimes seeing only makes it harder.

 But then, more come, enticed by the sound of the bell. I look into each pair of eyes trying to see inside. They tell me what they want, I give, and then they scatter. They leave laughing, giggling, some of them casting back nervous glances. I smile, wave and try not to cry. A few of them cry too, but only when what they want isn’t necessarily what I’m allowed to give them. The crying ones always remind me of our last conversation.

 “I’m sorry Bobby,” she said, not meaning it. “I can’t see you anymore.” The words stung, but only a little; I saw past the lie. She was only trying to protect me. “I never meant to hurt you.” Her words were barely understandable, but I knew what she meant.

  I can only assume she mistook the unbridled love that must have been evident on my face for shock or anger, but maybe there was just a little of that. Then I smiled and held out my arms to her.

“Catherine dear, it’s ok. Come here.”

 She leaned across the seat of my Grand Am and I held her while she cried. It took a long time for her to stop. I held her with all my strength, pushing against the universal forces that threatened to drive a wedge between us, willing all my love out from my heart and into my arms, my hands, anywhere my skin met hers, knowing that she felt it, because the more I gave her, the less intense were her sobs. At the end, she looked up at me speechless, as a single tear fell from her eye. I thought again of how beautiful she was, and how I would miss her.

  If I had only known how much, maybe I would have stopped; perhaps her last expression wouldn’t have been panic. If I had let go, it’s possible she would have come back to me in time. Instead, I’m here, everyday, looking into the faces of a thousand five year olds, searching for my sunshine, my light. She’s out there. The universe and I have an understanding. The end, death, it’s only a beginning. There are always dark times before the light, sadness before the reunion, growth and expansion before the explosion. This time when I find her, her with the pale grey eyes and radiant glow that can only be true love, things will be different, better.

 Until then, I’ll ring the bell and when another rush comes, perhaps one of them will look into me and see me looking back, perhaps there will be more than hope then, but even if I only sell a couple of Mississippi Muds, and a few Orange Push-ups, I’ll still have my dreams . . . and the next rush.

I ring the bell . . .

This little duel began via text message as just something to do. “Let’s ask for prompts and choose one, then we’ll each write a story based on it.” And so Aaron Conaway and I did. We chose the prompt ‘Self Fulfilling Prophecy’ from Alison Wells and began to write. This is my story, Aaron’s is ‘Quitting’s Hard” Read both then go and Vote. I’d ask that you not vote before reading both and commenting. Enjoy!

VOTE HERE! 

Self: Fulfilling Prophecy

by Jason Warden

We seated ourselves, filling the rows from back to front. Mute, we watched as the resplendent man approached. Each of us expected the other to stand, to protest, possibly even to argue the fairness of life. Instead, we only looked. Later, we only listened. As he moved, the collective ‘We’ stared holes through the interloper, internally cursing Him and all he stood for. We mourned the future we would never have and the past that defined us. We didn’t want reminders of what could have been given or what had gone wrong.  

When He looked up he pierced each of us with a glance, and longing replaced the anger within us. Such feelings, alien feelings, split us wide, and although we knew breaking the silence would lead to great reckoning, agonized cries rose from many voices.

He cleared his throat and silence returned, as if even it were awaiting His words.

“I’m saddened to see you so. My heart breaks tenfold for each of you, but… the reasons for your attendance are yours, and only you may own them.”

A small, bespectacled man in front began to cry. Behind, an elderly woman fell to her knees screaming for another chance. I said nothing, only sunk a little deeper in my seat, avoiding His eyes.

“Shhh . . . Liz, quiet now, your chances are done, but you knew that before this late date. Didn’t you?  

“I…I…I,” she blubbered.

“Yes, exactly, ‘I.’ Such a lonely word.”

“I…” he said again, tasting the word. “Self, is another example. I told you to trust in my word. That you trust and love Self at your own peril, and finally I proclaimed that you may only live when you give over Self for something more.”

“But…” she began.

“The time for barter or bargain has ended. For that, regret fills me, but you may rejoice once more before you go, for I have come to see you off and take with me the love you have for another. It has no place in the dark. I’ll use it to give comfort, and rest for your children, parents, and loved ones. It will provide them reasons to hope, seek truth, and find refuge in their loss. Although you may think me cruel, I am a kind King, loving to the very end. If, but you had only known me.”

He didn’t disappear, but faded, as did the light. His tears, sparkled on his cheeks, and held onto the last illumination, casting it back until the room was full dark. Even then, in the very last twinkle I saw the ‘We’ I had felt protected within, had been only a mirage. I was alone, as I had been in life. Forgotten friends flashed into focus and I realized my unwillingness to stand for what I believed in had cost me everything. Pride, Ego, and yes, Self, all had cast me out, as they always had, from the very light of life.