Brian C. Russell

Stretching my arms above my head, I crack my knuckles.  I close my eyes. I envision a dinosaur shooting flames around the room.  Crap.  That’s Godzilla.

I’ve had this writing assignment for weeks.  I stare at the screen.  Suddenly, I’m struck with x-ray vision and I can see through the monitor, into the inner workings.  Millions of little data bytes march like ants through catacombs of circuitry.  They’re all there to serve their queen, The Motherboard.  She barks orders at them.  ”Do this!  Do that!”  Unforgiving in her mood and temperment.

Temperment?  Is that how you spell it? The word doesn’t look right spelled out on the page.  That’s because it’s wrong. I hit the most commonly used button on my keyboard.  It’s attribution is worn and illegible, but I know what it says.

Backspace.  Backspace.  Backspace.  Repeat until error is eradicated.  Alliteration.  Yeah, people like that.

The assignment was simply to write anything.  The topic was “Grrr!”  What kind of a topic is that anyway? I scratch my beard.  Think.  Think.  Think. Ideas elude me tonight.

Rain spatters on the window, and a wind rushes by.  I imagine a formation in the sky, swirling and swirling.  A funnel spurts out toward the ground to begin it’s reign of terror and destruction.  It’s cloud-based appendages reaching out.  Picking up cars and trees and houses to toss them across the highway.  Then there’s that fire-breathing dinosaur again.  He’s fighting the tornado as if it had substance.

This is weird… but I kind of like it.

The dinosaur slings it’s flames into the tornado.  The trees and houses spinning catch fire and the whole tornado turns to an incendiary disaster of epic proportions.  The tornado reels back away from the dinosaur, burning a wake in the ground.

Yeah, yeah.  This is good.  Wait.  What was the prompt again.  Oh.  Right.

Then the dinosaur snarls at the fiery tornado.  ”Grrr!”

Nope.  That’s not the one.

Backspace.  Backspace.  Backspace.  Repeat.  The cursor devours my terrible ideas.

Now he’s blinking at me.  The cursor.  Mocking me amidst the blank page.  Laughing at me in a monotonous voice.  I close my eyes again.  This time there’s nothing except the retina-burned image of my blank screen.  Cursor still blinking.  A cacophony of laughter at the expense of my pride.

I shut my laptop.  Maybe tonight’s a night I go to sleep early.

The plane jolts.  Gasps all around.  I’m sure the oxygen masks will drop any second.

The captain’s on the speakers saying, everyone stay calm, which is exactly what everyone isn’t doing.  Nothing like a scratchy voice on an intercom to communicate peace and tranquility.

Out the window, there’s nothing but dark clouds and the more-than-occasional lightning burst, lighting up the cabin.

People bustle.  Mom’s containing children, pretending that everything’s okay and calm.  They’re the pilots, and their children are about as receptive and believing as the rest of the flight.

The flight attendants strap in.  This is always a sign for me.  My father traveled a lot and always said that if the attendants buckle up, something’s going down.  I always thought it was melodramatic.  Yet another time where my father was right.

The plane drops down, we all crash hard against our seats.  I’m wondering if it’s too late to let the attendants know I hate flying.  Probably.

There’s a flash of light, most likely lightning, and the plane goes black.  Smoke ekes its way into the cabin.  A door crashes open, and a flashlight waves around, screaming for everyone to remain seated.

“We have just been struck by lightning, and we are going to have to do an emergency landing.  Please remain calm.”

People ignore his request and an explosion of commotion begins.  Yelling, screaming, crying, praying, all in the dark.  I look out the window, but there’s no city below us.  We’re going to crash into the ocean.

The funny thing about knowledge of the end is that you question what to do with it.  Do I shout and let everyone in the cabin know that we will most likely die in this crash?  That even if the pilot can keep the plane from doing a nosedive, the momentum of the plane will tear the plane apart?  Or, do I keep it to myself?

A man behind me made the decision for me.  I hear the click of his seat belt, and feel his hands pull on my headrest.  He shouts above me, “If you all don’t want this black darkness to continue for eternity, you should accept Jesus in the next few minutes.”

I don’t know how many people this man brought to Christ with his quick, cheesy sermonette, but the plane hit the water.  A fireless explosion tears the plane to shreds, and all I see is light.

Beautiful light.

Questions stifled any form of joy the books said Eric should have.  The books… 350 pages of nothing but lollipops and rainbows and diaper jokes.  Haha, real funny, he thinks, now I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

Debbie squeezes his hand, crying out sort of to him, but more out of pain.  Tears stream down her reddened face.  He mouths, I love you, and squeezes her hand back three times.

He feels like he’s underwater, and muted, he hears the doctor talking to a nurse, and yelling, “Push!”

Where’s that joy the books talked about?  All the jokes about how funny and exciting having a child was?  My feet aren’t cold, but I’m not sure this is what I want. What about me?  What about vacations?  Trips?  My job?  Our bills?

Will I be a good father?

Moisture wells up in his eyes, but he blinks it away before it can become anything more.  They’d talked about this for a long time, and it’s been nine months.  Everything will be great, he tells himself, but he’s not sure he believes it.

Will the baby be okay?  Will she be okay?

A cry, not his wife, peeks into his ears, and he blinks away some more would-be tears.  Deep breath, here we go.

She’s covered in disgusting nastiness, dripping all over.  Poor little girl, he thinks.  The doctors haphazardly wipe her with a white towel (something his wife would yell at him for at home), and hand her, screaming, to him.

Her eyes are blue, just like his, and she’s screaming her face red, but she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, held, or touched.  He cradles her in his arms for what seems like eternity, never really wanting the moment to pass.  Even though she’s crying, everything feels silent and peaceful, and it was as if God was there, patting him on the shoulder saying, “This one’s special to me, I’ll help you out with her.”

And in that moment, as he realizes that he needed to let my wife see her, he knows that all of his fears were for nothing.  God’s with him, every step of the way, and if he lets God, He’ll make Eric a good father.

Eric hovers their baby girl over his wife, and she reaches up wearily, smiling, happiness exuding from her being, and he knows they named her the right name.

Abigail, who gives joy.

An oldy, but another of my favorites.

**********

The music beat through the walls and into the night. The tall buildings obscured the light from the moon and stars casting shadows across the alley.

Azazel’s blackened hand reached out to feel the vibrations. “There are many tonight.”

“I know.”

I stared into his yellow eyes. His hood covered most of his features, but those eyes can’t be hidden. I should know.

We’d been partners now for decades, maybe longer, and no matter how many times we were sent out this came up. How many to get?

I placed my hand on the wall. I could feel the beating music, but also the hearts. Those poor souls. I used to wonder if they knew what they were doing, but who would? With the consequences to pay, why take the risk? Even I know that.

But, questioning isn’t my job. Nor pitying. “Let’s get at least ten.”

Azazel’s eyes narrowed. “Ten? Such a waste of a dark night as this.”

“Ten is a modest tally.”

“And why should we be looking for modesty?”

He had me there. These people weren’t looking for modesty. Not in a place like this. These places, with their music blaring into the morning hours. People stumbling home to their families after fornicating with anything. They were buying their ticket to Hell. And we’re the ticket holders.

I pulled the blade out of its sheath. “Let’s go for a record. I feel a lot of rock-solid hearts in there. And their playing our tune.”

Azazel licked his sharp fangs. “Let us make him proud.”

We moved to the wall, but it was solid. We tried again. What was a place like this doing with protection?

Azazel darted to the corner of the building. “There’s a circle of people out front.”

“What are they doing?”

“Praying…”
I shot up beside him and glared at the group of people praying. Why pray for these people? They have earned no redemption. There is no grace for them.

Suddenly, the music stopped. I stared at the building, then back to these people. What were they doing? Why were they here?

Azazel gazed at the dagger in his hand. “What do we do?”

A man stumbled out through the doors before I could answer. He dropped to his knees near the prayers. His hands reached for the sky and he looked to the heavens. “What have I done, Lord?”

I stepped back. “No, no, no.”

The man cried. “How long, oh Lord, will I stray from You?”

“We need to leave,” I said.

“Jesus, come into my life. Save me from myself, for I am unworthy of Your name.”

Azazel scrutinized the man. “He’s the owner. I was looking forward to him.”

I grabbed his arm. “Now. We need to go now.”

Azazel pulled away from me. I didn’t have time to waste, so I threw off my coat and flew up into the night sky. From the air, I could still see the huddle of people praying. I saw the bluish figures standing watch on the rooftop of the building. Ready to strike. I could still hear the man’s prayers, even from up high.

“Jesus, purge this place of everything unholy. Purge me of everything I have done and make me a new man in you.”

It’s too bad. I liked Azazel, and that was going to be a good haul.

This took 2nd Place in Level 3 last year and will eventually be in a collection of short stories from Faithwriters.com!  Enjoy!

*******

“Give me your hand!” Granddad called out to Billy from the ledge above.

Fingers slipping, Billy outstretched his hand. The snowy wind whipped around the two explorers, but their animal fur coats kept them warm. Flakes of snow crowded Granddad’s beard and eyebrows, making him look like Santa Claus.

Granddad grabbed his hand and pulled Billy up over the cliff in one tug, showing his incredible strength. Billy knelt down to catch his breath while Granddad checked the map.

“We’re almost to the top,” he said.

Billy smiled. “I know. We’re the first people to climb this dangerous mountain.”

“It wouldn’t be nearly as dangerous if it weren’t for those rabid, cliff-hopping mongooses over there!”

They jumped to their feet and into fighting stance. Billy knew all-too-well the seriousness of a rabid, cliff-hopping mongoose attack, but felt completely safe with Granddad there. Granddad was a bona fide ninja, with seventeen black belts, after all; and he was a highly esteemed explorer, known for his exploits in extremely dangerous areas. Billy was his student, learning all he could.

A mongoose darted towards them. “Watch out, Granddad!”

Granddad dodged the snapping jaws of the mongoose and grabbed the back of its neck. He held it up in front of him, its teeth gnashing away, and pointed his finger in its face. “Stop it.”

The pack of vicious, most dangerous beasts on the mountain stopped. Granddad had completely saved both of them with a single command. He smiled at Billy. “Now we can use them for our hunting dogs. And they aren’t rabid anymore.”

Billy wiped his forehead. “Whew! That was close!”

——————————————————————————

Wendy came out from the kitchen to see her husband, Peter, and grandson, Billy, standing on the couch, surrounded by her long, cylinder throw pillows. Peter was holding one pillow in his hand and talking to it. Smiling, and trying not to laugh, she just shook her head.

Peter, pointing a finger at the pillow, said, “Now, you go scout ahead.” He turned to Billy. “This way, we’ll know of any danger up ahead.”

Billy tapped his head. “Good thinking.”

Knowing that this could go on for hours, she finally had to interrupt, but she didn’t want to mess up their fun. So, she pretended to be on a horse and rode up to them. “Finally, I’ve found you!”

——————————————————————————

Billy saw Grandma riding up on a magnificent snow white horse. Her hair swirled in the icy wind. “Wow, Grandma! Nice horse!”

She nodded gracefully. “Thank you. I came to find you. There is a warm place, just around that bend over there, with sandwiches that you can eat.”

Granddad looked at Billy and he rubbed his belly. “That does sound tempting. Do you think we can afford to stop?”

“Of course! I love Grandma’s sandwiches!”

She turned her horse around and began trotting away. “Follow me!”

When they rounded the bend, there was a little hut with smoke puffing out the chimney. Billy ran into the hut and sat down the table. Grandma came out with a tray of sandwiches and set them down on the table in front of Granddad and Billy, and then came back with three glasses of milk.

Billy snatched up a turkey sandwich and bit into it. Grandma and Granddad looked at him sternly. Granddad said, “We pray before we eat.”

“Even as super-explorers?”

“Of course.” Granddad smiled. “Who do you think taught me how to be so super?”

“Who?”

Granddad looked Billy in the eye. “Do you think we could do all of this exciting stuff if it weren’t for Jesus?”

“What do you mean?”

“Look over there.” Granddad pointed back to the hut window, and Billy saw a snowy mountain. “What do you see?”

“A dangerous, snowy mountain that no one has ever been on.”

“Exactly. Our imaginations come straight from God. He’s the one who created everything that we see in real life. Including me, you, and Grandma. And that takes a lot of creativity. He gave it to us so that we can have fun and create things like stories and pictures.”

Billy set his sandwich down. “Did he create turkey sandwiches?”

Granddad laughed. “I’ll bet he’s eating one right now.”

Billy smiled and looked around at the warm hut and then back at his grandparents. “You’re right Granddad. We should thank Jesus for this warm place to eat while on our journey.”

“Exactly.” Granddad grinned wide. “And don’t forget the ability to tame rabid, cliff-hopping mongooses.”

You know what happened when the world came to an end?

Nothing.

Tomorrow, when my children wake up, you know where they’ll go?

Nowhere.

We were all promised lots of things by books, TV and movies. That there would be a war to end all wars. That there would be an end. That there would be salvation. But, you know how many wars ended? How much salvation came?

None.

***

The bombs shook everything for miles around. The stained-glass windows shattered, crumbling to the ground. The pastor shouted directions to the congregation. Everyone followed him. They climbed under the pews, clutching their families and Bibles. Screaming and crying, no one knew what to expect.

The pastor stood on the stage. “Do not be afraid! This is what we were waiting for! The Lord is coming back! The Rapture is happening!”

Full of hope and faith, the congregation prayed. Waiting for their savior to return.

***

When the mushroom clouds lined the horizon, the hobos were out on the street corners with their sandwich boards. “Jesus is coming.”

When the ash fell on the town and blotted out the sun, the church sign read, “Have no fear, Jesus is near.”

We held out for this savior to appear, to save us from the mayhem. To save us from the Apocalypse. To save us from the roving gangs that quickly looted and pillaged our homes. Just like our movies had foretold. Our books. All of them said we’d be gone for this. All of this…

Our doors and windows are boarded. Our children sleep in the closet so they’re safe. But, they’re not safe. None of us are. For our whole lives, we secretly hoped that books, movies and television were right. That Christians were right. That when it came down to the end, the Apocalypse, Armageddon, God wouldn’t allow us to go through it. We hoped that life wouldn’t be based on survival. That the empty hope we fed our children every day was true. That we believed in hope.

But, we can’t.

I can’t.

Soon, someone smashed the church sign. Someone else painted the words “We’re all in Hell” over the church name.

There is no sun. There is no war. There is no order. There is no salvation.

The world doesn’t come to an end like we were all told. No, unfortunately, it survives. We survive. Like a horse with a broken leg, but no owner to put us out of our misery. This is how we will die. Hiding. Cowering.

No “triumphant entry”.

***

Five months after the bombs, the sun stabbed through the clouds of ash and soot. One stream of light fired down through the darkness. Amidst all the wind and rain, that light never wavered. And against all the odds, that light fell on one thing.

The cross.

His blood warmed my throat as I drank.  It tasted of fruit, a sweet sensation lingered on my tongue.  Eyes closed, I swallowed, not sure of what the next steps would be.  Never before had anyone freely given of their blood for me to drink, nor anyone offer their flesh as sustenance.  

This man, who did he think he was?  He forgave, and never condemned anyone…  Not even me.

That night is replayed in my mind every day.  Of what he said at the table, how he knew it was me, but didn’t do anything to stop me.  Of course, I know now.  I know now that Jesus, the Son of God, was the messiah.

Running from the temple, the evil spirits descended upon me.  Tormenting me in my anguish.  “Betrayer!” they screeched. 

Darkness swallowed my path, and glowing red eyes lit the shadows.  A root grabbed my sandal and threw my body to the ground.  I rolled onto my back, trying to catch my breath.  One of the demons sat on my chest, compressing my lungs.  His eyes hovered over mine.  “You have just handed over the Messiah to us.  We wanted to thank you for your services.”

Tears streamed down my face.  “Just let me die.”

“Die?”  He laughed, and a chorus of laughter echoed around me.  “I am sorry, betrayer.  You have been chosen for a much worse fate than death.”

“Lies!  Torment me no more.”

“As I have said, we are here to thank you, not torment you, betrayer.”

I pushed to my feet and ran.  Their laughter faded into the darkness and I came to a tree wrapped with vines.  That was going to be the end.  My end.  I climbed onto the tree and looped a vine around my neck.  I breathed deeply and jumped from the tree.

Everything blurred.  I sputtered for breath.  I groped at the vine to loose myself.  Everything was gone.

Nothing greeted me.  It wasn’t darkness, it wasn’t light.  There was… nothing. 

Then, Jesus appeared.  Magnificent and new.  “Judas, you have helped me fulfill my purpose in this world.  You have endured a sacrifice that many will never understand.”

I sobbed.  “Rabbi, I am sorry.  Forgive me, Lord.”

He touched my neck with his hands.  “Your sacrifice is wrapped in sin and greed.  I knew the outcome, but you did not, yet you still performed it.  Without your sin, there could be no forgiveness of sins.”

“Forgive me.  Please.”

“You will roam this earth until the day I return again.  You will never die until I come to judge all mankind.”

When I awoke, I lay in a field.  A place of burial for foreigners.  Stories were told of my death.  Many embellished facts of my insides strewn across this very field.

Over the years, people have told me that the Lord works in mysterious ways.  That sometimes, even what seems horrible is a blessing in disguise. 

They have no idea.

I have lived to hear of Jesus’ death and resurrection, and now I can take part in that salvation.  Someday.