Search

Category: Story

Wilber and the Pebble

Posted on by Thadd Presley

Wilber and the Pebble

by thadd presley

In the heart of the town lies a forest where a group of children had gathered for a macabre game they played on new kids. Wilber was twelve and had just moved onto South Laughter Street. Oblivious to the horrors that awaited him, he agreed to go into the woods and bring a pebble back from the stream.

Even from the end of the cul-de-sac, the air smelled of moist decay, and the ground squelched beneath his feet, as if it were soaked in the blood of countless soldiers the group said were buried here during the war.

Suddenly, Wilber stumbled upon a grotesque image. He started to laugh, but it wasn’t a joke. It took a moment for his brain to realize he was looking at a mutilated corpse. Its entrails spilled out like a grotesque tapestry. Flies buzzed around the black, putrid remains, feasting on the decaying flesh. The sight was enough to make even the bravest of souls retch in disgust. But Wilber, driven by shame and the need to be accepted, pushed forward. He walked way around the deer carcass, but didn’t dar tear his eyes away, out of fear it might bolt upright and start after him.

Meanwhile, those who had initially reveled in their cruel dare to send the new kid into the haunted forest in search of a smooth creek pebble, began to worry. Anxiety gnawed at their hearts as minutes turned into half an hour. Then, fear crept into their voices as they called out his name.

Their once playful banter about him shitting his pants when he saw he dead deer replaced by genuine concern. Little did they know, their innocent dare had led their friend into a nightmare from which he would never return.

The guilt gnawed at Sarah’s conscience and she was the first to suggest they go in and get him. “He’s lost, that’s all. We can find him and bring him out. He’s probably sitting at the big tree.” She knew they had pushed Wilber too early. They didn’t know him well enough to play a joke like this and now they would have to go in the forest too.

Jake’s face paled, his bravado crumbling under the weight of their actions. He knew Emily was usually the voice of reason, His voice trembled with fear, her eyes darting around as if expecting the forest itself to close up against them, “I don’t know. Maybe we should just say we were all in the forest and he got lost.”

Driven by a mix of guilt and desperation, the trio walked into the opening of the forest. Immediately their voices lost all power as though the desolate woods absorbed them. They continued to call Wilber’s name until they heard an owl.

The air grew heavy with an oppressive silence, broken only by the distant call of the owl. Shadows danced around them, whispering secrets of unspeakable horrors.

As they argued over going further in or lying, the hours became darkness.

South Laughter Strret parents were called in to continue searching the forest in groups, but come morning there was still no sign of Wilber.

“Wasted Time Travel” by Lola Ellen LaForge

Posted on by Thadd Presley

Wasted Time Travel

by Lola Ellen Laforge
 

Every day was like the day before. Get up, wash, eat, read, go outside to exercise. Wait to die. What were the things he had most wanted? How many years had passed since he’d planned to go anywhere or dreamt of anything beyond the sequence of events that brought him here? Could he have taken a different path? Sure. The trajectory of a human life can shift with a solitary choice; even a simple one like where to eat; turning left instead of right; shifting one’s course on a whim. Any plans he’d had beyond July 21, 2010, were obliterated in the wake of a single action. Was it a moment of passion? Could it even be called that? After all, the writing was on the wall long before it was spattered with blood. In retrospect he could see how change is less of a choice than it the consequence of making one. There is no going back.

 

Every day was like the day before. Access to the extensive library permitted him to read up on subjects that interested him – the collective consciousness, epigenetics, cause and effect, and time-travel. ‘I always wished I had more time to read’, he muttered under his breath, flipping through an old edition of Popular Mechanics. If millions of people had stood in awe of the Eiffel Tower, did he really need to see it with his own eyes? Seeing the Eiffel tower was transmitted in his genes. The tower was as near to him as his grandfather, who had spent three years in Paris working as a bellman. He asked himself why he should need to own a Ducati when thousands of cycle enthusiasts rode them. The experience of riding a Ducati was in his soul’s DNA. Every possible experience was somewhere recorded in the Akashic records; stored in a supercomputer on the ethereal plane. There was no need to go back.

 

Every day was like the day before. Although travel was still his passion, he had come to see how reading could take him anywhere he wished to go. From what he had read, his vivid imagination was suited to time travel. Prior to that fateful night he had imagined in fifty ways how a crime such as his would unfold; never certain that he could commit it. Not right up to the moment when he thought she had left him the only option what would force him to abandon all his wishes. Now (if he was honest) he’d have to admit that, since his arraignment, his wishes were starkly different. All he wanted now was to do the things most men took for granted. If he could do anything tonight, he would drive his old Mazda pickup down to the am/pm, pick up a couple of stovepipe 40s, sit out at Widow’s Peak and drink the sun down. He’d take his little brother fishing; stopping off at Fosters for burgers. Or sit at his mother’s kitchen table for tea. She loved it when he came around. He’d fix this or that, take out the trash, make her laugh. She always had something that needed repairing. He could almost smell her kitchen right now: simmered lemons, vanilla, strong coffee. And he could predict with near certainty his mother’s every query (and rebuke) while they sat for tea.

“Has that girl left yet? Are you still giving her money?”

“I worry about you getting yourself caught up with drifters and troublemakers. You trust people too easily and get taken advantage of”.

She would look at him with a depth of concern; her eyes pleading for some sign that she was reaching him and that he would comply. He would never go back.

 

Every day was like the day before. If a bucket list were things a man would vow never to do before he died, well that’d be easy. He’d never have left the military which had given him structure and purpose, and a steady paycheck. He’d never have walked into the Orange Twist that summer afternoon. And he damned sure wouldn’t have spoken to her; or wanted her… or loved her. He’d harbored doubts about her from their very first meeting. She had been so responsive to him, though. Her easy laughter; encouraging him to keep talking. Her willing body; luring him back again and again. Right up to the last time he had heard her familiar footfalls echoed across the wooden planks of the dock. That night her laughter had turned to a derisive cackle; her responsiveness, mocking. Her fists clenched tight in a rage, pounding against his face and neck. Through liquored lips she had spat out what he could not bear to hear her say. Things he did not want her to know about him. Things he himself had told her in moments of weakness. All that he had harbored inside to armor himself had spewed from her whiskey-soaked mouth. He had so wanted to trust her, but she was never the one he could trust; and he knew it. This knowledge haunted him now; that he could not trust himself. That night when he had finally quieted her she stood staring at him; emptiness filling her cheeks and forehead. Emptiness that didn’t spread up from the neck where the puncture wound seemed to be gasping for air, but from the center of her face, moving up and out toward her ears and forehead. She was like a blooming flower; neither her mind nor body able to process the fatal injury. He had shoved her away and she had tripped backward toward the edge of the wall, onto the boat hook that entered through the side of her neck and protruded from her throat. He couldn’t see her well in the dark night. He grabbed her and yanked her forward and she slumped over his arm. He quickly released her, and she slipped on the puddle forming at her feet, her neck twisting up and back as she fell to the side, smacking her chin on the dock before splashing down into the rotting water. He didn’t want to go back.

 

Every day was like the day before. Get up, wash, eat, read, go out to exercise. Wait to die. If a bucket list was a list of things a man would do instead, he would have walked right past the Orange Twist on his way to his mother’s that afternoon, not even looking through the faded window of the pub toward the now familiar laughter. He would’ve shifted his course that day, and even the subtlest shift would have taken him a different way. He would have visited his mother for tea and, over tea, made her laugh instead. The single item on that backward bucket list of things he would never do was time travel. Instead, he would travel every day in his mind to the places he knew for sure he would avoid at all costs if time travel were possible. Those few places where fate had lurked, disguised as opportunity, waiting to steal his life: the Orange Twist, the harbor, her bed. There is no going back.

Sea of Love

Posted on by Thadd Presley

As We Cast Ourselves Onto The Sea of Love

Thadd Presley

Anyone who talked to, or knew anything about, those who went out onto the sea and over the horizon in search of the elusive dream, must imagine crossing that strange ocean and how it will feel when first they set their feet and plant their flag somewhere in the pristine sands. Stories told of warm beaches and  hinted about the many ways it changes a person’s life.  No one knew for sure what lied out in the depths nor could they name the island.  No one ever dared a guess as to what it would be to go there and no one thought to ask the best way.

It was enough, only, to have hope and strength enough to set off alone into the vast ocean with nothing but a small boat and excited expectation. Arriving alive upon one of the sandy islands with a face full of sun during the day and eyes filled with countless stars at night was more than most would ever acheive.

“I’m going to that place lovers go,” one young man burned into a small piece of leather and that was enough, that was just the way of it.  All the directions around the compass and all the destinations on the world map meant nothing if love didn’t set the wheel and drive the vessel.

No one took provisions or asked for a map, no first mate ever boarded with the explorer.  It was a lone voyage.  On occasion, there were a few words quietly spoken by some who cared to announce their departure, but it rarely surpassed: “Bon voyage.  If I don’t return just know I am happy and I did as I knew best.”

An endless blue sky sat above a never ending ocean, indistinguishable except for sliding wave or a floating cloud. Then, with a pull of anchor, onto the sea of love they went.  Just a hope and a prayer.

I Can’t Remember

Posted on by Thadd Presley

I Can’t Remember

by Thadd Presley

Frantic urgency pushed his failing memory into action. Who was the young woman in the faded photograph? The pictures were placed strategically to help him remember things and people from his past. Why couldn’t he remember this woman? She was in many of the pictures.
For a long moment, he stared at the small, pale face inside the brunette bob. She wore a cloche hat and a fluffy shawl. “Who are you?” he wondered aloud. Then louder: “Am I supposed to know you?”
“Dad?”
“Albert! Be a good boy. Tell me who she is and I promise not to forget this time.”
“That’s your wife, dad. My mom.” He waited and watched, hoping to see a glimmer of recognition in his father’s face. “You remembered her yesterday. You told me she used to…”
The old man raised his hand and waved his son quiet. “I can’t remember.”
Albert took his dad’s hand. “I know.”



Copyright Thadd Presley — All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Jack’s Apartment (part 2)

Posted on by Thadd Presley

The apartment he picked out on the fourth floor had a small table in the main living room, where he sat with his macaroni. On his left was a doorway to the only bedroom, which was really small, and beside that, a door opened onto the bathroom. There was a fourth room, but it was locked and so far had been inaccessible. He had keys to all the rooms on the fourth floor since part of his rent was going to be repair work, but none of the keys opened this door. The lock was older, probably left over from a century before, and because it was his first day in the apartment, he didn’t want to be a pain to the land lady, especially if it meant she would have to drive all the way back into the city and open it herself. She would be back in a few days to inspect the work he’ d be doing and make sure he was as good a carpenter as Adam said. He could wait and ask her about the room then.

For a moment, with food paused in mid flight to his mouth, he thought about when he’d met her. She was younger than he’d imagined when Adam told him about her, and she was beautiful. She asked him questions about his past and where he used to work. She reminded him that the floor had not been used for thirty years, so he would have to wear a mask when he worked.

“Who knows what all is considered toxic these days. The paint is lead based, I know that for sure; the tile has asbestos in it, as does the insulation and ceiling tiles, and probably there would be more than that. Do you understand that you have to wear the mask? It is very important.”

“Yes,” he answered.

“Legally, no one can live on the fourth floor yet, but since Adam has been so good to us in the past, I’ve decided to make an exception. What we need to do is get your room up to code and as close to livable as fast as we can, both for your health and in case of any problems we might have with the inspectors.”

“I understand. I’ll start in the apartment and work my way into other areas.”

Then came the question he knew was loaded. This was where she would decide everything. “So how long do you think it will take to do the entire job. I mean, the floors, the doors, the trim and painting, we have to replace the ceiling and there will be more, lots more, when we get into it deeper?”

She smiled when he said, “four months should get us to a good point. After that we will know exactly where we stand.”

“I’ll know where we stand in one week, Mr. Solsbury. I want to start renting that floor as soon as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am. Four months is just my guess right now.”



Copyright Thadd Presley — All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Still Alive

Posted on by Thadd Presley

My dad told my mother that it was not the right time in his life; that everything was happening too fast and he wanted to wait a few more years. So, when she started crying, he knew he had her convinced. They went together.

The small office was in a house on South Laughter Street, right downtown next to the municipal swimming pool.

Outside, a few feet from the road, was a white sign with red and blue letters, sticking out of the lawn like a cheap campaign slogan. Written in Old English font, fading in the sun, the first line was written in red:

“Cash only!” —

The second in blue:

“Your privacy is our priority.”
S. Laughter Street Clinic.”

Mother cried when she read it.

Inside a man took them into a surgical theatre and asked my mother to relax and lay on the table.  My father didn’t want to stay in the room, but the doctor ordered him to stay with her and hold her hand.

“Murder is not easy, Mr. Frente.” He put on plastic gloves. “Your wife will need you to support her and take some of the blame once she realizes what she’s done. To stand at the morning mirror tomorrow, alone and before God, will not be like it was this morning. I hope you understand that.”

My mother started crying again.

“Why do you cry?” The doctor asked perplexed.

She said nothing, sobbing.

“Why is she crying?” He asked my father.

My father looked at my mother. “She doesn’t want to be a murderess.”

“Do you blame her?”

“No, but we can’t have a child now. We’re not ready. There’s too much at stake. My job, the money. There’s just to much to do before…”

The doctor nodded his head and went to his cabinet where he brought back a bible. Inside he had a page marked. “will you please read from the highlighted area before we begin?”

Pushing the bible away from him, he yelled. “What’s this?”

“Just read the last rights. At least you can do that much.”

“No. I will not. Now, you have the money. So, do your job, will you?”

“I’m afraid you don’t understand. sir. I’m not going to do it. I’m going to explain the instruments to you and you are going to do it. Anyone can do it once they are shown how.”

“What?” He couldn’t stand it anymore. “I paid you to do it. What do you think? I’m no doctor.”

“You don’t need a doctor. Doctors are for healing people. You need a clean room, clean instruments, and secret place to commit murder, which I have provided for you. You need me to stay quiet once you are finished killing this child and, since you have paid me very well to do so, I will. But I am not a murderer. No amount of money could persuade me to kill an innocent child.”

My mother was off the table and through the door before my father could reply. She did not return to the car, but instead called a taxi and only left the S. Laughter Street Clinic when it arrived.

She divorced my father and has never seen him again.

The first entry in my journal is this: my mother was convinced to have an abortion, but in the end it didn’t matter. I was still born.

Reverse Image (part 3)

Posted on by Thadd Presley

Reverse Image
part 3
by Thadd Presley

What Delilah saw at that moment frightened her. The top half of her mother’s face changed. First, her pupils dilated, but not together. Each one on its own grew to the maximum size and then shrunk back down again. Her nose flared much like a horse’s would in the spring. Delilah stood and stepped away from the table. Her mother had become someone else.

She didn’t know why this was happening, but she thought it might be a stroke. Her mother was still young. Thirty-eight was young for anyone to die.

Clare saw a color of red that she never knew existed. It filled her vision and then doubled over on itself. She saw the walls of her world deepen and drown in the color. It was the color of murder, of hatred and sex and violence. God didn’t create this color to be seen and talked about. I was the last color anyone was ever to see. She knew deep in her heart that she was dying and it was a good thing.

“Mom. God.” Delilah screamed and ran to the breakfast counter where her cell phone laid. “911,” she screamed. “911.”
A woman had answered the emergency line before Clare knew what to say. “What’s your emergency?”

“My mom. My..she’s having a heart attack.”

“OK. Calm down. What’s your address.”

Delilah took a deep breath and answered all the questions.

Finally, there were sirens in the air.

The siren grew louder and closer. Too close for them to be for anyone but herself.

Clare opened her eyes. Red still covered everything and she still certain she would die. No one saw that and lived, she kept telling herself. No one could see that and live.

“Mom. Mom.”

The voice of her daughter was there in the red somewhere and that was somehow the worst part of it all. Why did she have to be involved?

The sirens stopped and doors slammed. The red was growing. It was outside now. Even the sky would be covered in red.
“Ma’am? Can you hear me?”

No, Clare thought. If I hear you then the red will get you.

“Look at her eyes, Cap. What do you think happened?”

“Looks to be a serious case of subconjunctival hemorrhage.”

Delilah screamed. The next thing she saw was the kitchen floor.

“She’s coming around, Cap. You alright sweetheart?”

“My mom. She had a hemorrhage. Her brain.”

The paramedic sat down beside her and smiled. “Let’s sit up.” He helped her. “There now. Your mom is fine. It was scary for her and for you, but that’s all. Nothing serious.”

“What happened?”

“Well, we don’t know why but she became extremely stressed and it busted a blood vessel in her eye. Both of them actually. She’s going to the hospital.”

“She’s OK?”

“Yes. Very OK.”

“I want to go with her.”

“That’s fine. You want to go ahead and stand up?”

Together, they managed to walk to the ambulance.

A moment of panic shot through Delilah’s chest when she saw her mother’s eyes. They were both filled with blood. Her mother looked like a zombie. Quickly, she snapped a picture and smiled.

“I got your good side that time.”

“You’re not funny. I don’t know how you can laugh at me. After what you’ve done. Being pregnant is hard enough on a family, but…”

“Pregnant? Mom!” For a moment, Delilah didn’t think she heard her right. “Mom, I’m not pregnant. Who told you that?”
“Don’t lie to me. You already…”

“I’m not pregnant. You must have hit your head or something when you fell.” She looked at the paramedic who wishing he was invisible. “I’m not, I swear.”

Clare was visibly upset.

“We can settle this once we get to the hospital,” he told them. “There is a planned parenthood clinic there that offers free pregnancy tests. You can go from there. How’s that?”

“O.K.” Delilah quickly assented.

Clare didn’t say anything but nodded her head.

“Let’s get this rig on the road, Cap!”

Slowly, the ambulance made it’s way onto the street and ten minutes later they pulled in at Methodist Medical Center.
An hour later, mother and daughter sat together in the E.R. A negative pregnancy test sat in a paper cup, wrapped in a paper towel.

“But, I don’t understand why you thought I was pregnant in the first place?”

“You said you found out something this morning and I thought you meant…”

“Mom, jeez. I learned something from Youtube that’s all. Really, I should have realized it a long time ago.” She smiled. Her mother’s blood red eyes looked back at her. “Oh, I’m sorry. I love you, mom. Thank you for worrying about me.”

“Well, child, that my job. It’s not this hard most of the time. What can I say? You’re a good kid.”

Ryan was escorted into the room by a nurse who was telling him that everything was going to be fine. “Clare is in no danger,” she said. “She just had a scare and fainted.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s been one heck of a morning for all of us.”

Reverse Image (part 2)

Posted on by Thadd Presley

Reverse Image

part 2

by Thadd Presley

 

When Lucas entered the room, the quiet atmosphere stopped him in his tracks before he could say anything. There was a furrow on his dad’s brow he’d not seen before and his mother’s face spelled out volumes of unspoken emotion. He hoped they weren’t talking about his spring semester grades. He brought them up at the end.

Dad spoke up first. “Would you mind explaining exactly what you’re talking about? Your mother and I don’t have all morning to play guessing games. This afternoon we can hash out all the details and decide what we will do.”

“Ryan Butress.” Mother sounded extra-weird to Lucas and for the first time that morning he and his sister looked each other in the eyes. “I’ll not hear more of that. I have all the time she needs and so do you. She will tell us what she wants, when she wants. And we will not decide what she does, she decides what she does. Understand?” When her husband didn’t answer right away, Clare started crying.

Delilah stood in the gaze of three stone serious faces and she didn’t know what to say. Lucas broke the silence before it became hysteria.

“What is going on?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s because I’m not wearing makeup.”

Dad looked up from his bowl of cereal. “Sweetie, I’m not mad and neither is your mother. We just want you to be alright.”

“Well, I’m fine,” Delilah answered. “I just want to think about how I’m going to tell you what I found out. It’s been staring me in the face for so long and for me to just realize it. I mean, it’s stupid that I didn’t see it before. Why didn’t one of you tell me? Did you not know?”

“How could we know?” Her mother asked. “I don’t sleep in your bed, I don’t go out with you when you stay over at Angela’s house.”

“Is that what happened?” Her dad asked.

“That’s not important.” Her mother answered. “What’s important is what happens now.”

“O.K. Fine.” He stood from the table. His left hand shook and that was a bad sign. It meant he was really pissed. Delilah didn’t understand why her mom was so angry. “I’m going to work before I get in over my head and say something I’ll regret. I love you all and I’ll be home by four if anyone wants to fill me in then.”

As soon as the Mercedes backed out of the driveway, Lucas took this chance to jump ship. “I’m going to the gym and then job hunting. Bye.”

His mother crossed the kitchen and hugged him. Then, she turned and took an apple from the basket. “Eat this on your way. You’ll need energy to workout.”

“Thanks, mom.”

After the kitchen cleared of the menfolk, the women of the house stood quietly. They stood at the sink and watched Lucas jog down the sidewalk until he was out of view, then they looked at each other.

“Why are you looking at me that way, mom? God, why is everyone is so weird this morning.”

“I’m just worried about you. We are worried. Your dad and I.”

“Mom. It’s not a big deal. Here, listen. I’ll try to explain.”

“No. I want you to listen. That’s all I want you to do right now.” She pointed to the kitchen table. “Sit down so we can talk.”

“Mom!!”

“Don’t you yell at me.” She said it quietly, but it was a command that Delilah knew to obey. She sat and waited for her mother to speak. “Now I only have one question and I want the truth. Who’s the father?”

“What?”

“Just answer the question. Who’s the…”

“I don’t know. Dad, I guess. Who else?”

The words her daughter spoke didn’t make sense to her. They had meant something, but they quickly turned into something else before they reached her ears. Something like red worms burrowing through the dirt. Worms that ate the all the bad words once they left the mouth and spoiled in the open air.

Reverse Image

Posted on by Thadd Presley

Delilah looked at her face reflecting in the bathroom mirror. She had just learned on Youtube that the image she saw reflecting back at her was not the same as it appeared to people on the street. The reflection was a mirror image. Exactly opposite of what everyone else saw.

She wished she could see what other saw, how she looked from the vantage point of others. How had she gone so long applying make-up backward to her face, primping and teasing her hair backward, smiling approvingly at a look that was completely opposite of what she had always thought it was?

There’s no wonder why she never turned any heads throughout middle school and during freshman year. But, now things were going to be different. Delilah was certain to see what everyone else was seeing.

“Dee, hurry.”

It was her older brother, Lucas, standing outside the bathroom door, probably doing the pee dance.

“Dee, please.”

“Go downstairs. Use dad’s.”

“He’s asleep. He’ll go ballistic if …”

The bathroom door flew open. “Fine. Whatever. Just stop talking to me.”

Lucas stared in disbelief. “What have you been doing all this time? I’ve been waiting patiently, gritting my teeth, because I know …”

“You don’t know anything, Luke. Just like always.”

He pushed past her and closed the door, not sure what he said wrong; without time to think, he could figure it out later if she was in a better mood.

Downstairs, Delilah’s mother, who everyone in the world called Clare, greeted her daughter with all smiles. “You’re gorgeous, do you know that?”

“Mom.” She glanced at Ryan, her dad. “Morning, dad.”

“You’re mom’s right, you know?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m not wearing makeup.”

“And I think that’s a good thing because makeup should be saved for special occasions.” Clare continued while buttering toast. “It shouldn’t be for everyday use. It’s really not good for your face over years and years of use.”

“Yep. Clogs your pores.”

“Well, that’s not why I’m not wearing it. It’s more complicated than that. I just found out something huge. It changes everything. Last night actually.”

“Like what?” Mom questioned.

“I don‘t know. Well, I don‘t know. I’m not really sure how to tell you. It’s hard to explain.”

“Whatever it is we we’ll understand.”

“Well, I should have realized it before because we were talking about it before school was out. At least last month ago or two at the most. I should have known.”

This brought the attention of both parents.

Continue on Part 2

Our Walk (fragment 4)

Posted on by Thadd Presley

Our Walk
(fragment 4)
by Thadd Presley

As you may well have heard from your own vicar or sister, as you follow our journey together and learn of our battles, the lives of my companions and myself were given over to our Father God before we were born, whether we admit it or not, making our conception a matter of the Church with nothing to with a husband and wife’s love for one another. Our birth into the realm of Earth put a dual claim on us; God had a claim to our spirit while the Church had it’s claim on our body and we knew from an early age that our short lives would be given back to God quickly, for our paths were to bring before us the manifestation of an evil so fierce and powerful that we would surely die upon setting our eyes on it. Our hearts would fail us at just knowing such a blasphemy, since our hearts were the writing stone of God’s commandments long before our fleshy bodies had been taught the lies which would have led us into sin. We know not what lies ahead of us, only that we are to show no fear, nor even bat an eyelash in the presence of Hell’s most hideous creations. When we stand up face to face with the vilest of acts performed by cruelest of monsters, we know our bodies are nothing but dirt and our souls were never ours. The control we have learned to exercise over our body was just for these moment so we can someday fulfill God’s commandment. It is not our lives for which we should hold dear, because there exists a Salvation that none can rival. The evil which lies before us does not have the power to pluck us from the hands of God, only to deliver us into them. While Satan has tried in vain to plunge all of humanity into darkness, even since the beginning of time, and cause God’s children to falter and turn from their destiny, hasn’t the authority to undermine the truth of God’s promises, which is life eternal with God Almighty, who’s name is Worthy.