Chapter One - BEginnings
Posted on | Tuesday, November 2, 2010 | No Comments
Everyone knew Him.
Well, perhaps not really knew Him, but knew of Him. He was as recognizable as Santa Claus when He soared across the sky. The silver arm bands and belt scattered light in all directions, enveloping Him in a dazzling array of golden hues. His pure white uniform was made of some unknown material that absorbed the light, hiding away any hint of shadow and definition in His body. This, however, did precious little to hide the impressive shapes of His well-honed muscular physique.
Or the perfect symmetry of His exquisite face. To call His gaze captivating was to insult it; few had so entrancing a gaze that men would falter and fail to lie before them. Women would weep and ponder on how they could have ever settled for anything less. His platinum locks flowed with the wind, framing His features with a delicate touch that contrasted His evidently masculine angles.
Flight was but the least of His abilities. It would be far easier to define Hs power as the right to do the impossible: There was a robbery in London He halted by pinning the escaping car down with His foot, an avalanche in the Himalayas He diverted by demanding the raging torrent to turn aside, a volcano in Kamchatka He calmed by absorbing the heat into His own body, and a cure for cancer that He found by simply spending some time with a sick friend.
There were many names for Him. Some called Him titles that were inspired by comic books, which was far from unexpected considering how much He seemed like that reporter from an alien planet or that hammer-wielding government stooge. Others addressed Him using the honorifics befitting pharaohs, saints, and even deities.
He never gave the media a name to call Him.
He never stopped for a press conference to explain who He was.
Or where He came from.
Or where He came from.
Or why he was doing what He did.
But time and time again, people saw how He was there when they needed Him. People bore witness to His unselfish acts of kindness. People benefited from constant displays of heroism. To them He was alien. Strange. Impossible. He was omnipotent. Unearthly. Perhaps even a miracle. Or divine.
He was like a god among men. But unlike most gods, He was real.
And He died last night.
After years of facing the world's attempts to destroy itself as well as the many other otherworldly threats that have come our way, last night was the night His capacity to do whatever was needed to win failed Him. It was not in the hands of the Consolemtarium, the terrorism group that splintered from the Roman Catholic Church, who have attempted to smear His name for years. Their attempts to sway the public's view of Him as the new era's antichrist fell upon far more intelligent ears than they had anticipated. Nor was it from the schemes of the mad scientist L.B.Z.J. Hawkings whose Twenty-Seventh Intellect was artificially gained by gene-splicing stolen genetic brain matter from four key people who shaped our technological history. The insane genius claims to have come from a future where His actions have destroyed the world and does what he can't to stop Him from ever bringing that future to light. Many would have even expected His death to have happened when collective ignorance of mankind all focused on a single lie at the same time and nearly cause the supposed 2012 end of days to occur. But even such a world-spanning act of stupidity fell against the eternal hope that He would inspire by simply being visible to remind everyone, "Yes, this too shall pass."
He died last night in a death far befitting a hero of His stature.
And He died in my arms.
Few knew of His secret. Hell, I didn't know what His secret was when it happened. But last night, as I stepped out of the my favorite bar with a buzz on my brain enough to keep me walking wobbly, I had no idea that it would be the night I would see Him die. I had turned towards a nearby alley to puke out the deadly mix of tequila, jaeger and beer when I saw two men huddled over someone who was bleeding on the piss-drenched floor. I yelled out a Hey and reached into my pocket for anything to use as a weapon. The two men looked up, saw me staggering into the alley with my hand in my jacket, and maybe thought I was armed. They took off, running away from me like shadows that fled from the light. And it was only that moment I noticed it.
The light.
The man they had mugged had been stabbed. His hands clenched over His stomach in a futile attempt to staunch the flow of blood. His face was contorted in an expression of pain. But from His mouth, half-open in the grimace of a dying man, was the glow of a soft dying flame. I fell backwards, landing on my buttocks as I stared at Him, uncertain what to do. Shock must have hit me then, because I could not find the words to cry out for help.
"Don't-"
I heard Him struggle to speak and I actually pushed myself nearer. Was it curiosity? Was it the semblance of safety born from the fact this man with glowing innards was speaking a language I spoke? I don't know, but it was enough to make me want to her Him better. At that time, I did not realize it was Him. The man was far from how He looked, you see. While toned, His body was far from the chiseled form He had. He was clearly shorter than I was, and had a fashion sense that perhaps celebrated the survivability of old, worn, denim. His hair was oily black and seemed to have been cropped short by an unskilled weed cutter.
But it was Him.
"-Let Him-"
He reached up towards me. Without thinking, I took His hand.
"-Die."
"-Die."
And that moment, He died in my arms.
And was reborn as me.
And was reborn as me.
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Total words: 1,029 of 50,000
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chapter one
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