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The
darkness of night seeped through every crevice of Bridgewater State College.
Buildings, which had previously sat in the safety of daylight, saw the shadows
begin at their base and rise over their top. The opaque darkness attacked like
and army, proceeding forward and upward with malicious intent. Shadows were
lost, images blurred and a different species set about their nighttime
authority.
In
the darkness, Pierre slept. He did not toss and turn, or move in any way. He
slept the way people did in television commercials, on his back, hands crossed
over his chest, the smile of peace on his face. Inside of Pierre’s mind, in
the very recesses of his psyche, images came forward that were anything but
peaceful.
As
a child, Pierre was haunted by nightmares that caused him to awaken in the night,
screaming for his parents, shaking beyond belief. These dreams were usually
comprised of demons and unmentionable child created monsters that came to punish
him and hurt his parents. These demons, humorous in their exaggerated
frightening appearance, represented the embodiment of children’s fears. They
were the fears of losing ones parents because of mistakes that they made, or the
idea of those parent’s abandoning the child, being left alone to battle the
forces of evil. In short, the nightmares that every child experiences. Pierre
had the same types of dreams as other children, but he had the ability, or
curse, to remember them in total when he awoke. Sometimes, remembering those
dreams the next day was the scariest part.
This
night, Pierre lay in bed and dreamed things that he would pray that he might not
remember when daylight began to shine. Although he was much different from the
child that dreamed, Pierre still remembered everything and sometimes carried the
fear of these dreams throughout his day. The monsters Pierre dreamed of as a
child were large creatures that emanated terror by shear appearance alone. But,
now that Pierre was a full grown adult, 6’3 and 235 lbs., the demons had
ceased their physical terror, and become the psychological terrors. No longer
were the demons and monsters hulking masses of flesh, ready to pounce on a timid
and undersized Pierre. Instead, they were often smaller demons, hidden in the
shadows, playing mind games that were impossible to solve.
But,
even those nightmarish creatures were nothing compared to the monsters that
Pierre dreamed about. The monster that terrorized Pierre’s dreams on this
night was the scariest monster that Pierre had ever encountered. In the daytime,
when the demons were powerless and their fearful grip loosened, was the only
time that he dare think of his frightful visions. Tonight, the demon was
vicious, demonic and worst of all, guiltless. The demon that Pierre imagined
tonight was himself.
A
church stood in the middle of a field. Empty grass surrounded the church for
miles at every side. The grass, long and green, blew to the right from a strong
breeze. The church, tall and white, served as the only block to the breeze. The
shudders of the church were a dark black that looked dark enough to have been
painted recently, as recently as this morning. The front door to the church was
ten feet high, with a circular top and a wide base. The windows of the church
were painted with pictures, enough to block any view inside the church. Each
window was stained with images of suffering. Normally, the images on church
windows were of Christ’s suffering, but not these windows. The images were of
men and women, tied to poles, burning in the sunlight.
The
land surrounding the church had a gate around it, and tombstones inside. Each
tombstone, old and simply etched with names and dates, was slanted. Brown soil
formed a fresh mound in front of every tombstone, indicating that the graves
were fresh, the deaths recent.
A
black iron fence with a gate in the middle separated the church from the grass.
The grass inside the church was short, freshly mowed and green in places, dead
in others. The grass beyond the gates was as high as a grown man and thick
enough for a person to lose himself in.
The
building seemed to not only be silent, but it seemed to produce silence. It was
so quiet around the church, the grass could be heard, fluttering in the wind.
Each blade of grass could be heard whipping off the next.
A
church bell shattered the silence. The bell seemed to chime for an endless
period of time. There was no echo because there was nothing for the bell to echo
off of. The bell stopped, and the large church doors flew opened, revealing
throngs of children. Each male child was dressed in a white shirt and pants with
a black tie that dangled over the shoulder as the child ran. The female children
wore white blouses and black skirts, with a black bow tie. The children all
looked very innocent and pure in their attire and their facial expression showed
no malice or evil intent. They were the stereotypical children, happy and eager
to love someone that deserved their affection.
Each child sprinted through the open doors and ran towards the front gate
that, when opened, seemed to invite the impregnable grass inside the land.
The sound of the children’s steps wasn’t the typical noise associated
with a child’s stampede. Instead, each child sounded like they were stepping
on an over-abundance of dead leaves. The crackling was inexplicably loud, almost
giving the idea that the leaves were suffering when crushed by the little feet
that ran over them.
The
first child opened the gate and ran into the grass. The rest of the children,
one at a time, followed. They were lost in the green abyss and the footsteps
seemed to lose their volume. The sound of crackling leaves was gone and the wind
could be heard again.
The
church doors stayed open, inviting entry for anyone daring enough to come
forward. Almost as if he were stepping into the picture, Pierre walked in front
of the church from nowhere. Casually, in no rush whatsoever, he approached the
gate and stood facing the church. He was dressed in a light blue denim
long-sleeve shirt and tan khaki’ pants, the most common and typical outfit
that he owned. Actually, it was the same outfit that he was wearing earlier
tonight.
Pierre
walked slowly through the gate, entering the church grounds. Suddenly, it was if
the volume of the world seemed to turn on and become ear-piercingly loud. Each
blade of grass, blowing in the breeze sounded like a leather ship smacking
exposed flesh. The gate crashed closed behind Pierre and the noise, the sound of
a steel staircase landing on the pavement after being dropped off a two story
building, startled Pierre out of his trance that was leading him towards the
open doors of the church.
Pierre
whirled around and stared at the gate, surprised that the thin metal made such a
loud and obnoxious noise. He turned and resumed his walk towards the open doors.
The church seemed to swell like an old man waiting for a grandchild’s hug,
appearing to breathe in heavily in anticipation. Pierre stopped and pondered
leaving the church grounds. Even though it was a dream, he was scared of the
church, scared of what he may find on the other side.
Stubbornly,
he pressed forward. It’s only a dream. Pierre tried to look beyond the open
doors and into the church. It was beautiful. The front hall was dark pine,
stained recently and shiny. There were pillars inside the room that gave it the
impossible appearance of a limitless ceiling. Father back, Pierre could see
unoccupied pews. The pine was darker than in the front room, perhaps still wet.
More impossible than the pillars in the front room, was the limitless number of
rows leading to the front of the church. Pierre had to strain his dreaming eyes
to see all the way to the front. But, at the front he could see a figure that he
could never mistake for any other. At the front of the church, conducting a
sermon, was Jesus.
Jesus
was wearing a long white robe with gold trim along the middle and on the end of
the long sleeves. His hair was long and a very clean brown. His face was
beautiful. He had clear and compassionate blue eyes that seemed to invite peace
into a person’s heart. Light beard stubble etched his face, making him look
unconcerned with appearances, never having the time to worry about how he
looked, instead he worried about helping others.
Pierre
approached the doors, no longer scared, an intense desire to meet his maker
compounded his heart, forcing him to go forward. At the doors, Pierre paused and
took a deep breath. He stepped forward, and was pushed back. That was weird!
Again, Pierre stepped forward, trying to enter the church’s threshold. This
time he was knocked backwards by an unseen force that didn’t want him in the
church. He backed up a few steps and tried to run into the church. The momentum
he carried from the run only served to push him back further, causing him to be
thrown backwards where he landed on his back. Dazed, he sat up quickly and tried
to gather himself. Pierre walked to
the doors and watched Jesus. He could see his white robes fluttering as Jesus
became more worked up practicing his sermon.
Pierre
began to hear children’s laughter coming from the grass. The laughter confused
him at first, but slowly, it became an annoying taunt. The children, still
hidden inside the tall grass, began to chant. He doesn’t love you, anymore. He
doesn’t love you, anymore! Pierre ran to the edge of the grass, behind the
gate and tried to spread open the tall blades, hoping to see the children.
“Stop
it! Jesus loves me. He loves me the way he loves you all,” Pierre yelled at
nobody...everybody...anybody.
The
children continued the song, louder than before. Pierre could feel intense rage
building inside of him, threatening to spill out. He swung blindly into the
grass and felt only the blades of grass course through his fingers. Realizing
that he couldn’t get to the children, he turned his back to the grass and
looked into the church. Jesus was standing at the edge of the church threshold,
waving Pierre to approach. Humbly, he began to walk forward towards Jesus.
Jesus
stood still, waiting for Pierre to stand in front of him. The children’s song
stopped and Pierre stood in front of Jesus. A strong breeze made Jesus’ robe
flap loudly. They both stood in silence, waiting for the other to speak.
“Why
did I find you?”
Jesus
raised his hand quickly, and a thought began to fill Pierre’s mind. Jesus was
speaking to Pierre through his mind. Words were no longer necessary. His voice
felt like silk inside of Pierre’s brain, causing his arms to break out in
goose bumps and his stomach to drop in excitement.
The facial expression of contentment never changed or left Jesus’ face
as the words echoes through Pierre’s mind.
You
don’t need to talk. I can hear your thoughts. You did not find me, I found
you. There is something that I must tell you, my son.
Pierre
was awestruck by the power that the voice had over him. With each word, Pierre
fell deeper into the spell of the Lord and wanted to know more. He spoke out
loud, not accustomed to using his mind for communication.
“Why
did you find me?"
You
are no longer welcome in the house of God!
Jesus’
voice echoed in Pierre’s head, causing his nose to bleed and his ears to pop.
Suddenly, Jesus no longer looked peaceful and saintly, he instead resembled a
demon, frightening and powerful. Pierre began to cower in front of Jesus, as if
he expected to feel his powerful wrath.
I
will not hurt you, but you are no longer my son.
Pierre
began to try to think of any possible reason why he wouldn’t be welcomed in
the house of Lord, but nothing came to mind. As if Jesus was reading his
thoughts, which is precisely what he had done, words began to hammer through
Pierre’s mind.
You
have committed no sin, but your are no longer my child. You are no longer pure.
You are...changed!
The
gate flew open behind Pierre and the children began to run into the field,
through the small graveyard and into the church. As each child passed, Jesus
affectionately patted the tiny heads, seeming to bless every child. Pierre began
to long for that affection, hating the children that received what he could no
longer have.
Don’t
hate them, they are innocent.
"What
am I?"
You
were innocent, but now, you are…something else.
"I
have not changed."
You
have! You don’t know it, yet. You are now the enemy of the Lord. You will
spend your life-eternity- in the shadow of the Lord’s back. You are no longer
in his grace!
Pierre
couldn’t understand what he had done. He had lived a good life, never hurt
anyone or offended his parent’s. Why would the Lord spite him?
The
last group of the children ran by him and Jesus and entered the church. Some of
the children seemed to mock Pierre as they ran into the church he could not
enter, as they were touched by a Lord that would not touch him. Pierre began to
hate the children, he hated what they stood for. He was no longer like them, no
longer one of them.
It
was then, truly then, that Pierre realized that he was different from other
people. This is a dream. My actions have no real consequences. The last dozen
children began to run by Pierre and to the church. One of the boys, the
stereotypical cute kid with blond hair and blue eyes, gave a quick smirk towards
Pierre. That was the last straw. Pierre snatched the child off the ground and
raised him above his head. He started to shake the child and wanted to hurt,
maybe even kill the little bastard!
He
began to hear a noise that he had never heard before. It was as if he could hear
the child’s blood flowing through his veins. Then, when he looked at the child
as he hung upside down in his hand, it was as if Pierre could see the blood
running through his veins. The blood looked tasty!
A sudden hunger swelled up inside of Pierre, a hunger that no food could
satisfy
Pierre
could feel his jaw expanding, his teeth felt like they were growing inside his
mouth. With the tip of his tongue, he touched the tips of his incisors. They had
grown the most, extending a half-inch further than normal. They were sharp, too.
The tip of his tongue tasted like blood, but not the blood that ran through the
child’s veins, a different blood. The blood in the child’s vein would tasty
different, it would taste like.. food.
Pierre
began to realize that this was how he was different. He had become something, or
maybe he always was, different. That was why Jesus couldn’t let him into the
church. The thought that he no longer felt God’s love ceased to feel
disheartening. Instead, it began to infuriate Pierre. Why can’t he still love
me? Why am I no longer in his good graces, just because I am different? It’s
not fair. I never heard from you when I was in your good graces, and when
something happens beyond my control, I am punished so you can love this...child!
Fuck you!
Pierre
said the last words while looking directly into the eyes of Christ. For his
part, Jesus seemed to not take offense, instead looking at Pierre with pity.
Pierre let the boy drop to the ground and snatched him up again by the neck,
instead of the feet. He tilted the child’s head to the side, the child screams
not abating him in the least, and opened his mouth.
The
Lord moved quickly. He stepped from the threshold and took the child in his
arms. With an unseen force, Pierre was knocked through the air and onto his
back. When he looked up, Jesus was carrying the boy into the church. The doors
closed behind him and the church lay silent, giving no trace of previous
activity.
Pierre,
on his back and propped up on his elbows, lay on the ground for a long time
watching the church. Why doesn’t God love me?
Pierre
let his head fall to the ground as a stiff breeze blew. Very slowly, like a
small crack the moment before it spider webs into a large hold, a feeling took
hold in Pierre’s heart. It was the feeling that the Lord was no longer
concerned with his actions. That he was no longer concerned with his thoughts.
What should have been a horrible realization, was actually quite pleasurable. An
instinct and feeling slowly etched its way out of Pierre. It went a little at
first, but, by the time Pierre finally got back on his feet, the feeling was
gone. That feeling was guilt.
When
Pierre finally stood, he no longer felt like he was a child of God. He no longer
felt as if he was forced to obey the same rules as everyone else was forced to
abide by. With that feeling came a
sense of freedom.
In
his bed, a small smile arose on Pierre’s face as he lay dreaming.
©2003
StoriesByEmail.com
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