The Statue: Part one

I haven’t written any fiction this for a while and I wanted to write something so here goes.
The Statue: Part One

The statue stood in the middle of the square, staring back at me with one stony eye. Between the narrow slats of the boarded window I watched him, waiting for a sign of movement. In the darkness it was hard to tell but I was determined to catch him in the act.

It had become a game between us. I first noticed it a few weeks ago. The statue of the Unnamed Hero, worn and cracked, mossy and stained by the char of battle, had been taunting me. It knew I was a watcher. It was my job to stare into the darkness and keep the monsters at bay with my ever vigilant eye. I was a good watcher, maybe even the best, they said. I could stay focused and alert for hours. 

But the statue mocked me. I had memorized its features and posture. So when it moved, I knew.

It was tall and broad, covered in a stone approximation of metal plated armor. The head was uncovered. Long hair fell down the shoulders and partially covered the face. Except for the one eye. It squinted, staring right at my watching spot. The face was battered and scarred, pitted with bullet holes and riven by age. But the eye seemed untouched.

It crouched, with a sword reared back in one hand and a pistol in the other, aimed and ready to spring into action. The long cloak on his back was chipped in places, but mostly in tact, swooshing around over his extended pistol arm as if in motion. It wasn’t until you looked close that it became clear, the pistol and sword were not held by stone hands, they were a part of him. His armor too, was a part of him, bolted on to his body. The unnamed hero was not human, or at least not entirely.

At first I would watch him out of idle curiosity and boredom. Staring into the darkness night after night you have y find something to occupy your mind. So, in an effort to stay watchful I memorized each detail of the statue outside. Even as I scanned the square for signs of the enemy, my attention would return to the statue. It was a week ago I think, that I first noticed the movement. I did not see it move, as such, but I noticed the change in the stone folds of its cloak.

The picture I had painted in my mind was very specific. It did not matched what I saw outside. The difference was subtle but it was there. The next day was even more peculiar. I noticed an odd black mark along the edge of the stone blade. The statue, as aged as it was, had stains and marks all over it, but this one was new. The posture of the statue had now been corrected, even to the exact folds of the cloak.

I tried to bring it to the attention of the Watchmaster, a stern fellow by the name of Cabberaeux, but he, ill-tempered at the best of times, brushed off my claims like dust from his boots.

Over the next few days the signs became more obvious, to me at least. I tried to tell other watchers but none of them could see. I told Archeleus, the day-watchman who relieved me each morning. He squinted and pressed his face to the wooden slats and gave it his best, but noticed nothing out of the ordinary.

I had begun to think that the cold watches of the night were claiming me. Perhaps the shadows were tinkering with my mind, pulling at the sane parts and twisting them to distort reality.

It was then I found confirmation. I had determined to find an answer once and for all. I had watched all night, three hours before and three hours after my assigned watch. I lay flat on the cold stone on the ground floor with my eye pressed against the heavy gate. If I angle my head just right I could see beneath the gate. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but no one came down here any more, so there was little risk of discovery. I stayed vigilant by humming under my breath, the battle hymn of the resistance, until my mouth became so dry and scratchy I had to stop. I made it until the fifth hour after midden night, when I dropped off.

My eyes were only closed for a few moments, it seemed. But when I opened them, I saw it, the proof I had been waiting for.
See part two later this week.

If you read part one, let me know what you thought.

A Soul unfurled

Mind wandering, pulled moment to moment, here to there, without order or reason. Reality tries to assert itself but is bowled over by the torrent of ideas. What if? I have an idea and I must pursue it until my legs are weak and I collapse, bereft of breath… but wait what’s that? What if? This is in complete contrast, not connected but totally misdirecting my mind. Now I run the other way, energy exerted on the broken story, left on the floor to gather dust, while this new thought, so new, so shiny it will blot out the sun. Now the shadows come. In the darkness my thought faded, it was not yet made and now it never will be, but I left a part of my mind behind, never to be returned. Will it die, alone without my head to call its home? Perhaps it, unlike me can rest. Where was I? Ah yes… the man on the bus, the homeless guy, always asking why, no the warrior, the quiet one, so meek, so shy… where was I? Oh yes the future where the world is light and everything beyond denied, no the other one the world in ruin, the monsters come to devour it all, the fall of man while the cities rise into the sky… but why? What’s the motive? Do he live or die and will the reader wonder why? It’s late. How many words did I write? Were they bad or were they great? Does it matter now, as a thousand thoughts are lost in an infinite sea, never to be seen or read of known beyond my mind, outside of me…. stop… breathe, take a moment here and revel in the peace, take relief in knowing now that every thought you thought was best is sleeping and has come to rest… so sleep and let your mind shut down, wipe away the thoughts and fears, renew yourself to wake refreshed… but wait… what is that? The shadowed shapes behind the door, what could that be if fully formed, crafted from a dark unknown and grafted to a world I’ve sown… let us sink, into a dream of sorts, a writers mind, fractured, muddled, all befuddled by the slivers of a half formed thought, imagined as a last resort then inked into reality. There it is. A story told. My head. My mind. My heart and world, left hear to read, my soul unfurled.

The Warrior

A short… about the mess of life and the importance of pursuing a higher call beyond the greedy and conflicting desires of men

Standing tall amid the chaos of other men, I saw The Warrior. The night air was packed with screams scrambling over each other to be heard. The wailing of the dead and dying, the panicked muttering of those afraid to be next and the wild, bloodcurdling howls of those too insane to care.

But from The Warrior there came no sound at all. He stood tall amidst the blood and sweat. His gaze swept across the battlefield and pierced the hearts of all who caught his eye. 

Other men charged and flailed around with blades or spears, and made of flesh and bone, they crumbled when cut or pierced. Their bodies gave way to sharp edged iron, falling to the grave of crimson mud beneath their feet.

But not the Warrior. His bones were steel, his skin so seasoned by sun and scars that it appeared more like leather, a carapace to turn aside all but the most determine blows. He strode forward into the fray, sword wide and straight, each swing measured by experience, backed by the accumulated muscle of a hundred such battles.

Other men, clad in rings of rusted iron or patchwork plates of muddied steel, rallied to the ragged flag and the tired, tinny call of the trumpet. While unsoiled men on horseback waived stainless swords and shouted words without meaning to drive the masses forward, the Warrior maintained his own relentless pace.

When the enemy, as bloodied and reckless as his allies, formed a line before him, he did not waiver. When they pressed in to surround him, cutting off retreat or hope of rescue, he did not falter.

His eyes, so full of pain, still looked upon his foes with fondness. They held no hatred, but poured out a tale of hope and grace. Even as his allies fell, as the tide turned and the darkness grew darker, as spear and sword rose up around him so thick as to appear as the spines of a single monster, the Warrior continued on. As his skin was pierced, as his blood began to flow. As the weight of those against him became a tidal wave of men to rival an ocean. As the cries of his fallen friends called out, turn back, the way is too hard, the battle too fierce and the enemy too strong, The Warrior set his jaw and set his eyes ahead.

I lost him then, his silhouette passed over the horizon and into the shadow of oblivion. While others fled, the battle lost, while grown men wept bitter tears of loss and pain, lamenting still what might have been, I stood watching for the Warrior. While the enemy swarmed and raged with threats and swallowed us with doubt, I watched for the Warrior.

When hope was just the lonely flicker of a single candle amidst this raging storm, a thousand voices begged me, put it out, the time has passed, the Warrior is lost. When I stood, readying my last breath before I would be swept away by death, I saw it… His light. I heard the wails of the afflicted and they rose in chorus through my bones.

There was a shiver in the darkness. The shadows, woven by the frigid fear of the enemy, shuddered. As the light grew in the distance I could just make out the pale white faces of the lost. Those who had fallen, those who had given up before the end and those who never had the heart to fight. In the growing light they saw me smile and I saw them rise. In the growing light I felt their wonder as the weight of fear upon them turned from despair. 

The Warrior returned. He walked in boldness across that devastation. His sword no longer held, his hands bare, open wide and in his stride a confidence that no one should possess. And with each step the shadows withered, within each moment came a thousand tiny lights of truth to melt away the lies.

As he approached, The Warrior of light, I asked, “Did you find the enemy? Did you defeat him?”

His voice reached out with a gentleness he could not possibly possess. “It is finished.” He said.

“The enemy has been killed.” I called out and rejoiced, helping up the fallen men at my feet.

The Warrior stood in silence. 

“The enemy is dead?” I asked.

“I did not spill his blood.” He responded. “But it is finished.”

“Tell me what happened.” I asked.

“The enemy was many. The enemy raged and sought to overwhelm me. As I fought and persevered, as I bled and suffered wounds through my trials, the enemy taunted and disparaged. But I fought on. When I reached the end my sword was broken. I stood face to face with anger, hatred, greed, misery and fear. When I stared them in the eye, the hunters and betrayers, the enemies of man, they asked why I had come to destroy them.”

The Warrior paused. All eyes were on Him now. 

“What did you say?” I asked, breaking the moment.

“I did not come to destroy you,” The Warrior said. “I came to find you, to save you and to free you.”

“What could those wretched beasts need freedom from, they harry and oppress us at every turn.” I said, heavy in my ignorance.

“They asked the same.” The Warrior said. “What do we need freedom from, we who are the lords of men? They laughed and they threatened me, they brought me low with their taunts. So I looked up to my Father. I asked His forgiveness for the enemies of man and I gave them what they needed. I gave myself too them, my love, my peace, my truth, and I freed them, from themselves.”

This story is dedicated to the glory of God and to His son who gave Himself to us and for us.

Please let me know what you think, either good or bad, in the comments below.

Free?

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How do we comprehend what God has done?

How do we seek the one above?

How do we come to understand His ways?

The way He came, the love He gave?

We don’t.

We instead deny, we rely on ourselves

We ignore the truth, and instead we delve

Into the darkness of our own hearts

We have the nerve to ignore the one

Who created us, and set us apart

We try to rely on a wisdom flawed

We applaud depravity,

We let it pull us down like gravity

Allowing the weight to weigh us down

Until there is no way out

We kick and scream, we yell and shout

But without Him, to lift us up, to take our sin

And lift our doubt, there is no light

There is no fight, just a stubborn heart,

Refusing help just to spite… who, ourselves?

Now, I understand the confusion, the illusion is complete

No room for God, when all your life is filled with defeat

Masquerading as success, more money, but still depressed

More freedom to do what you want, but you still choose

To be chained, to spend what remains, of your days

Away from the Father that made you, you languish

In Anguish, seeking to fulfill a life that can’t be filled

With any of the drugs, drinks, lust or pills,

social media, or films, that make us all feel inferior

I wish I could make it clearer, but He is the way

It’s ok, I know what you’re gonna say,

5,000 Gods, why is yours real?

I know the drill, I’ve been there too, I know how it feels

But Jesus IS different, when He died on the Hill,

When He bled for me, He bled for you too,

And that’s not a myth, its historical, not just a tale,

Not allegorical, but logical truth

I can’t win you over, if you won’t let go of the lies,

But please don’t despise me, for wanting you free,

Don’t hate me, or put me in that category,

Of another Church freak, who hates and despises,

Deciding who deserves love, freedom and charity

I see the disparity, I know Christians worse than you,

That hold onto the label, but aren’t even able

To give grace to those, who don’t look like them,

We are all Sinners, none worse than me,

But daily I seek Him, I look for Jesus,

It is Jesus who free’s us, to be who we are

And the best part is, you don’t need to look far

Jesus is in you, Jesus releases, He redeems us and feeds us

He teaches the truth, if we open our eyes, and forget the lies

Ignore the ignorant Christian, those who spew hate

Who fail to relate to the world, the hurt, and the lost, the people

Who sin, who need a savior no matter the cost,

The Truth is, we’re all hurt, we’ve been lied to, we’re hiding

Too afraid to let Him in, but you know what?

He knows, He sees, He loves you, He loves me,

He wants you to be free, and to find you, He’ll use me.