Weblog
Friday, May 30, 2008
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"Doggy Toy"
(Sample Chapter for the "Shattered Saint" Comic)
Main Character/Art by Jesus Marquez
Written by derrick Stahl
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Help me, Daddy.
- Barber Street.
That’s all the note said. Charlie rubbed his thumb over the small piece of paper, crinkling and tearing the edge. “She never called me ‘Daddy,’” he said, his rough voice almost scratching the air as it left his lips.
What kind of trap am I getting myself into? he thought. The closer he got to Barber Street, the less people he saw. They would have to pick the middle of nowhere, wouldn’t they? He closed his fingers, crumpling the note in his tightening fist. This isn’t from my daughter! Why should I care—
He flung his arm to the side, releasing the note.
No!
His hand flashed back out, catching the paper only inches from where he had started to let it drop. His mind wouldn’t allow this … What if it was from his daughter?
He opened his mouth to speak—nothing. He tried again, lifting his fingers to touch the white priest’s collar around his neck. He found strength, sanity, and the power to say what he knew to be the truth. “Jessica is dead.” Again the air ripped apart as his words turned to fog in the cold morning. He opened the small note back up. “It’s all I can do to hunt down these animals … they took my family away from me!” He lowered his head, listening to the distant horns of the traffic that congested the streets only blocks away. He looked back up, his eyes rimmed red with hate. “I won’t stop until I kill every last—”
Where am I? He stopped, looking around to get his bearings. He was surround by old brick buildings, a part of town he remembered from when he was a child. The red buildings, old and only a small percent of their former beauty, stood desolate in this forgotten part of downtown. Charlie found himself surrounded by tall walls on either side … walls that felt as if they would close together, smashing him with a savagery that only his tormented mind could conceive.
And then he saw it—bolted to the corner of an ally hung a crooked sign, its edges brown with rust. “Barber Man,” Charlie said, a twisted smile spreading across the stubble of his square jaw. “I’ve come to find out about all your dirty little secrets.”
He walked up the entrance of the ally, staring down at an orange bolt lying on the ground. How many years has this place been empty? He thought, kicking the bolt down the street. The sign above his head creaked in the wind, almost crying out for its missing friend that just traveled down the road. The sign just whimpered and cried for it missing bolt?
Charlie turned his head to the left looking down the shadowed ally. He heard a second soft whimpering sound. Just at the far edge of his vision in the dim light, Charlie thought he could see a cage. With another quick glance back up to the sign, Charlie pulled back his coat, unsheathed his family’s machete, and stepped into the unknown that Barber held for him.
He focused on the cage at the far end of the ally, barely able to make out a shadowed form lying inside. His fingers slid across the brick wall to his right as he slowly walked forward.
Another whimper … a movement. Something—no, someone moved around in the cage.
Charlie continued his slow approach, his machete hanging loose in his hand. So when will they strike? He stopped, eyes wide, breath short, his hand pressing against the brick wall for support. Before him, lying in the cage with its back turned, was a child. Shortly cut brown hair covered the back of the child’s head. A white sheet was wrapped around the bottom half of the child, leaving the top half open for Charlie to notice the outline of the spine running down the uncovered back.
“Jessica?” His voice shook with an uneasiness he had never felt before.
There was no answer.
“Jessica, baby, are you okay?” He forced his frozen legs to stagger forward. What did they do to her long, beautiful hair?
The child took a long, slow, and what seemed to be a painful breath. The backbone pressed against the flesh of the back, causing Charlie to wince at the sight. It seemed as if one could almost look through the flesh and see the bones inside.
“I’m here for you, baby … I’ll get you—”
His staggering stopped. Motionless he stood, save for his left hand slowly reaching up to touch his priest’s collar once again. In the cage, now that Charlie was close enough to see clearly, lay a tiny boy. The child’s legs were pulled up to his chest, the small white sheet the only thing giving him warmth in the cold morning.
Charlie’s fingers found his collar, and he imagined that the feel of it somehow passed power down into his arm and through his body. Taking a deep breath, he moved forward once again, circling around to the cage’s door.
He knelt, laying his machete on the ground by his feet, and then reached through the bars of the cage. Taking the boy by the chin, Charlie lifted the child’s face and parted the lips. Two large fangs grew from the boy’s lower gums. The top row held nothing more than four front teeth and some molars in the back. “Well, if you’re one of them,” Charlie said to the unconscious boy, “then you’re built upside down.”
The boy took another deep breath, shuddering and whimpering as he did so. Charlie lowered the child’s head back down onto the cage’s bottom.
And it was then that he noticed the small tube sticking out from the boy’s neck. He pulled the tube loose, causing some sort of green liquid to spill over his fingers. He pulled his hand free of the cage, lifting the tube up to his face. A tiny needle was positioned at the base of the tube, with a miniature pump working the green liquid into it, and out of the hole at the end.
The child took another deep breath in … and held it. White foam started to drop from his mouth, his feet and legs twitching with tiny spasms. Large patches of fur started to grow rapidly on the boy’s chest and arms.
Charlie threw the tube away down the ally, pawing at the lock on the cage’s door. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out.” He lifted his machete, wedging the tip of the blade into the lock to try and pry it open.
His ears pricked at a soft clicking sound coming from the end of the ally. “Allow me to help you with that,” a voice said, echoing off the brick walls. The following sound was deafening. Sparks flew off of the lock in front of Charlie’s face, quickly followed by a second explosion as the concrete beside hip blew apart.
Charlie fell backward, catching himself with his hands, and then sprang to his feet.
“Did t~~ lock ~~~ ~rake?” the voice asked, going in and out with the ringing vibrations that pounded in Charlie’s ears. “I do h~~~ ~hat he c~~ sti~~ get ~ut!”
The second click went unnoticed as Charlie looked toward the end of the ally. A man was standing on the second balcony of an old and rusted fire escape, his German pistol pointed downward toward the cage. The long and narrow barrel, along with the upturned sight of the gun, resembled the nose of its holder. The man smiled down at Charlie, his free hand reaching into his coat pocket and finding the remote inside.
A thick net, interlaced in a square pattern, fell from the top of the building at the entrance of the ally. The net slid down the walls, loosing the “Barber Street” sign from it remaining bolt, and sent it crashing to the street below.
So here’s the trap, Charlie thought, mentally berating himself for being so foolish. He turned his attention back to the man on the balcony, the ringing in his ears finally starting to let up.
“I was told you wouldn’t be able to resist helping that ‘poor soul’ out when you saw him suffering like that,” the man said. “So you took out the tube in his neck, I see.” He waved his gun back and forth in a mocking gesture. “I was hoping you would do that.”
“Who are you?” Charlie demanded. “Where’s my daughter?”
Laughter.
Charlie tightened the grip on the handle of his machete, his knuckles turning white. “I asked you a question!” he yelled, striking his blade on the side of the cage. “What have you done with Jessica!” He struck the cage again.
The boy inside the cage jolted upward, his limbs flinging out in all directions. His body was now covered in thick fur, the foam around his mouth now red with his own blood. His lips parted, teeth and gums jutting outward, stretching his face into a muzzle. The boy cried—howled out in agony as his fingernails turned sharp, digging into his fur-covered wrists. He turned, standing on all fours, arched his back, and began to grow.
The man on the fire escape laughed again, lowering his gun to the cage once again. “One more shot to that lock should do it, don’t you think.” He closed his left eye to help aim.
The child inside the cage ruptured up in an ear-splitting cry, his body still increasing in size with every heartbeat. His dog-like body pressed against the bars, bending out beyond their threshold, and then finally snapping them like twigs.
“A werewolf?” Charlie yelled, his words catching in his throat with disbelief.
The beast leapt into the air, freeing itself from the confining bars of the cage. It landed hard, its oversized paws cracking the concrete as they hit the ground. Charlie backed away, raising his only defense between himself and the beast. He flashed his machete out, missing the beast completely.
The wolf arched its shoulders … shoulders that were now the same height as its prey. The beast looked down at the weapon in Charlie’s hands, barking with laughter. It stretched its short neck out, sniffing the air. The two fangs that were once only children’s teeth now jutted upward like towers on either side of the wolf’s mouth, framing in the drooling and bloody under bite of his jaw.
“They said to kill him!” the man yelled down to the beast. He had repositioned his pistol, now having the sights rest on Charlie. “Come on, my pet. Finish the job!”
The wolf sprang back on its haunches, ready to strike.
Charlie’s mind was in an uproar, his thoughts twisting everything around him. Like a nervous habit, he grabbed at his neck, trying to feel the white color around the neckline of his shirt.
The wolf growled, its hot breath turning to white steam before rising up into the sky. His legs tightened, but instead of lunging forward, witch would have allowed him to tackle his prey and easily kill, the wolf raised up on its hind legs. Falling forward, using his massive chest to try and crush its opponent, the beast started to drop down.
And that was all Charlie needed! Crouching low to the ground, he raised his machete point up, waiting for the wolf to realize its mistake too late.
“No!” The man saw what would happen, and fired blindly. Charlie’s ears went numb once again at the gunshot. A large paw knocked aside his machete moments before the weight of the wolf crushed him to the ground.
The man raced down the rotted steps of the balcony, pleading for the wolf’s life. “My pet … you must live!” He reached the giant mass of his “pet” noticing the blood pouring from the beast’s back. He dropped his pistol, his trembling fingers touching the wound in the werewolf’s hide. “I was aiming for—” He started to sob. “My pet, I’m so sorry! I was aiming for—” The man looked up, his eyes flowing with tears. “Charlie!”
Charlie pulled his foot free from underneath the wolf, standing to full height, and holding the machete out before him. A trail of blood ran down from his right temple, joining the four rips of cloth and flesh that zigzagged across his chest.
“You will die,” Charlie promised, starting to circle around the dead wolf.
“But they said you wouldn’t kill someone like me!” the man screamed. “They promised!”
“I will kill every last one of your kind!” Charlie yelled back.
“But I’m not like them—I’m human!”
Charlie narrowed his eyes in disbelief. He bent, picking up the man’s pistol from the ground, and then shoved it barrel-first into the man’s face. “Open up,” he said.
The man didn’t move.
Charlie put the sight of the gun under the man’s nose, slowly starting to tighten his finger over the trigger. “I said to show me those teeth of yours.”
The man’s lips curled up, reviling crooked and dirty teeth … human teeth. “They said they would pay me,” the man said, his eyes crossed as he tried to stare down at the gun under his nose. “I didn’t want to … honest … I just needed the money …” He looked down at the wolf, tears starting to fill his eyes once more. “And now my pet is dead.” He closed his eyes tight and would say now more.
Charlie lowered the gun, turning back toward the entrance of the ally. He reached the net after what seemed like hours. He raised his machete, striking the net with all his force—nothing! The blade simply slid off the ropes, failing to cut a single thread. “Open this thing up,”’ he said, looking back down the ally toward the man and his dead werewolf.
The man only stared back.
Charlie half turned, raising the gun. “Open it … final warning.”
The man slowly reached into his pocket. Seconds later the net started to rise, disappearing over the roof of a nearby building. Charlie stepped out of the ally, sheathing his machete. He turned back, tossing the gun a few feet toward the man. “If I were you, I wouldn’t let the vampires catch me after failing them.” He shrugged his shoulders, glancing down at the gun.
Picking up the Barber Street sign, Charlie started to walk back home. He took the note out of his pocket, spreading it out smooth over the sign. “Help me, Daddy,” he read aloud. He closed his eyes to keep the tears from falling, his fingers once again reaching for his collar. “I swear, baby, if you’re out there, I’ll save you.”
A final gunshot split the silence of the deserted street. That’s a better fate than becoming one of them, he thought with great disgust. And moments later, he heard the first of the police sirens. They would soon find their way to the crime scene of an oversized, rabid dog … lying dead next to his lifeless master. One more suicide in the lost part of downtown. One more paper to fill out down at the station.
Charlie clenched his teeth, his fingers unknowingly rubbing his collar in the habit he had whenever trying to collect his thoughts. For he knew that if it would have been a vampire—one of those worthless, forsaken vampires—he wouldn’t have stopped the massacre until there was no body left for the cops to find.
“I will help you, Jessica … and I’ll make every last one of them pay for what they’ve done!”
Friday, May 09, 2008
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Currently Reading
Cold Copper Tears (Garrett Files)
By Glen Cook
see related"Green Fingernails"
By derrick Stahl
(Click on the Links to Read the Story)A few years ago, I got this in the mail. I opened it, and this is what I found inside:
Friday, April 11, 2008
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"The Ballad of Pepper Slamowitz"
(Screenplay For 8 Page Comic)
Story/Characters by Jesus Marquez
Written by derrick Stahl
(New Edited Version - The older one was too long. We had to shorten things a bit, and change the page layout.)PAGE 01
Page Setup: I pictured a splash page. An angled bird’s eye view of the arena (on the left of the page) with tons of people gathered around it, and a long line of people forming down the page toward the “camera.” Story-boxes could be used along the top and right side of the page.
01.
Pepper is walking toward the arena, the line of people on his left. He’s getting a few nasty stares from some of the guys. A murmur follows him, words attacking his back as he passes.
MISC. PEOPLE FROM THE LINE: “Yeah, just go ahead and skip to the front!” “What a jerk …” “Hey! Back of the line!”
02.
Pepper, not even registering that the shouts are at him, sees a kid with a notepad. He holds out his hand, palm out, like an apologetic “stop” motion.
PEPPER (TO KID): “Sorry, no autographs before the match.”
03.
The kid gives him a funny face, not extending the notebook in the least.
KID: “Who are you supposed to be?”
04.
PEPPER (UNDER HIS BREATH): “Gah! … little brat.”
Continues to walk on toward the building.PAGE 02
01.
A guard at the side door halts Pepper as he tries to go in. He’s holding a clipboard (with a pen attached by a string to the top of the clip).
GUARD: “Name, please.”
02.
PEPPER: “None other than … Precious Pepper Slamowitz!”
Pepper yells this dramatically, striking a pose. (I see stripes and dramatic effects in the background, like in cartoons when someone does something like this.)
03.
GUARD: “Huh, that so?”
04.
Guard looks at the list on his clipboard, not at all impressed by Pepper’s shouting or pose.
GUARD: “Pepper … Pepper … Oh, here, I have a Penney Slamowitz. A Mrs. Penney Slamowitz. One of our female wrestlers, I’m guessing. She your sister or something?”
05.
PEPPER: “It’s Pepper! Do I look like a girl to you?”
06.
A cockeyed glance. The guard points at Pepper’s head with the pen.
GUARD: “Well, with the long hair and all, I could see how the confusion--”
07.
PEPPER: “Just let me in!”
08.
The guard swings the door inward with one hand, waving Pepper through with the other (in an exaggerated, bowing, sweeping motion).
GUARD: “Yes, ma’am.”PAGE 03
Page Setup: I see the left side of the page being a locker room with a few rows of tall lockers (maybe double lockers … Pepper’s can be on the bottom, next to a smelly floor drain or something). Most of the lockers look empty, a few are missing their doors, one of them has a mousetrap inside it. The locker room is old and run-down … a moldy, smelly place that definitely needs a cosmetic pick-me-up.
There are a few benches bolted to the (broken, cracked, and some missing) tile floor, in between the rows of lockers. A bulletin board hangs on the back wall, displaying the night’s matches.
01.
Upon entering the locker room, Pepper immediately gets verbally assaulted by the arena’s producer. He takes a dramatic stare at his watch. He has veins that look like they’re about to pop from his temples. Spitting though his clenched teeth, he begins to yell.
He points a stocky finger toward the door.
PRODUCER: “You’re late, Pepper! You were supposed to be out in the ring nine minutes ago!”
02.
PRODUCER: “Making the fans wait for you only works if you’re the one they came to see! And with your lazy attitude, girly haircut, and lackluster fighting, that will never happen!”
03.
He gets right in Pepper’s face, still screaming his head off. A little of his flying spit lands on Pepper’s cheek.
PRODUCER: “I’ll give you about three seconds to change into that sorry excuse you call a costume, and even less time to get your worthless carcass out there on that mat!”
04.
Turning away, his shoulders slumped, Pepper sighs under his breath. Defeated, Pepper goes to his locker and grabs his gear.
05.
Story jumps to Pepper walking beside the ring. He sees his opponent, a very old and pitiful looking man, standing in the corner of the ring. He's wearing (what looks like) a bath robe, with the name "Geezer McPleaser" embroidered in fancy letters next to the breast pocket.
Three young, beautiful, drop-dead-gorgeous women are flocking around him (on the floor by his corner). The intentions of the women are obvious by their positions (leaning through the robes to touch him, rubbing there fingers on his cheek, etc.) and the amount of close attention they’re giving. One of the girls, a blonde, is sitting close (almost on top) and is playfully running a fingernail down Geezer’s cheek.
A walker is positioned next to the ring, two legs capped with bright, yellow, fuzzy tennis balls. Behind the small group, you can see an oxygen tank on a dolly, with nose-tubes hanging loosely at its sides.
06.
Pepper is completely disgusted, as you can see by his face. It almost looks like he’s about to hurl.
PEPPER: “Gah! That’s disgusting! He’s, like, a hundred and eight!”PAGE 04
01.
Geezer looks over, throwing off his robe. Geezer is wearing what looks like an old one-piece bathing suit out of the early 1900’s, with knee-length leggings and a “suspender style” top. He is a very old man, skinny and sickly looking (with a body like Mr. Burns from The Simpsons).
Spit flies from his open, tooth-deprived maw as he yells.
GEEZER: “This is who’s been making us wait?! You cross-dressing hobo! I’ll teach you to make an old man wait. Now I’m gonna’ miss Matlock!”
[Hahaha … can we really put that in? -d]
02.
BLONDIE: “Come on, baby, don’t get too riled up during the match …”
OTHER GIRL: “Yeah, you promised to wrestle with us after the fight!”
All three giggle.
[You can change Blondie’s “baby” to whatever pet-name you want. -d]
03.
Pepper climbs through the ropes to get into the ring.
PEPPER: “You’ve got to be kidding …” *Sigh* “I better go easy on the old man.”
04.
The bell rings! We see a clock (you can pick what time it is), and then see the big hand changed by about three minutes. The bell rings again!
05.
Back to the ring. Pepper is on the mat with Geezer standing over him. Geezer is pinning Pepper’s shoulders down with the front two (fuzzy tennis ball) legs of his walker!
PEPPER: “How did this happen?!”
06.
Geezer is back in his corner, breathing deep from an oxygen mask, while Pepper shambles out of the ring and back to the locker room.
MISC. PEOPLE FROM THE CROWD: “You suck!” “Get a haircut!” “Worst. Match. Ever.” [Hahaha, I think that’s funny. Would we get sued for it? -d]
It seems as if everyone is laughing at poor Pepper, his head hung low. A man in the crowd, heartbroken, who looks down on his luck, as if he spent his whole lifesavings just to come to this match, mumbles to himself. (The reader needs to feel sorry for him.)
POOR LOOKING MAN: “I want my money back …”
Page Setup: This last part can just be a word box (or flag-looking thing, you know what I’m talking about?) If you have the room, maybe you could put the word-box over a few “snapshots” (Polaroids? Hah!) of shower or sitting on the john, or whatever.
07.
After a heartbreaking and humbling defeat, Pepper returns to the “safety” of the locker room. He hides himself in the back of the bathroom., trying to wash away his shame with a shower, and trying to submerge his defeat like the swirling mess he just flushed down the toilet.
Hours later, after building up the courage to show his face again, Pepper emerges from hiding … only to slink out the back exit.PAGE 0501.
Pepper, back in his normal clothes, is walking down a back alley. He has an envelope (addressed “Wrestling Commission for Mrs. Penney Slamowitz”) in his hand and is looking inside. There is a ten and three fives. The bills look used and crinkled. The ten has a V-shaped cut on the corner, making the 1O look like 1U.
PEPPER: “Gah! Only twenty-five bucks …?”
02.
Coming from the backside of the arena, Pepper finds himself walking down dark, gloomy-looking backstreets. He’s passing a dead-end alley, marked with a crooked “Barber St.” sign hanging from the brick wall. Pepper notices something out of the corner of his right eye.
It appears to be a large mass of shadows--a silhouette of four robed men (one of them really short), surrounding a woman--all huddled about halfway down the alley.
PEPPER: “Huh?”
03.
Over Pepper’s shoulder, the reader will see that the woman has her back against the brick wall, fending off the men with a swinging purse. She is now recognizable as the blonde that was hanging around Geezer.
PEPPER: “Hey, won’t ol’ Grandpa Geezer be a little upset you’re running around on him?”
04.
Pepper’s comment brings five heads swinging in his direction. The shortest of the robed men has a disfigured face, almost non-human. Pepper is a little stunned. His arms go out to the sides in surprise, his knees a little bent, and he just stands there in shock.
Blondie takes another swing with her purse, connects with the side of one of the taller one’s head (due to the fact they’re all staring at Pepper).
BLONDIE: “What are you doing?! Help me, you klutz!”
05.
Pepper rushes forward, plowing right into the middle of the group, and tumbling the robed men like bowling pins.
06.
As one of the men is falling to the ground (his arms and legs flailing about), Pepper grabs him by the ankle and swings to his right (like a left handed batter). Like an awkward baseball bat, the man slams into one of the others.
07.
Pepper releases the man’s ankle, and both of the robed men hit the far brick wall and slump to the ground, one crumpled on top of the other.
08.
During this initial confusion, Blondie hikes up her skirt and hightails it out of there! (Leaving behind a shoe? Maybe one of the big-heeled, stripper-looking ones? A dead goldfish in the see-through heal?)PAGE 06
Page Setup: Save the right edge of the page for the portal. This will lead into the portal being on the left side of page 07. It will look like Pepper not only got sucked through an “even flowing” hole, it will look like he got sucked right through the paper and onto the next page of the comic.
01.
The third tall man, caught completely by surprise, takes a fist right in the middle of his nose. He falls straight back, “flumping” spread-eagle onto the ground.
02.
As the man falls, Pepper (and the reader) is able to see that the short man has retreated to the back end of the alley. Facing toward Pepper, the man stands just before (and below) a metal fire escape on the back wall. He has his arms raised in front of his chest, his hands and fingers only a blur of motion as he calls upon some kind of thaumaturgic power.
He seems to be talking to himself.
SHORT MAN: “Oh man, the boss ain’t gonna’ like this. He’ll kill me if I don’t bring ‘em back a sacrifice.”
03.
He giggles to himself, a weird smirk across his face.
SHORT MAN: “If I weren’t already dead, that is.”
04.
Pepper steps over the man lying unconscious on the ground before him.
PEPPER: “What …?”
05.
The short man looks up at Pepper, a mixture of glee and madness shining in his eyes. He starts to talk to himself again. A portal opens up behind him (full with the Kirby Crackle effect, if you so desire).
SHORT MAN: “But this one’ll be better anyway. The boss prefers the sacrifice to be a virgin!”
06.
PEPPER: “Wait, what?! What makes you think I’m a--”
But the rest of his sentence is cut off as he’s pulled into the portal.PAGE 07
Page Setup: The back end (and opposite facing) portal is on the left side of the page. I see it set up as a mirror image of the portal from the end of page 06. (See “Page Setup” notes from page 06.)
Part 01 can be just the overlapping background of the page, not a panel. Parts 02-A and 02-B could even take place inside part 01. (Make sense?) So 01, 02-A, and 02-B would just be one big section all combined. All three should not take up more than 1/4 of the page.
01.
Pepper falls through the portal, landing face-first. A cloud of red dust and ash, caused by his hard landing, puffs up into the air. He is in a very large cave, the “ceiling” so high it is hard to see. Mountains of pointy rocks, lakes of lava, and smoke are everywhere. Rocky stairs are leading off into weird-shaped openings, or leading off into the distance, miles and miles away.
And waiting in the gloom of all this, there stands a giant beast-looking creature. He is looking down at Pepper with sadistic mirth.
Page Setup: Parts 02-A and 02-B can be the same panel. Have Pepper and his words small on the left side, while the Main BG can be large, and have his words kind of “echoing” over Pepper’s.
02-A.
Regaining his senses, Pepper begins to stand on trembling legs, noticing his surroundings for the first time.
PEPPER: “Huh … what is this place?”
02-B.
MAIN BG: “I saw thee fight my minions in the other realm. I couldst use thee to advance my plans.”
A wicked smile.
MAIN BG: “Or I can waste thee as a sacrifice. Thou may choose.”
03.
Pepper looks up to see the speaker … and his eyes go wide. Tentatively Pepper stutters.
PEPPER: “W-what do you want f-from me?”
04.
MAIN BG: “Kneel unto me, and I will grant thee the greatest desires of thou heart.”
A short pause.
MAIN BG: “In return, thou shalt be my servant.”
05.
Pepper’s eyes narrow, his eyebrows coming down, as he truly thinks about this.
06.
He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, pointing back toward the portal.
PEPPER: “I want to be famous … back home, that is. I want to have it all. Money, fame, girls … everything! The greatest Luchador to ever enter the ring!”
07.
(Little side box.)
SHORT MAN: “Girls? I though he was …”
Shrugs his shoulders.
08.
Pepper starts to lower a single knee, ever so slowly.
When Pepper’s knee is only an inch of the ground, the Main Bad Guy speaks.
MAIN BG: “Yes, thy requests art fulfilled. Thou shalt, for all time, be my--”
09.
At the last possible moment, pepper springs up and forward. In a powerful uppercut, with full follow-through, Pepper punches the main bad guy right in the man-beads.
PAGE 08
Page Setup: The first 1/3 (or maybe even half, if need be) will be used to show Pepper going back through the portal. The rest of the page will be a splash of Pepper in the arena.
01.
The main bad guy’s eyes cross, along with his legs and hands, as he semi-kneels in pain. A shrill squeal escapes from his ugly maws.
Meanwhile (in the background of this scene, running away from the “camera” with his arms raised and flailing) Pepper has turned back toward the portal and is running like away like a little girl!
02.
A shout can be heard from the background.
MAIN BG: “Capture him!”
03.
He points a wicked, curling finger. Right before Pepper reaches the portal, a second shout echoes through the cavern,
MAIN BG: “I will have vengeance, mortal!”
05.
Pepper jumps up, using the short guy’s ugly bald head as a stepping stone, and vaults himself through the portal. To freedom!
06.
The remainder of the page will be a splash of Pepper standing in the middle of a ring. His arms are raised in victory, gold belts around his waist and hanging over his shoulders. His mask and costume are of the same design he had used on pages 02 and 03, but are made of much better material and look more “professional.”
The stadium is filled to almost overflowing with cheering fans. Banners with Pepper’s name (finally spelled right) on them are handing from the domed ceiling and balconies. Confetti and streamers are everywhere. Gifts, flowers, and plush toys are being thrown at Pepper, and they lay all over the ring’s mat.
And Pepper is truly happy.
… for now.
07.
In a small section at the very bottom right tip of the page, we show a hand reaching through a portal.The End
Friday, January 18, 2008
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Currently Reading
Chronicles of the Black Company
By Glen Cook
see related"Sweet, Sweet Special Sauce"
Satheal stood at the counter, his mouth watering as he stared up at the picture of a Super Sloppy Deluxe Bacon Cheeseburger with Special Sauce. He licked his lips, waiting for the woman at the cash register to acknowledge him.
“Welcome to Sloppy Mike’s,” she said after what seemed like hours. “What can I get for ya’?”
“One Super Sloppy Deluxe,” he ordered. “Make it a combo, too.”
“Would you like our Special Sauce on that?” she asked, punching in his order. “We only have it for a limited time.”
Satheal wiped his mouth to keep from drooling. Sloppy Mike’s only sold their Special Sauce at certain times, using it as a commercial gimmick to draw in customers. It had been years since they sold it last, and Satheal was surprised he had been able to make it through life without the sauce for so long. “Yes,” he gasped. “Pour a ton of it on.”
“Of course,” the woman said, smiling at his antics. She pushed a button on the register, causing the machine to spit out a hidden money tray.
Satheal reached in his right pocket only to find it empty. No matter, the wallet must be somewhere else. He reached in his left--empty again! He let out a nervous laugh, patting his coat.
The woman watched his movements as he checked and rechecked every pocket he had. Eventually Satheal allowed the truth, and the bitter coldness of reality, to hit him and gave up the search with an exaggerated sigh.
“Is there a problem, sir?”
Satheal’s face contorted as his mind sorted out all of the nasty things he wanted to say. He dealt with the fact that he wouldn’t get to have the Special Sauce ... oh, that sweet, beautiful sauce that Satheal needed like blood in his veins. His mind calmed, and he simply let out another deep sigh. His shoulders slumped down as he turned and started toward the exit.***
Satheal’s airship floated in a background of clouds, the bottom of its long and spiraled ramp resting on the ground just before his feet. He stared up has his vast ship, which he had named Machinations, before finally walking up the ramp.
Satheal entered the kitchen area of his ship to find his long-time friend, Saébel, sitting at the table. There was a Sloppy Mike’s wrapper unfolded in front of him with drops of Special Sauce splattered all over. Saébel popped the remainder of the burger into his already full mouth, wiping his lips with his sleeve.
“You won’ beweeve ha’ gud diff is!” he said, chewing with puffed out cheeks. A little bit of sauce escaped form his mouth to dribble down his chin. He swallowed, almost choking, as he pointed over to a woman who stood with her back turned. She was leaning over a steaming pot that rested on top of the stove. “Sara almost has dinner ready,” he said, his mouth finally empty.
The woman glanced back at the two men. “I’m trying a new recipe,” she said to Satheal. “I hope you’ll like it.”
Satheal faked a smile. His girlfriend was the best woman he had ever met, but her cooking could churn the four stomachs of a dead cow. “It won’t be any Special Sauce, that’s for sure,” he grumbled.
Sara glanced back again. “What was that?”
“Nothing, honey,” he said, smiling anew. “I’m sure it will be great.”
Saébel stifled a laugh to help keep his friend’s relationship intact. “I hope you don’t mind, but I borrowed your wallet to get one of those new Sloppy Mike’s sandwiches.”
Automatic fury filled Satheal’s eyes. He leaned across the table, moments away from spewing out death threats.
He stopped short as Sara placed a bowl of her “new recipe” in front of him. Saébel lifted some of the soup with a spoon and then let it slowly ooze back into the bowl. “Good thing I already ate,” he said to Satheal.
Satheal slowly shook his head, narrowing his stare. “I hate you,” he whispered.***
Satheal stood in the bridge of Machinations as it floated beside a two-story tall box positioned behind Sloppy Mike’s. He slid open one of the side windows to his left and leaned outside. A loud voice, distorted by static, blasted from the black box. “Welcome to Sloppy Mike’s,” it said. “May I take you order?”
“One Super Sloppy Deluxe,” Satheal shouted back at the speaker box. “And add a lot of your Special Sauce.”
There was a short pause. “Thank you,” the box presently responded. “Pull up to the first window for your total.”
Satheal pushed a lever on the steering panel beside him, causing his giant ship to slowly bounce forward. He reached into his right pocket, pulled out his wallet, and then tightly wrapped his fingers around it. “You’re not getting away from me this time,” he said. He pulled out a small wad of cash, counting it over and over again just to make sure he had enough to pay for his meal. He got lightheaded as he stared down at the money, knowing that his mouth was only minutes away from tasting the sweet, beautiful sauce that his senses longed for. Satheal felt that getting his hands around a sloppy beacon cheeseburger ... drenched in God’s gift to food ... would fulfill all of his purposes in life. He could die happy after this meal.
A young woman leaned out of the Sloppy Mike’s building. “Sir,” she said a little nervously, “I’m sorry, but I just found out that our Special Sauce promotion ended yesterday.”
Satheal’s heart froze for one terrifying moment. He shook his head, knowing that he must have heard the woman wrong. Life could not be this cruel to him. He looked over at the woman, only to find her smiling back at him.
Satheal’s face contorted as his mind sorted out all of the nasty things he wanted to say. This was his second pointless trip to Sloppy Mike’s, and he couldn’t control himself as well as last time. A simple sigh wouldn’t cut it; his anger needed more!
“Dang it!” he yelled. He stood there for a moment, shaking his head and dealing with the facts. “You don’t have any left in there?” he asked, his voice raising in pitch as he turned his question into a plea for help.
The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, but the promotion ended yesterday. I tried putting your order through, but my manager said we weren’t allowed to sell any more Special Sauce.”
Satheal turned away from the window, holding back tears.
“We do have one final promotion for the Special Sauce, though,” the girl said, running her eyes down the exterior of Machinations. “There’s an airship race on the thirty-first of this month, in the town of Korienth. Sloppy Mike’s is a sponsor of the race, so one of the first-place prizes is a year’s worth of Super Sloppy Deluxe Cheeseburgers ... with Special Sauce.”
Satheal’s eyes went wide. “A whole year’s supply!” he said to himself.
“Yes,” the woman responded, thinking it was a question directed toward her. One sandwich every month for a whole year.” She paused for a moment. “But if you aren’t going to order anything else, I’m gonna’ have to ask you to pull on through the ‘Fly-Thru.’”
Satheal pushed a lever, causing his ship to lurch forward, and headed home with high hopes of winning a race--a race that could change his life forever … well, for one year at least.***
Sara walked up to stand behind Satheal after listening to him “fix” the mechanical and electrical workings of the ship for the past few hours. “Hey, hon?” she asked, trying to steal his attention away from a peace of equipment, which in his muffled words seemed to be known as a “blasted pile of crap.”
Satheal took a short pause form what he was working on to turn toward his girlfriend. He slid an oversized monkey wrench into a pocket of his tool belt. The added weight caused the rim of his pants to sag down, giving Sara a lovely view of the elastic waistband that wrapped around his bright red boxers. He held a marred pencil in his teeth, although there were no papers or calculations to be found anywhere around. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “Yeph?” he asked, not removing the pencil from his lips.
“You’ve been making all sorts of racket; banging on this, pounding on that ... not to mention what you've been yelling at your ship whenever you make a mistake. I was just wondering what you were doing. I mean, I’ve never seen you work on Machinations this much before.”
Satheal grinned like a little child, causing the pencil to drop of his mouth. “Pack your bags, baby!” he yelled, “We’re going to Korienth for the big race!”
Sara stood dumbfounded for a moment. “What do you mean ‘pack my bags’?”
“You live in this stupid ship,” Saébel said, entering the room. He pointed back toward the hallway, saying: “I overheard when I walked by. But Satheal, aren’t we flying Machinations to Korienth?”
Sara nodded her head in agreement.
Satheal’s eyes darted around the room. "Yeah, well ... shut up, I have work to do!"
“Pack our bags!” Saébel mocked. “What a moron.”***
Machinations hovered at the starting line, surrounded by thirty-nine other airships that had been placed in the “house-sized” category. Satheal and Saébel stood in the bridge of the ship, looking down at the crowd of people far below them on the ground. They knew Sara was down there somewhere, cheering them on.
“I hope everyone’s ready,” a voice blared from the announcer’s box next to the starting line. “This year’s race is about to begin. The first person to make a complete lap around our city’s outer wall shall be titled “Champion.” Our sponsor is none other than Sloppy Mike’s ... where fast food is at it’s sloppiest!” There was a short pause. “Now for the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” he said, raising a laser gun into the air. “Get ready and ...” He pulled the trigger, sending a red beam into the air which exploded into multicolor fireworks. “... go!”
All forty airships shot forward, soaring through the sky like metal pigeons on speed. Satheal broke free from the cluster of other ships, rounding the first corner of Korienth’s outer wall. After straightening out for the first stretch of the race, he was able to glance around through the bridge’s windows to see the other ships. There were only two in front of him, leaving thirty-seven losers behind in his exhaust.
Satheal pointed to a control panel to his left. “Saébel,” he called out. “Push that thing in!”
Saébel stared at the panel, scratching his head as he looked at all the doodads that cluttered the instrument in front of him. He pointed to a big red button. “This one?” he asked.
Satheal glanced over, afraid to take his eyes off the race for too long. “No, the green thing right there,” he said, pointing again. “The, umm ... you know, the conductor-ism power-thing ... er, generator suppress--”
“You don’t even know what it’s called, do you?” Saébel said, eventually finding the green “thing” Satheal was talking about.
“Just flip the stupid switch!”
Saébel did as he was told, causing Machinations to speed forward. Satheal steered around the two ships in front of him, made the second turn, and then raced down the second stretch.
The wheel shook in Satheal’s grip as they made the third turn, both of the men’s hopes rising with their inevitable victory so close at hand. “We’re winning,” they both shouted.
The final turn was made; the finish line was in sight. Satheal’s mouth started to water as he thought about the year’s supply of Special Sauce cheeseburgers. Finally, his day had come.
But out of the corner of his eye, Satheal could see a black shape starting to fill up one of the bridge’s windows. He turned his head to see a long and slender airship pull up beside him. The ship had a long balance on its front end, making the “nose” stick out by an additional thirty feet or so.
Before he knew it, Satheal was momentary blinded by camera flashes as both ships crossed the finish line. The announcer’s voice filled the air again. “Winning by a nose is Black Bullet, followed by runner up, Machinations. Let’s hear it for our racers!” The crowd went wild with applause.
Satheal fell to his knees, burying his face in his palms, not willing to let Saébel see him weep like a little schoolgirl.***
Satheal went up on the stage to shake the winner’s free hand, his other one full by holding a booklet of coupons to Sloppy Mike’s. Satheal was tempted to just clobber the guy, steal the coupons, and then run off into the night. But he somehow managed to plaster a fake smile onto his face and accept defeat.
“Tell you what,” the winner said. “You go ahead and take the first coupon for being such a good sport.” He handed the top coupon to Satheal, adding: “It expires this month anyway.”
Satheal couldn’t believe it. His fake smile was replaced by a real one. “Thank you,” he said, and then ran off toward his ship.***
The next day, Satheal found himself standing in line at Sloppy Mike’s. He looked down at the coupon in his hands, reading the printed words to himself. “One Super Sloppy Deluxe Bacon Cheeseburger with Special Sauce!” Today would be the end to all his suffering. The Special Sauce would be his, and everything in life would finally fall back into its rightful place. The world was beautiful once more.
“May I help you?” the woman at the register asked. Satheal walked up the counter, slamming the coupon down. He tried to order, but the excitement of the moment hindered his words to “Beacon ... Special Sauce!”
The woman started to punch in the order. She paused as her eyes scanned the bottom of the coupon, her finger raising off the buttons of the register. “I’m afraid this expired yesterday. Today’s the first of the month.” She slid the coupon back toward him. “Is there anything else you would like to order?”
Satheal’s face contorted as his mind tried to sort out all of the nasty things he wanted to say. But he just didn’t care about controlling himself anymore. He leaned his head back, took a deep breath, and yelled at the top of his lungs.
“Son of a--”
“Sir!” the woman called out, cutting him off. She pointed toward the exit. “I’m gonna’ have to ask you to leave.”
Friday, December 07, 2007
-
"Father's Son"
Every day I try to act like my Father's Son, and every day I fail miserably. Like a dog returning to lick up its vomit, so am I returning to my sin.
My head is filled with questions, and I find no answers: Why is the flesh so weak, the eye so lustful, the tongue so sharp, and the mind so dull?
I can feel the filth cover my skin, and I scratch, trying to rid myself of this disease. If only I could peel back the humanly flesh, grasp the evil inside, and rid myself of this cancer that is eating away at my soul. I just want to be free of this torture from within, but the blood on my hands does not easily wash off. I once again dig at my flesh, trying to scratch away the sin, but it only leaves me more broken and bruised. How can this earthly carcass be so filled with evil that it hates the very thought of itself? To hate oneself is the greatest torture, for you cannot escape from the one you flee.
And through all this, I separate myself from the One I love the most. I say "love," but would true love allow for such trivial things to bring separation? God, I wish You would control me, never again allowing me to bring You distress. But You have given me this free will, and I feel it shall be my downfall.
I beg, draw me close and tuck me under Your wing. Hold my arms so I cannot push away. Break my legs so I cannot run. I must rid myself of the things that bring You pain, and if doing so brings harm to myself, then what little cost would that be in the end?
I know what I must do, and my body trembles. Please, hold my fingers steady as I pluck my eye from its socket. Help me master Matthew 6:3 as I slice the flesh of my arm; impede the blood as I cut through sinew and bone alike to separate hand from wrist. I will be blind and maimed, but if it keeps me from sinning against You, it is a small price to pay.
I have sinned against God. I am covered with filth and disgrace, and my inward being is completely broken. I try to pick up the shattered pieces of my heart and soul, but the sharp edges do nothing but cut my fingers. The pieces slip through the blood on my hands, only to fall back to the ground. How can I place myself together when I cannot even hold on to what I need to survive?
How broken must I be before I'm fixed?
It was while in this state of mind that I found myself to be in a vast desert. Immediately to my right lay thin tracks, as if heavy objects had been pushed along in the sand. My eyes followed the trails until I saw shimmering black objects off in the distance. Waves of heat danced along the horizon, hindering my sight. Slowly, for I feared that I might frighten whatever had made the tracks, I started to walk toward the black dots that seemed to dance in and out of dark mirages.
I felt the sand vibrate only a moment before I heard the sound that caused the ground's disruption. I continued to walk toward the objects, having no other option than to allow the vibration to numb my feet and work its way up my legs to rattle my whole being. A constant buzzing sound came from the objects, and as I got closer I could faintly hear the makings of intelligent words. It was as if the objects were singing, and the vibrations were nothing more than their sound waves.
I stopped to listen, staring down at the tracks that they had left behind in the sand. I closed my eyes, straining my ears to their limits … and I could understand the words!
"Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!"
Praises to God! My God! Joy swelled up within my breast, for I had not expected to hear such as this. Forgetting the fact that I might frighten the objects, I opened my eyes and ran toward them, hungry to hear more praises. Their singing sounded sweet to my ears, and it held a beautiful nature that I fear I cannot correctly describe.
The sand continued to vibrate with each quickened step, sending numbness into my feet as if they were asleep. I skidded to a halt behind the objects, accidentally covering their tracks with flying sand. I stared down in shock, not sure if, by chance, I was somehow still seeing a mirage.
The objects were stones! Their singing praise continued, the buzz of their voices almost deafening at this close distance. The stones themselves vibrated, moving across the desert, leaving trails behind in their wake.
And then all stopped. Silence.
"A human!" one of the stones whispered. A small buzz emitted from the rest of the stones, one of them turning to "look" in my direction. They murmured amongst themselves, and I was only able to make out a few of their frenzied whisperings. "... must be silent ... his job now ... praises to the Lord ..."
And all fell quiet. A small wind picked up, playing with the sand around my feet and the now motionless stones.
I stood for what seemed like hours, watching for any movement or noise, but nothing except the wind caught my attention. Skeptical, and slightly hurt in feelings, I moved on toward the far-off horizon. I often glanced back, hoping to catch the stones in movement again, but it was all for naught. Gradually they dipped in and out of the distant heat mirages, until at last they could be seen no longer.
Greatly depressed now, I walked on with my head bowed, kicking the sand as I continued my trek. I altered my course only slightly, when needed, to avoid small sand drifts and to make my way around larger dunes. I'm not sure how long I walked, and it would be wrong of me to try and guess. Any judgment of time I had was lost, and I could have been walking for only minutes, maybe hours, but perhaps even for days. I don't know. I only know that I traveled a far distance, and unless my footprints had not been wiped away by the blowing wind (which I feared they had), there was no way I could find my way back to where I had started. Not that going back would help any, for where I started had been as bleak and hopeless as where I currently stood.
I felt myself start to weaken, and my feet dragged, causing me to stumble every now and again. I was about to give up and sit down on the sand when I saw yet another dark object in a far-off mirage. I could see a vertical line waving in the heat. It was a long way off, and I made myself believe that I had just enough strength to reach it.
And so I dragged my feet, continuing onward. Another unknown span of time passed before I could start to make out any details about the object. There seemed to be a smaller horizontal line that stretched atop the vertical line I had seen earlier. A single mass was positioned where the two lines crossed, and the image of it reminded me of a crucifix. The heat played tricks with my vision, and my eyes watered if I kept them raised toward the horizon for too long. I lowered my head once again, squinting against the bright heat of the desert, and trailed on.
With each step, the object slowly came into focus. And with each moment's passing, the horror that I had been right--that it was, beyond any doubt, a crucifix--became more real. As I slowly got closer, a weight started to pull me to the ground. It took everything I had to keep my knees from buckling under this new burden.
I stopped in front of the cross, my knees bent, arms down, and shoulders slumped under this new weight that was trying to drag me to the ground.
There was a bloody mass of flesh hanging on the cross. It took me a moment before I realized it was the naked corpse of a human. And the only way I could tell it was, in fact, a human was due to the outstretched arms I saw pinned to the cross, and the overall shape of the body. Bones poked out from the torn flesh, though none appeared to be broken, and a spear hung from the dead Man's side. His feet and hands had been crudely nailed to the splintered wood of the cross. His body was torn asunder, and how His insides kept from spilling to the ground shall remain a mystery, for there seemed little to keep them in.
Blood painted the cross and the body. For long moments, the blood seemed to be all I could see. I tore my gaze upward, staring upon what was left of the Man's face. A few small patches of beard remained on His chin and neck, but the hair from His cheeks had been ripped from His flesh, leaving behind swollen bruises and gore. Large thorn vines had been wrapped around and pushed onto the top of His head. They seemed to bore down into His very skull, leaving behind gaping wounds where the thorns had broken off from the tortuous crown.
I saw no eyes, for His face was completely swollen shut.
The burden that had been pulling me toward the ground became too great to ignore any longer. I looked down to see my sin hanging from my clothes in the form of rusted nails. I held a nine-tailed whip in my left hand, bits of broken pottery, rocks, and shards of metal tied to its leather tips. There was a large hammer grasped in my right fist, my knuckles white from the grip I held on its wooden handle. I stood, frightened and revolted by what I saw. I quickly released the whip and hammer, letting them fall heavily onto the sand, and frantically tried to remove the nails that clung to my clothing. Stricken, I looked up to the cross.
"Did I--" I used my sleeve to wipe the tears from my cheek. "Did I do this to You?"
There was no answer. There didn't need to be.
For I knew what I had done.
I dropped to my knees, bowing my face to the sand, and wept. I cried because it was I who beat and whipped the flesh from His bones. It was I who placed Him on the cross. It was I who drove the nails through His wrists. I cried because of the pain I had inflicted upon my Savior. I cried because I had killed the One I love the most.
I cried because of my sin.
Hours passed and my tears fell. Great sobs and wails did I send up to the heavens, and I saw no end to my misery and torment. My stomach churned, and I emptied its content onto the ground before me. I remained prostrate before the cross, and I continued to weep until there was nothing left in me to give.
Immeasurable time later, I started to a sound from above. The cross was gone, and I was left alone in the desert once more. I sat up, surely looking almost as bad as I felt--swollen red eyes, vomit-covered, pale face sprinkled with sand. I felt empty, as if my skin had been drawn close to my bones, and I was nothing more than a hollow vessel. My stomach growled for food, but the mere thought of eating caused me to blench.
I slowly found my feet and stood on trembling, weak legs. The noise that had made me jump earlier sounded again, and I looked to the heavens only to see a large sheet of red covering the sky. It was flat, and started to fall toward the earth on an even, level descent. I watched it fall, and when it struck the crown of my head it burst like liquid, drenching me and the entire surrounding desert. The red ran down my body, and it was only then that I realized what it was: Blood. I was being covered in blood from heaven. I closed my eyes as it slowly ran down my face, covering and staining my clothes, before falling to the sand below.
When all had seemed to settle, I opened my eyes to see the desert pure and clean. The ground was perfectly level, without a drift or dune in sight, and seemed to stretch out forever. I felt the top of my head to find that my hair was much shorter, almost gone. My clothes had been bleached pure white, and my shoes were missing. I stood barefoot, for where I trod was now holy ground.
Before I had much time to debate my new surrounding, I felt a severe tremor shake the earth. Large cracks rent the ground, forming a crater in front and to the right of where I stood. The sand started to fall inward, but then quickly burst out in a shower as the blade of a sword emerged from the hole. The weapon slammed to the ground, and I could see that a gauntleted hand gripped its handle. Out of the hole there came a great Knight covered in brilliant armor. He pulled Himself free from the ground with a great strength that somehow reminded me of a fierce Lion, prowling the lands of Judah. And there, on the front of His armor and shield, were carved the images of a great Lion, and twelve tribal names encircled the images. The Knight's hair and beard were white, thick like sheep's wool, and His eyes burned like star-fire.
There was something oddly beautiful about this Knight. He seemed kingly, gentle, loving, kind. He was a Knight I could kneel before without shame, without fear. And yet, on the other hand, I knew that if an enemy were to take a single glance His way, they would be able to do nothing but stand petrified and helpless.
I was about to speak when I felt a Great Presence hover throughout the air. The Knight looked up to the Invisible Force (unseen to my eyes, at least). There was a voice, but it was too terrible for me to hear or understand. I cowered in its wake, fearful that my life would be stripped from me.
"Yes," the Knight laughed, and it was a beautiful sound. He reached into the breastplate of His armor and retrieved two keys. Holding them up to the Awesome Power, He announced, "I am the First and the Last. I am the Living One; I was dead, and behold I am alive for ever and ever! And I hold the keys of death and Hades."
There was an answering voice yet again too much for my human ears to conceive, and then the Knight turned toward me. And for a moment, as if I was seeing another mirage of the desert, I thought I saw the Knight take the shape of a blood-covered Lamb. But before my eyes could adjust to this new image, the Knight stood before me in full.
And knowledge came to me. I knew this Knight. Tears sprang up to my eyes, and I fell to my knees before Him. This is the One I hung on the cross. This is the One my sin had killed ... and yet I knew He had died willingly. He took my place, erasing my sin forever. Through my tears of sadness and confusion, I was able to sob a single question. I wanted to ask so much, but I could only make out a single word. "Why?"
The Knight laughed. But it was a beautiful sound, and it lifted my spirits, for it was not a laugh of humor, or taunting, or amusement … it was a sound that proclaimed more than words could ever say. "Why, my child?" He laughed again, and my heart rose within me, picking me up to my feet. "Love."
I fell as if I were dead and began to worship. I sang praises, repeating the words I remembered the stones had sung. It was now my job to worship my Lord. And throughout my praises, the image of a slain Lamb flickered between reality and vision.
I sang until my throat was hoarse. I did not want to ever stop, but my body was spent and my voice was gone. I slowly sat up, trying my best to soak in His radiance. And I was happy to just be in the presence of the One I love the most.
Time passed yet again, unable to be measured. I started to ask a question, whispering it out with my spent throat. "What shall You have me do?"
He pointed, and behind me on the sand was an open journal, the pages blank. A pen rested nearby, so I sat and started to write.
"Every day I try to act like my Father's Son ... and even though I fail miserably, I'm covered in the blood of the Lamb."
---------
Verses Quoted:
Luke 19:38 (NIV)
Revelation 1:17b-18 (NIV)
Spawndragon
-
- Name: derrick
- Birthday: 7/12/1983
- Gender: Male
- Member Since: 12/6/2004
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