The Second Coming (part 1) (standard:science fiction, 4504 words)
Author: Spotlight	Added: Mar 13 2002	Views/Reads: 3364/2336	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The story of Dick and his encounter with Jesus in Baltimore. (for those uninterested by that simple description, there's aliens, blood, and drunk people... thank you) [a 3-part narrative]

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

faith that pain hurts.  I have faith that water is wet and dogs bark 
sometimes and people wear trench coats in the rain and my teeth need to 
be brushed to stay clean, and in me, you, that building, pork chops, 
raspberries." 

Dick suddenly stopped as if waiting for Jerem's response as they turned
a corner to a tighter alleyway.  "Yep." 

"Well, that's a damn lot for me, especially the heart thing!"  He
paused, visibly thinking. 

"Personally, I have trouble with faith in pork chops myself." 

After a stuttering silence, "Have you ever just wanted a sign?  Just one
sign to let you know that you are totally and absolutely right.  Every 
month I'm gettin' those popular science mags, and the stuff they think 
about would've been crazy even twenty years ago!  I'm gettin' signs 
from people, but not from any god.  I really just want to "know" one 
way or the other, what is right to believe, what is wrong." 

"Gods not a fan of fireworks and big cartoon arrows." 

"For a second, " they each slowed to a stop, heated conversation and
walking too much for both to comprehend, "stop bein' a bitch and think. 
Does god really exist?" 

Jerem decided to indulge him, laying sarcasm aside for one moment. 
"Yes, I believe he does.  And yes, I do happen to believe in Christ and 
his death, and the Bible and oh yes, I believe in the Trinity." 

"See, faith again.  Ever been hit by lightning?" 

"No, god likes to show me his wrath through my wife." 

"Har, har.  God should really hit you with lightning anyway, you're a
dork and you smell." 

"Maybe you should pray for it to happen.  Mr. Faithful."  Jerem
chuckled. 

Dick fell to his knees, mockingly putting his hands together in an
elaborate gesture of reverence.  "Oh god, please, please give me a sign 
you exist...  preferably a lightning bolt... you know who."  Dick 
laughed, and found his feet again.  "Well..." 

Jerem was looking to the sky. 

"Hey, bud, just a joke.  Don't worry..."  Dick followed Jerem's
transfixed gaze and saw the star-like object piercing through the fog.  
With a twinkle, the Baltimore street began to feel the light like a 
sunrise, the gray sidewalks whitening, the shadows of the lone gazers 
growing longer.  The light streamed closer, the brilliant whiteness 
enveloping the sky, intensifying in power and fully encompassing the 
world around them.  So magnificent was the sight that Jerem and Dick 
fell to their knees, their arms to the side in shock, unable to shield 
their eyes from the ever-growing star.  Somehow their vision was 
spared, the lights so absolute and white in color, so brilliant and 
searing with perfect, saintly beauty, left no spots in their eyes, no 
trailing lines. 

As the star grew closer still, they beheld the vessel's cloud-like
appearance, moving naturally as if blown by a stiff breeze.  The clouds 
tumbled like cotton balls, stretching like taffy and illuminated with 
light that appeared to exist forever in space.  Stairs of marble 
descended to the Earth, their surface an ice, polished, mirroring the 
thick white, yet shadowed as if heavenly exempt from natural laws.  
Gently the stairs touched the ground, appearing real and solid, 
whirling currents of white flowing like electricity around them.  A 
gate of pearl swung open from the apex of the stairway, as a man 
dressed in white robes materialized less then thirty feet from where 
they stood.  His hair was long and golden even in the surrounding 
light, and his eyes a glossy sky-blue. 

A voice suddenly cracked through the air like thunder, the words spoken
slowly.  "This is my beloved son, in whom I have entrusted the world.  
Hear him." 

Dick and Jerem's eyes never swayed, but a crowd had gathered along the
street to gaze in amazement at the glorious sight before them.  The 
man, with delicate practice, lifted his arms, first his fingers exposed 
from the robe, then his hands, the palms scarred deeply.  His voice was 
not as much coming from his lips, but emanating from the world around 
them. 

"I am Jesus of Nazareth, the child of Blessed Mary, the son of the
almighty God.  I have borne the sins of the world upon my shoulders in 
the garden of Gethsemane.  I have lived the ideal mortal existence, an 
innocent lamb sacrificed for the salvation of thy souls.  And as I once 
promised, I have come again to release the souls of all who wish 
forgiveness.  I stand before the gates of heaven with twelve of my 
apostles, the witnesses of the most perfect ministry.  For forty days 
and forty nights, the gates shall be opened.  For forty days and forty 
nights, there will be no evening shadows nor sunshine from above.  For 
forty days and forty nights, I will welcome sinners and righteous alike 
with open arms, allow all to see for themselves the splendor of 
righteousness, if thou whilst only walk with thy savior upward through 
the pearly gates.  I give thee free will, as it has been given man from 
the beginning.  Choose.  For thy god is merciful and I am but his 
humble servant to dwell with thee on Earth.  I am but a shadow in his 
glorious presence.  Blessed be his exalted name most high, forever and 
ever!  Amen." 

And with those words said, the scene was again silent, his arms holding
the same position.  Heartbeats thumped in the throats of every person 
throughout the world, Dick and Jerem regarding the magnitude of the 
visage before them. 

When Jerem's rough leather boot clopped against the white marble
staircase, the sound echoed through the town.  He tested his weight, 
feeling the solid echo of a second foot against the hard marble.  Wind 
and clouds swirled and swished his moist jeans at the ankles, his 
reflection mirrored against the polished stone.  He felt the eyes of 
the world at his back, the crowd unable to move, and the infinity 
residing in the blue eyes of Jesus, the face a warm smile.  There was 
an electricity beneath each step he traversed, the marble coursing with 
life, his clothes beginning to wave with an unseen wind ahead.  The man 
robed in vicious white, slowly stretched his hands toward Jerem, and 
with shaking fingers, unsteady eyes, Jerem felt the scars, hideously 
deep, yet reassuring, comforting, soft, and warm with blood.  The hands 
spread apart, and Jerem, tears streaming down his face, fell forward 
into his savior's arms, who embraced him as a loving brother meeting 
again after two-thousand years.  He felt tears against his own 
shoulder, then a small kiss to his cheek when he retreated, the two at 
arm's length, staring glossy-eyed at each other's smiles. 

Jerem turned to Dick and almost floated down the stairs to reach his
hand.  But, Dick shook his head, rubbing his eyes to the excited man in 
front of him.  "I... I must be dreaming.  There is..." 

"How is this for a sign?  Come on."  Jerem tugged at his hand, pulling
it to his chest.  "I felt him.  It is real.  Your sign.  Your sign!" 

Dick pulled away, "No, no, no no."  He staggered backwards and fell. 
"Jerem, th-there must be..." 

Jerem reached for his hand, "Come.  Come with me."  A stream of people
passed the two, their struggles disappearing into the crowd of feet. 

"I'm drunk, I'm drunk.  I... I can feel th-the al-co-hol, I'm drunk." 
The ground soaked his pants, people splashed drops of mud across the 
two of them, he shook with his words.  "There must be some 
explanation..." 

"How can you be so INSANE?  You asked God to show you a sign!  Here it
is!  What else do you want him to do?  Heaven!  Heaven is right there, 
Dick!  Come on!"  Again Jerem grabbed at Dick's hand, but the hand 
slipped from his grasp.  Dick had his arms in front of his face as he 
scrambled against the crowd.  Standing in blank-faced astonishment, 
Jerem watched his friend push people out of the way like a snowplow.  
Soon the man was out of sight, charging through the crowded streets.  
Jerem lingered for a few seconds, before a grin lit his face and he ran 
alongside others to the vast whiteness stretched beyond the pearly 
gates. 

*** 

Eight hours of exclusive coverage and Dick was glued to the couch,
clicker in hand, flipping through channels every few minutes, eyes wide 
open without caffeine.  He was still shaking.  Scientists, religious 
experts, first-hand witnesses flooded the airwaves, each pushing a new 
theory related to the sudden apocalyptic world and the simple choice at 
hand.  Pope ---------- II, was filmed at seven embracing Simon in 
Northern Italy, where the apostle's gate was then traversed by the 
glorified Catholic leader.  Satellite photos showed thirteen individual 
points of light, which radiated across the Earth, while news companies 
scrambled to be the first to cover each.  In the United States, sinners 
flocked to the two gates, one in downtown Baltimore, the other, under 
John's control in the visitor's center parking lot of the Salt Lake 
City temple.  Vandalism reports numbered in the millions, while violent 
crime rates plummeted.  All flights to Baltimore were instantly 
overbooked for the forty days, some tickets selling for over 5,000 
dollars.  And two blocks away from Dick's one-bedroom apartment, the 
stationary cloud illuminated the room through sealed blinds, to the 
extent that no shadows could be seen. 

Dick was frightened speechless, but he knew he was right; it was too
good to be true.  His thoughts were filled with anger, suppressed and 
boiling in the back of his head; anger at the stupidity of the flock, 
anger at mindless humans falling into line, walking blindly into 
oblivion.  Why was he to humble himself, when it was obviously a farce? 
Reporters sickly jammed as many crazy dissenters as possible onto the 
airwaves within the next few hours.  Drunkards who shook their fist at 
god, religious fanatics, scientists studying and debating and studying. 
 "It was like an ECM, but controlled... all electronic devices tuned to 
broadcast the voice of Christ."  "Light, without heat, without 
spectrum, bouncing off every piece of solid matter, like rich white 
paint."  "Where are the horsemen?  What metaphor did I misunderstand?  
This isn't Revelations, it's a test, a sham.  It's Satan's work!"  "He 
said there'd be no doubt in our minds when he returned.  He said we 
would know for a certainty.  I know someone is there, but am I damned 
crazy to fear those steps?" 

He said there'd be no doubt in our minds.  And he stared at the screen,
watched hundreds piling up the marble steps, noting the hypocrisy of a 
video camera itself, working perfectly, clearly, in the face of light 
so brilliant, so luminous.  He wanted to pace, to talk to himself, to 
get some fresh air into his system, but he sat expressionless, sinking 
deep into the plush love seat, eyes bloodshot, dilated.  Another few 
hours and he could feel the grimy oil of sticky sweat, clinging to the 
curves of his face, hairs of his forearm spiking on goosebumped skin. 

He said we would know for a certainty.  Dick had never read the Bible. 
He appreciated it, as a musician appreciates the innovations of 
classical music, for the inspiration;  he hated its passive, humble, 
fearing teachings and the spotty, vague, boring prose.  It fulfilled 
that primal, stupid human urge to take the brunt of life with a smile, 
so that in the end, the hard worker takes those marble steps to heaven. 
He hated the naivety, the unquestioning obedience. 

He couldn't tell if he was blinking, the light invading his eyelids.  It
was claustrophobic, encompassing, whiteness gnawing into his sleep.  
Restlessly, he poured bowls of almost invisible cereal, taste buds 
misunderstanding the signals, crumbs disappearing into the cotton 
across his stomach.  The television talked endlessly, the only color, 
the vague tans and browns of people and clothes encircling the 
stairways.  Perfect white around the screen.  White on the walls, on 
the floorboards, on his hands, spoons, bowls, milk jugs, white on his 
trench coat slumped behind him, white below him, above, like an insane 
asylum, like a modern art piece, white underneath his fingernails, 
white in the crumbs underneath his fingernails.  It made him sweat, 
made him search for the thermostat and turn it down, till his sweat 
made him shiver, weighted his hair.  He said there'd be no doubt in our 
minds. 

And the days closed him in his chair, weighted his eyes, white and
bloodshot white.  He could not drive, barely saw the outline of the 
street from his window.  The sleep-deprivation only sealed his 
conviction, looked with slitted eyes toward heaven, feet upon the 
armrest.  Watched the ticking clock on the television, watched the 
date, counted down.  The flock can go, watched happy blank white faces. 
No doubt in his mind.  38......37......36......35...... 

*** 

The rifle was from K-mart, abandoned with other sporting goods towards
the back corner.  It's stalk of hickory, grainy white-brown, nestled in 
his armpit, hanging barrel to the ground.  The metal was slick and cool 
against his sweaty hands, a breeze lifted stray scraps of paper 
tumbling across the pavement.  It was almost three in the morning 
again, forty days and forty nights after his foggy wish, and the ground 
was dry, smooth, echoing his boots, an unmanned video camera, steady, 
recording on the sidewalk, pointing towards the marble stairs.  He was 
walking stiffly down the center of the street (all those with fragile 
minds entering the gates nearly three hours ago) and now just one 
hundred feet of white between the two men.  His trench coat flapped 
with the unnerving wind, his movements the only sound in the air, the 
moment like slow motion. 

With open arms, his savior beckoned him closer, surrounded in
perfection, his clothes and hair stationary in the air currents 
circling him.  Dick had something to prove, he had something concrete 
to prove.  No more theories, no more television.  No more feeling 
through the haze of Earthly existence blindly, he had something to 
prove to himself.  His last halting steps reverberated in his forehead, 
beads of oil dripping, outlining his temples, curling through stubble 
gray against his chin.  His left foot planted itself two feet in front 
of his right, grinding soft dirt as he placed it at an angle.  He was a 
body length from those marble stairs, and could watch his reflection, 
painted white with light, lift the gun and press the butt firmly in the 
joint between his shaking arm and firm shoulder.  A click, the safety 
lever, shook his entire body, oscillating its sound waves in his ears.  
"This is not heaven," he said, low, almost a whisper, gripping the 
stalk.  "There is no heaven."  Jesus never wavered in his stance, did 
not answer. 

"There is no hell."  The chamber was ready, one bullet.  He only
intended on one shot, one chance.  "There is no hell."  His right foot 
shifted, scratching sand, his right hand teasing the trigger.  "There 
is no hell."  He was chanting it now, to believe, to aid his aim, to 
steady his arm, to quiet his screaming mind, to prove to himself the 
truth.  "There is no hell."  Sweat trickled down his cheek, centimeters 
from the cold metal, sighting the two notches together, matching, 
pointing to the center of the sky blue eyes. 

The blue eyes moved.  The arms rested to the sides.  Dick hesitated,
following his savior as he turned almost militarily and began his 
ascent.  The steps were slow, calculated, like a king, robes stretching 
and relaxing.  Dick's left fingers tensed, the right heated the metal 
forcefully below his index finger grazing the thin curve.  His head was 
level with the bottom of the gate, but steadily climbing. 

The sound burned in his ears. 

The vibrating gun dropped to the floor, smoke wafting from the tip. 
Jesus slumped forward onto the marble in a heap, pieces of metal 
covered in blue liquid splattered and rolled down the steps.  The blue 
blood gushed from the gaping wound in the neck that cracked and 
sparkled with electricity.  Some was sprayed like a mist across the 
gates, individual drops easily visible against the pure white backdrop. 


A voice suddenly cracked through the air like thunder, "I am Jesus of
Nazareth, the child of Blessed Mary, the son of the almight..."  A 
violent feedback whine, buzzed and clicked, and those who remained on 
Earth covered their ears.  It cut off with a pop as quickly as it had 
begun.  Some shuffling quickly overshadowed the silence, then a softer, 
timid voice, speaking the words with a heavy slur. 

"We're sorry... umm... goodbye, human race." 

The cloud folded upon itself, floating five feet in the air, the lights
around the world disappearing, almost blinding Dick with darkness.  
But, the metal ellipse that formed spun in the streetlamp light, 
spiraling with folds and ridges until effortlessly it skimmed away like 
a shooting star. 

After a minute, Dick grinned, chuckling with laughter, "at least they
apologized." 

*** 

The mysteries of the universe still seemed to elude Dick's comprehension
as the years passed and he made no objections.  With his famous 
discovery viewed around the world, there was a sort of venerable 
respect given to him wherever he went.  Even the majority of people who 
stayed behind for Earthly wealth or power, protected him from the 
natural and manmade disasters that the next five years brought, 
elaborately feeding his wants and desires. 

Jerem was wrong and out there somewhere kidnapped by aliens... the fool.
 Dick was proud, and lived in luxury, apart from the suffering of the 
world.  His societal morality laxed, and he married ten times to ten 
different trophy wives of exceeding beauty, who worshipped him for a 
piece of his wealth and political power.  Each woman died of unforeseen 
circumstances when he had grown weary of their company, and he enjoyed 
hacking them up, piece-by-piece. 

He believed in nothing, and it was extremely relaxing. 

At the end of five years, when a violent earthquake had deluged
California into the sea, and New York was set ablaze, burned to ashes, 
the sky was once again flashed with immeasurable whiteness.  Dick was 
sleeping in his bedroom, a half-mile underground, a precaution that had 
many times saved his life during the major battles on Earth.  When he 
sat up with his heart beating rapidly, his two most recent love 
conquests were at his sides, mimicking him.  The room rumbled and 
cracked along the lead walls, gold-rimmed paintings of hardcore sex 
fell from their hooks, and with gut wrenching screams, their three 
individual bodies were torn apart like fortune cookies. 

He was suddenly alone as he exploded through the roof, feeling no pain
and corkscrewing upward through layers of rock and soil, at a speed 
that sent him hundreds of feet into the air when the ground broke into 
the sky.  His servants and lovers, gushed upwards through the Earth 
after him, naked, all flailing helplessly, spun listlessly in the same 
general direction. 

He zoomed jerkily through clouds, a hummingbird through the sky green
with radiation, the ground skimming by at a tremendous rate.  Other 
souls joined them and converged into a stream, millions of people 
dressed in skin, the leftovers of the world population. 

Then, they could see it. 

The pearly gates.  The real pearly gates open, as the doors to a temple.
 A lone trumpeter in gold stood at the top and the sound was deafening, 
with a million different notes harmonizing into one, the sound of gold, 
the sound of splendor the eye cannot begin to imagine.  Peace entered 
their hearts as they felt the ground near their feet, the measured 
pulses of the gates like a beating heart to the Earth, like a mother's 
womb, like floating in warm water.  And Jesus stood beside Peter, a 
corona of white light accenting their features, as they laughed, 
nudging each other with elbows, sharing a joke. 

Some were entering the whiteness ahead, marveling at the hallway beyond,
the floors changing and merging into patterns of artistic beauty, the 
final achievement of the fourth dimension before their eyes.  The 
144,000 were clothed in robes, moving with grace, leaving trails in the 
eye, and some were flapping like colorful birds, soaring between doors 
on the ceiling.  Stairs spiraled sideways as escalators, then twirled 
downward diagonals at a whim, and music, rising and falling, tuned to 
resonate, to break glass and pierce the ear, yet soothing morphine to 
the muscles, oscillating warmth deep inside the bones. 

Dick strode ahead of the huge crowd by a small margin, feeling the sense
of finally breaking through to the ultimate truth.  It was his deathbed 
conversion; no longer a sense of denial, no longer the earthly feeling 
of gravity, only vibrations of ecstasy tingling down his spine.  His 
feet were soft sponges, his body alive with taste and smell.  Fine wine 
poured through his fingers, fresh mossy grass at his heels, thick honey 
lined his stomach, misty seawater spritzed his chest, all lingering 
delicately, an ever-changing sensory perfume.  He laughed out loud, 
wanting to skip and cartwheel through the open gates stretching into 
the sky like the tallest skyscrapers. 

"Oh, Jerem!"  he thought.  "You missed out buddy.  You were so fucking
stupid!" 

The gates slammed closed before him, engulfed in flames. 

*** 

Dick awoke in his apartment, standing, leaning against the wall. 

He screamed as something bit him in the leg. 

The floorboards bent and swayed like snakes, two nails were imbedded in
his leg where they had struck.  He leaped for his bed and slipped 
through it like a ghost, landing hard on the wooden planks.  The bed 
was soft against his back, pushing him to the floor, making him army 
crawl across sandpaper floorboards.  Again he stood, but his arm fell 
off, leaped over the sofa, jumping and hitting the switch to turn on 
the television.  The television showed a picture of a cow while the 
announcer screamed, "Thats gotta hoit!", and again, and again, and 
again.  Dick ran over to the sofa, which grew a long tongue, and was 
trying to eat his hand, but stopped halfway there since he could not 
breath oxygen anymore.  There was a knock on the wall, and an old lady 
yelled, "Shut up in there!" as the wall began to change into purple 
with avocado polka dots.  A teddy bear materialized out of a floating 
fruit loop that was swept into a corner three months ago and danced to 
the TV's announcer while punching Dick in the crotch until he could 
breath again.  The cow on television ate a box of nails covered in 
chocolate.  The bed turned into a dragon with large breasts, who was 
holding a sign that said "bed", but was really offended by the word, 
snorting and whipping itself with a spiky tail.  Dick collapsed to the 
floor now filled with tall grass, wrapping his legs Indian style, his 
feet being attacked by his severed arm, which was now a fuscia Labrador 
puppy missing its teeth. 

There was no "real truth" anymore, nothing to ever have faith in, and he
knew it. 

He cried his eyes out... 

...and they rolled across the floor. 

Copyright Spotlight 2002...  ---More to come in The Second Coming Part
2---  [any feedback, comments, votes, hatemail, pornographic website 
reccomendations, are always welcome]


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