Mystic, thanks for stopping by!
Mizfan, appreciate it man. i think that's the theme that runs across most of these.
Here's something I've started. Some themes are Mercy vs. Strength and Testing oneself.
Essence Keep
Act I. Baddies and Goodies
“Mercy…Mercy! What’s going on—” He thought, when awakening to red carpet rushing beneath him.
Carpet? Underneath his feet?
Yes. Carpet. For five years he observed only cement floors. Though here, cut and loop pile yarns formed dragons from wall to wall. In bewilderment after being spat out deep sleep’s mouth, he made out the fibers depicting the winged, fire breathing devils. That’s until from his head, loose locks draped over his face. Loose Locks?
Long hair? On him?
Yes. Black strands. They stretched from the bottom of his follicles, but these hairs belonged not to him. After maneuvering it with his head, he caught white boots hastening him toward golden doors with an image on them: another dragon. The doors automatically parted. What was going on around him? With him? He sensed big biceps in arms that extended from him.
Muscular arms…?
Yes. The guns his captors squeezed behind his back hulked like Samson’s. These guns belonged not to him, either. From the shock of this he formed no words. However, he breathed heavily, acquainted with none of the place, none of himself. Acquainted only with the cuffs’ pinch against his wrists.
After moving through the doorway, in front of him stood a desk with nunchucks on it, an action figure on it, a clear tablet, only made visible by airwaves, on it, and a periwig on a head stand on it… The man behind it must be a child, must be a fighter; must be proficient with software and fashionable with the returning, stylish headpieces. The man behind the desk sat in his young age, maybe forty. His hairline receded back, revealing most his balding head.
And the man introduced himself as Nelson Strong, and Nelson ordered the guards to remove the shackles. This, the prisoner considered a great act of compassion. From Nelson’s sanctioning, one of the two helmeted guards pressed a button on their wristband. This technology the prisoner knew too well. Insomuch, he felt grace as the torques on his hands released themselves. When that which bonded him clanked against the floor, joy nearly sprung up and wet his eyes.
He’d have thanked Nelson, but felt to in wonderment of his own tanned, ripped arms. He perceived the muscles in his shirtless chest and abs through touch and the strings of his hair and their greasiness through clasping them. He observed on his ligaments black, baggy pants over tall, wine-red boots. “What have you done to me?” He said.
“Nothing we can’t undo,” Nelson said, smiling. “But first, I would like to discuss your background and go over what we’re looking for at Essence Keep.”
“Essence Keep? I’m not at the United Nations Penitentiary?”
“That’s a complex question,” Nelson said, still smiling. “But I promise it will be solved. What’s your name?”
The man answered, “Pastor Richard Spalding.”
One of the two guards laughed under his helmet-mask. “Richard Spalding? Nelson, he’s got a dick and balls in his name!”
Spalding threw his arms up in the guard’s direction. “Officer, your tongue!”
Nelson admonished, “C’mon, Trevor, he said he’s a preacher. You have to respect people’s backgrounds.”
“Please tell me what’s going on!” Pastor Spalding pleaded.
Nelson replied, “You know it’s only been half a century since scientists accepted the facts of essence? You pastors were thousands of years ahead of the game.” He nearly leaned all the way over the desk in how remarkable he found that to be.
Spalding nodded and said “Essence… My essence is here but my body—”
“Back at the prison, waiting for that which you had within to return, so that they can inject you. Put your body and essence down together.” He sighed and said, “Not saying I agree with that.” After a reverent silence, he continued, “Who’d you kill, Pastor? You seem like too reasonable a guy to be whacking people.”
With nothing to lose, Spalding blurted back, “I pleaded not guilty. Not guilty, I pleaded, for the murders of Deacon Darcy and his wife, Sister Joyce. Not guilty for the murder of that young man, Troy Sutton, who took to the alter that night. For Brother Hezekiah. Not guilty for any of the twelve! God bless them, for they believed in His provision until their last breaths! I’m only guilty of trusting my God during a virus pandemic and opening His doors for His children. And now, now my faith is under attack!”
“So, you assembled your congregation during the snake flue of 2116, in spite of everything we’ve learned about viruses in the last one-hundred years?” Nelson said, swiping notes with his finger into his electronic force field Tablet.
The Pastor observed this, hardly ever seeing anyone swipe letters in a world where documents are spoken into devices. And he also drew in the well-versed Nelson’s knowledge of history. Then, he replied, “I take it you’re somebody aware that in the previous world, our nation was one that had the freedom of worship.”
Nelson nodded and said, “But doesn’t even the Bible say to honor your bodies? How do square that with risking everyone’s health?”
Spalding scowled down and said, “Let’s skip the part where I school you on the Word, and how about you tell me why you brought me here. Why have you chosen me for your Essence Keep?”
“I believe in second chances,” Nelson said. “We can give that to you here. I’m sure you’ve heard of us. What we do.”
“I’m in some kind of simulation.”
“That’s right. And you’re going to do battle with others like you. The upside is you stay here for however long the audience digs you!”
“I haven’t been in a fight since I was a college boy. God help me, that was over four decades ago!”
Nelson smiled and said, “You’ll have a trainer.”
“If I say no, then what?”
Nelson shook his head. “You’ll return to your body, and they’ll execute you. But that doesn’t have to happen. These opportunities don’t just come for no reason, Pastor.”
Spalding dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Yes, Lord,” he said, shivering. He stood up in glee, holding both hands above his head. “Yes, what a speedy answer and what a powerful, powerful link to heaven!” Now he gazed into Nelson’s eyes and smiled. “I will stay here, for it’s not you who’s torn down this path for me, but it’s… God! I don’t understand this yet, but I hear Him telling me, He’s not threw using me!”
Nelson smiled back. “Great. Now, do me a favor and check out your avatar. There’s a mirror behind you across the room.”
In tall wavy particles, the pastor’s reflection pushed his hair back and gazed at high cheek bones, thick eyebrows, and an Indian tan. Who? Who made this temple? Nelson Strong, the great artist and director? Well, he cut up every piece of this figure to define its strength. “Can you please give me a shirt to clothe this vessel with,” he said.
“First, you must fold down the waistband on your pants,” Officer Trevor insisted.
Upon folding it down, he revealed two distinct lines heading south.
“Dick root!” Trevor yelled. “Dick… Root! Don’t say Nelson never gave you anything!” Trevor, under his mask, squealed in laughter, while Nelson failed to hold his own giggling back, causing his laughing to extend along with Trevor’s.
“Pure vanity!” The pastor replied, perplexed at his mirror image.
“Trevor, Shawna, show Pastor Richard his floor; and have him meet his trainer.”
Following Trevor and Shawna down the hallway, the pastor ordered, “They’ll be no more speak of your favorite four-letter word, its root, or anything else to do with it in my presence. Are we clear?” The automatic doors closed behind them.
“Trevor says what Trevor says,” Shawna replied. “I tried telling him to shut his hole a long time ago, and he just said, ‘which one.’ Keep up, Spalding! This isn’t a tour.”
They came to several elevators with the dragon symbol on them. Shawna pressed a key on her wrist to part the center one’s doors. Down in B3, the pastor recognized the hard cement feel, as it felt like the penitentiary with bad lighting and no windows. Through a long tunnel were force fields with rooms behind them.
“You know, maybe he’s a baddie,” Said Trevor to Shawna, while ahead of the pastor. “Self-righteous, ceremonious, preachy, annoying.”
“That call’s above your pay grade,” Shawna replied.
“What do you mean, ‘baddie?’” Spalding said.
“Baddies are the despised, revered, hated by the audience.” Trevor said.
“Goodies are the loved, admired, cheered.” Shawna added.
“How can one be a, uhm baddie? From what Nelson said, survival is based on if we’re received by the crowd or not.”
“Love and hate are two sides of the same animal,” Trevor said, coming to a stop. “All Nelson cares about is if you make them feel something. That’s what brings the civilians to the show.”
The Pastor nodded his head. The hallway ended with only one room straight ahead; a blue, clear field stood in front of a round passageway.
“This is where you get off. Just walk right up to the forcefield, and it will let you pass. We set up your face recognition, already.” Shawna said. “Trevor and I are the floor officers. We’re responsible for all the performers down here. Go meet your roommates, then, you will have a training session.”
Roommates? The pastor etched forward, with this surprise whispering a thought in his mind. And the whispers raised to shouts. Hence, with each movement, his surprise became more and more a concern. He couldn’t help but think that—
But while this thought processed, the blue current swallowed his feet and body. Still with cement under his boots, he saw two sets of bunkbeds and an enormous bed in the center of the room. He cringed at a demon tied up, sickly thin, showing all the bones in its ribs. Broken wings, large eyes, and horns completed this thing. At the table across from it, convened a tall bird man with human, facial features, including a wide nose enclosed by hard frown lines, over a scowling fat mouth. Feathers extended out his face and arms. A goat man, who shared the bird man’s exact mean mug stood over them with a shotgun revolver aimed at the tied-up demon. On top of one of the bunkbeds a long-bearded gnome babbled to himself bout some math problem.
He evolved the thought, which crawled in his mind, from a caterpillar into a bat flying into all corners, making him anxious. All these avatars had the essence of murderers inside them. And here one had a gun directed at another. He’d dealt with this kind at the penitentiary, but that’s not an environment quite as free.
The goat man frowned at him and said, “who is you?”
“Pastor Spalding.”
“You the new roommate?” The goat man said.
“Yes, do you mind putting the gun down. Mercy! Lord!”
“What if I want to shoot this here imp. Preachers don’t like imps, do they?”
“There’s a person inside there! Mercy!”
The bird man at the table laughed, “There’s a person in there.” He said and repeated, “A person in there.” He yelled out, “He just got here, and he’s telling us there’s a person in there!”
The bound up imp kept strong, holding a face that almost looked as if he could laugh.
The goat man waved the barrel in the Pastor’s face. This reflexed an instinct out the pastor, while a forgotten memory flashed. He saw himself in college, wearing spandex and headgear, flipping over his man. And without hesitance, the weight of the goat man went on his shoulders and onto the floor. And, the preacher had apprehended the gun with the force of his avatar’s hand.
“Now, I got a question for you all,” the pastor said, while untying the scrawny demon. “I need to know who—who among you have repented for their sins?”
The bird man, in his chair, and the goat man, who just leaped back to his feet, looked pissed.
The gnome got louder and louder with his equations, going into a nervous fit.
The now freed demon made eye contact and laughed.
“None of you,” the pastor said, frowning.
Spalding kept his grimace as he marched down the hallway towards the officers. But he heard someone behind him say, “Hey! Hey!” with a voice not brave enough to rise to a scream. He turned around and saw the thin demon hustling behind him. Then, he looked up with two eyes so large they took up half his face. Matter fact, he was only eyes, horns, broken wings, knees, and elbows when he said, “Thanks for the help in there. Nobody’s ever stuck up for me before.”
The Pastor said, “sorry.” As he spoke, he noticed the demon laughing but also understood it to be some sort of involuntary tick, therefore, he continued saying, “May God have mercy on you, son. But I’m not rooming with baddies.”
He left the demon behind, but upon turning around, he saw Shawna and Trevor were now only a couple steps ahead of him.
“They are the goodies,” Shawna said.
“You gotta be kidding me.” The pastor said, frowning.
“I’m Imp Boy,” the demon said approaching him. “The goat is Azazel, the bird Aritya’l, they’re brothers and tag champions. The guy on the bed goes by ‘a Gnome Named Nichols.’ His gimmick sounds great when they introduce him. “But there’s one roomie you didn't meet, sleeps in the big bed and everybody fears him, ‘Frei the Ogre.’ Largest fighter here!”
The pastor nodded at the well-meaning Imp and placed his attention back on the officers. “How are they good guys? None of them are repentant.”
“This guy is going to drive me nuts.” Trevor said with his helmet looking toward Shawna’s. Then, he turned back at him and went off, “Azazel and Aritya’l are of the Nation of Islam, so I doubt they’ll get into your come to Jesus shtick. You know, what makes you think you have this all this figured out?”
“Calm down, Trevor,” Shawna said.
“But he’s over here, preaching and—”
“Trevor, I think it’s time Spalding meets his trainer.”
Trevor paused as he and Shawna looked at each other. Then he raised his thumb up.
“Next door on the right.” Shawna said to the Pastor. The doorway also has your face recognized. We made you an appointment with the trainer. Going forward, you’ll be notified when it’s your turn to practice.”
The Pastor left them behind and turned right. He felt nothing of the blue electrical shield he walked through but did feel himself sink into an abyss until his boots touched down on some karst. This cave, dimly lit by fire, held ahead a shadowy, hooded figure sitting on a pile of erosion.
“Who are you?” The Pastor yelled.
The figure lifted his hand and shot fire at Spalding.
“Woah!” Spalding said, side stepping it about the time he realized it happened. “Let’s make this fair! Man on man. None of this funny business.” he said, squatting into his wrestling stance.
A voice roared a whisper like the wind out the hooded head and said, “Employ your essence!”
This the pastor understood not, but he waved the thing on and shouted over his fear. “Listen, you want to wrestle? Let’s go!”
The creature shot at him faster than any human can, but the pastor managed to whip himself from being hit and catch the figure in a go behind position, as if to throw it. But in an instance, he lost his grip, as his body darted into the cave’s wall. He hit hard. With dirt and pebbles dropping on him, his vision blurred, his body lost feeling. In the blur the figure clapped to the right of its face, then the left, while staggering forward in a taunting motion. Then it shot forward.
If he could regain control over his limbs, he’d run, because he knew he couldn’t lick it. But now the hood bent down, face to face with him. Gums and sharp teeth emerged from the top of the hood’s opening and the bottom. As it spoke, he felt the vacuuming of his Essence towards the sickles it had for teeth. Being sucked forward, he felt its salivation drizzling against his very soul. Then, the motion ceased. Then, the winds spoke out the throat of this beast, saying, “I am Essence Eater. Should you fail, I will devour you!”
The sight of this thing blurred into the distance, as he elevated back up. Shawna lifted him up and propped him against the wall. His wits coming to him, he pushed her back. “Heavens! What?…was that?”
“So, you met Essence Eater,” she said.
“I demand in the name of my Lord to see Nelson!”
“Buyer’s remorse?” she said.
“My very essence is threatened by this creature, I’m bunking with unrepentant murderers, and putting up with potty mouths. Nelson discussed none of this!”
“You’re used to being in control, aren’t you?” Shawna replied. “You lived in your own little parsonage, all those years, never having to be tested. Well, now you must live in the world, Spalding. You must put your will to practice in the way you taught your congregation to do. So, it’s like Trevor would say—if he could stand to be around you— do you have the spaldings, Spalding?”
He slapped the wall. “No respect! I refer to you as officer, but you don’t call me by my professional title! Give me Nelson. He’s a trickster!”
She folded her arms. “Your words were Nelson didn’t tear this path down for you, that God did. So, tell me, ‘Pastor,’ who tricked you?”
Mizfan, appreciate it man. i think that's the theme that runs across most of these.
Here's something I've started. Some themes are Mercy vs. Strength and Testing oneself.
Essence Keep
Act I. Baddies and Goodies
“Mercy…Mercy! What’s going on—” He thought, when awakening to red carpet rushing beneath him.
Carpet? Underneath his feet?
Yes. Carpet. For five years he observed only cement floors. Though here, cut and loop pile yarns formed dragons from wall to wall. In bewilderment after being spat out deep sleep’s mouth, he made out the fibers depicting the winged, fire breathing devils. That’s until from his head, loose locks draped over his face. Loose Locks?
Long hair? On him?
Yes. Black strands. They stretched from the bottom of his follicles, but these hairs belonged not to him. After maneuvering it with his head, he caught white boots hastening him toward golden doors with an image on them: another dragon. The doors automatically parted. What was going on around him? With him? He sensed big biceps in arms that extended from him.
Muscular arms…?
Yes. The guns his captors squeezed behind his back hulked like Samson’s. These guns belonged not to him, either. From the shock of this he formed no words. However, he breathed heavily, acquainted with none of the place, none of himself. Acquainted only with the cuffs’ pinch against his wrists.
After moving through the doorway, in front of him stood a desk with nunchucks on it, an action figure on it, a clear tablet, only made visible by airwaves, on it, and a periwig on a head stand on it… The man behind it must be a child, must be a fighter; must be proficient with software and fashionable with the returning, stylish headpieces. The man behind the desk sat in his young age, maybe forty. His hairline receded back, revealing most his balding head.
And the man introduced himself as Nelson Strong, and Nelson ordered the guards to remove the shackles. This, the prisoner considered a great act of compassion. From Nelson’s sanctioning, one of the two helmeted guards pressed a button on their wristband. This technology the prisoner knew too well. Insomuch, he felt grace as the torques on his hands released themselves. When that which bonded him clanked against the floor, joy nearly sprung up and wet his eyes.
He’d have thanked Nelson, but felt to in wonderment of his own tanned, ripped arms. He perceived the muscles in his shirtless chest and abs through touch and the strings of his hair and their greasiness through clasping them. He observed on his ligaments black, baggy pants over tall, wine-red boots. “What have you done to me?” He said.
“Nothing we can’t undo,” Nelson said, smiling. “But first, I would like to discuss your background and go over what we’re looking for at Essence Keep.”
“Essence Keep? I’m not at the United Nations Penitentiary?”
“That’s a complex question,” Nelson said, still smiling. “But I promise it will be solved. What’s your name?”
The man answered, “Pastor Richard Spalding.”
One of the two guards laughed under his helmet-mask. “Richard Spalding? Nelson, he’s got a dick and balls in his name!”
Spalding threw his arms up in the guard’s direction. “Officer, your tongue!”
Nelson admonished, “C’mon, Trevor, he said he’s a preacher. You have to respect people’s backgrounds.”
“Please tell me what’s going on!” Pastor Spalding pleaded.
Nelson replied, “You know it’s only been half a century since scientists accepted the facts of essence? You pastors were thousands of years ahead of the game.” He nearly leaned all the way over the desk in how remarkable he found that to be.
Spalding nodded and said “Essence… My essence is here but my body—”
“Back at the prison, waiting for that which you had within to return, so that they can inject you. Put your body and essence down together.” He sighed and said, “Not saying I agree with that.” After a reverent silence, he continued, “Who’d you kill, Pastor? You seem like too reasonable a guy to be whacking people.”
With nothing to lose, Spalding blurted back, “I pleaded not guilty. Not guilty, I pleaded, for the murders of Deacon Darcy and his wife, Sister Joyce. Not guilty for the murder of that young man, Troy Sutton, who took to the alter that night. For Brother Hezekiah. Not guilty for any of the twelve! God bless them, for they believed in His provision until their last breaths! I’m only guilty of trusting my God during a virus pandemic and opening His doors for His children. And now, now my faith is under attack!”
“So, you assembled your congregation during the snake flue of 2116, in spite of everything we’ve learned about viruses in the last one-hundred years?” Nelson said, swiping notes with his finger into his electronic force field Tablet.
The Pastor observed this, hardly ever seeing anyone swipe letters in a world where documents are spoken into devices. And he also drew in the well-versed Nelson’s knowledge of history. Then, he replied, “I take it you’re somebody aware that in the previous world, our nation was one that had the freedom of worship.”
Nelson nodded and said, “But doesn’t even the Bible say to honor your bodies? How do square that with risking everyone’s health?”
Spalding scowled down and said, “Let’s skip the part where I school you on the Word, and how about you tell me why you brought me here. Why have you chosen me for your Essence Keep?”
“I believe in second chances,” Nelson said. “We can give that to you here. I’m sure you’ve heard of us. What we do.”
“I’m in some kind of simulation.”
“That’s right. And you’re going to do battle with others like you. The upside is you stay here for however long the audience digs you!”
“I haven’t been in a fight since I was a college boy. God help me, that was over four decades ago!”
Nelson smiled and said, “You’ll have a trainer.”
“If I say no, then what?”
Nelson shook his head. “You’ll return to your body, and they’ll execute you. But that doesn’t have to happen. These opportunities don’t just come for no reason, Pastor.”
Spalding dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Yes, Lord,” he said, shivering. He stood up in glee, holding both hands above his head. “Yes, what a speedy answer and what a powerful, powerful link to heaven!” Now he gazed into Nelson’s eyes and smiled. “I will stay here, for it’s not you who’s torn down this path for me, but it’s… God! I don’t understand this yet, but I hear Him telling me, He’s not threw using me!”
Nelson smiled back. “Great. Now, do me a favor and check out your avatar. There’s a mirror behind you across the room.”
In tall wavy particles, the pastor’s reflection pushed his hair back and gazed at high cheek bones, thick eyebrows, and an Indian tan. Who? Who made this temple? Nelson Strong, the great artist and director? Well, he cut up every piece of this figure to define its strength. “Can you please give me a shirt to clothe this vessel with,” he said.
“First, you must fold down the waistband on your pants,” Officer Trevor insisted.
Upon folding it down, he revealed two distinct lines heading south.
“Dick root!” Trevor yelled. “Dick… Root! Don’t say Nelson never gave you anything!” Trevor, under his mask, squealed in laughter, while Nelson failed to hold his own giggling back, causing his laughing to extend along with Trevor’s.
“Pure vanity!” The pastor replied, perplexed at his mirror image.
“Trevor, Shawna, show Pastor Richard his floor; and have him meet his trainer.”
Following Trevor and Shawna down the hallway, the pastor ordered, “They’ll be no more speak of your favorite four-letter word, its root, or anything else to do with it in my presence. Are we clear?” The automatic doors closed behind them.
“Trevor says what Trevor says,” Shawna replied. “I tried telling him to shut his hole a long time ago, and he just said, ‘which one.’ Keep up, Spalding! This isn’t a tour.”
They came to several elevators with the dragon symbol on them. Shawna pressed a key on her wrist to part the center one’s doors. Down in B3, the pastor recognized the hard cement feel, as it felt like the penitentiary with bad lighting and no windows. Through a long tunnel were force fields with rooms behind them.
“You know, maybe he’s a baddie,” Said Trevor to Shawna, while ahead of the pastor. “Self-righteous, ceremonious, preachy, annoying.”
“That call’s above your pay grade,” Shawna replied.
“What do you mean, ‘baddie?’” Spalding said.
“Baddies are the despised, revered, hated by the audience.” Trevor said.
“Goodies are the loved, admired, cheered.” Shawna added.
“How can one be a, uhm baddie? From what Nelson said, survival is based on if we’re received by the crowd or not.”
“Love and hate are two sides of the same animal,” Trevor said, coming to a stop. “All Nelson cares about is if you make them feel something. That’s what brings the civilians to the show.”
The Pastor nodded his head. The hallway ended with only one room straight ahead; a blue, clear field stood in front of a round passageway.
“This is where you get off. Just walk right up to the forcefield, and it will let you pass. We set up your face recognition, already.” Shawna said. “Trevor and I are the floor officers. We’re responsible for all the performers down here. Go meet your roommates, then, you will have a training session.”
Roommates? The pastor etched forward, with this surprise whispering a thought in his mind. And the whispers raised to shouts. Hence, with each movement, his surprise became more and more a concern. He couldn’t help but think that—
But while this thought processed, the blue current swallowed his feet and body. Still with cement under his boots, he saw two sets of bunkbeds and an enormous bed in the center of the room. He cringed at a demon tied up, sickly thin, showing all the bones in its ribs. Broken wings, large eyes, and horns completed this thing. At the table across from it, convened a tall bird man with human, facial features, including a wide nose enclosed by hard frown lines, over a scowling fat mouth. Feathers extended out his face and arms. A goat man, who shared the bird man’s exact mean mug stood over them with a shotgun revolver aimed at the tied-up demon. On top of one of the bunkbeds a long-bearded gnome babbled to himself bout some math problem.
He evolved the thought, which crawled in his mind, from a caterpillar into a bat flying into all corners, making him anxious. All these avatars had the essence of murderers inside them. And here one had a gun directed at another. He’d dealt with this kind at the penitentiary, but that’s not an environment quite as free.
The goat man frowned at him and said, “who is you?”
“Pastor Spalding.”
“You the new roommate?” The goat man said.
“Yes, do you mind putting the gun down. Mercy! Lord!”
“What if I want to shoot this here imp. Preachers don’t like imps, do they?”
“There’s a person inside there! Mercy!”
The bird man at the table laughed, “There’s a person in there.” He said and repeated, “A person in there.” He yelled out, “He just got here, and he’s telling us there’s a person in there!”
The bound up imp kept strong, holding a face that almost looked as if he could laugh.
The goat man waved the barrel in the Pastor’s face. This reflexed an instinct out the pastor, while a forgotten memory flashed. He saw himself in college, wearing spandex and headgear, flipping over his man. And without hesitance, the weight of the goat man went on his shoulders and onto the floor. And, the preacher had apprehended the gun with the force of his avatar’s hand.
“Now, I got a question for you all,” the pastor said, while untying the scrawny demon. “I need to know who—who among you have repented for their sins?”
The bird man, in his chair, and the goat man, who just leaped back to his feet, looked pissed.
The gnome got louder and louder with his equations, going into a nervous fit.
The now freed demon made eye contact and laughed.
“None of you,” the pastor said, frowning.
Spalding kept his grimace as he marched down the hallway towards the officers. But he heard someone behind him say, “Hey! Hey!” with a voice not brave enough to rise to a scream. He turned around and saw the thin demon hustling behind him. Then, he looked up with two eyes so large they took up half his face. Matter fact, he was only eyes, horns, broken wings, knees, and elbows when he said, “Thanks for the help in there. Nobody’s ever stuck up for me before.”
The Pastor said, “sorry.” As he spoke, he noticed the demon laughing but also understood it to be some sort of involuntary tick, therefore, he continued saying, “May God have mercy on you, son. But I’m not rooming with baddies.”
He left the demon behind, but upon turning around, he saw Shawna and Trevor were now only a couple steps ahead of him.
“They are the goodies,” Shawna said.
“You gotta be kidding me.” The pastor said, frowning.
“I’m Imp Boy,” the demon said approaching him. “The goat is Azazel, the bird Aritya’l, they’re brothers and tag champions. The guy on the bed goes by ‘a Gnome Named Nichols.’ His gimmick sounds great when they introduce him. “But there’s one roomie you didn't meet, sleeps in the big bed and everybody fears him, ‘Frei the Ogre.’ Largest fighter here!”
The pastor nodded at the well-meaning Imp and placed his attention back on the officers. “How are they good guys? None of them are repentant.”
“This guy is going to drive me nuts.” Trevor said with his helmet looking toward Shawna’s. Then, he turned back at him and went off, “Azazel and Aritya’l are of the Nation of Islam, so I doubt they’ll get into your come to Jesus shtick. You know, what makes you think you have this all this figured out?”
“Calm down, Trevor,” Shawna said.
“But he’s over here, preaching and—”
“Trevor, I think it’s time Spalding meets his trainer.”
Trevor paused as he and Shawna looked at each other. Then he raised his thumb up.
“Next door on the right.” Shawna said to the Pastor. The doorway also has your face recognized. We made you an appointment with the trainer. Going forward, you’ll be notified when it’s your turn to practice.”
The Pastor left them behind and turned right. He felt nothing of the blue electrical shield he walked through but did feel himself sink into an abyss until his boots touched down on some karst. This cave, dimly lit by fire, held ahead a shadowy, hooded figure sitting on a pile of erosion.
“Who are you?” The Pastor yelled.
The figure lifted his hand and shot fire at Spalding.
“Woah!” Spalding said, side stepping it about the time he realized it happened. “Let’s make this fair! Man on man. None of this funny business.” he said, squatting into his wrestling stance.
A voice roared a whisper like the wind out the hooded head and said, “Employ your essence!”
This the pastor understood not, but he waved the thing on and shouted over his fear. “Listen, you want to wrestle? Let’s go!”
The creature shot at him faster than any human can, but the pastor managed to whip himself from being hit and catch the figure in a go behind position, as if to throw it. But in an instance, he lost his grip, as his body darted into the cave’s wall. He hit hard. With dirt and pebbles dropping on him, his vision blurred, his body lost feeling. In the blur the figure clapped to the right of its face, then the left, while staggering forward in a taunting motion. Then it shot forward.
If he could regain control over his limbs, he’d run, because he knew he couldn’t lick it. But now the hood bent down, face to face with him. Gums and sharp teeth emerged from the top of the hood’s opening and the bottom. As it spoke, he felt the vacuuming of his Essence towards the sickles it had for teeth. Being sucked forward, he felt its salivation drizzling against his very soul. Then, the motion ceased. Then, the winds spoke out the throat of this beast, saying, “I am Essence Eater. Should you fail, I will devour you!”
The sight of this thing blurred into the distance, as he elevated back up. Shawna lifted him up and propped him against the wall. His wits coming to him, he pushed her back. “Heavens! What?…was that?”
“So, you met Essence Eater,” she said.
“I demand in the name of my Lord to see Nelson!”
“Buyer’s remorse?” she said.
“My very essence is threatened by this creature, I’m bunking with unrepentant murderers, and putting up with potty mouths. Nelson discussed none of this!”
“You’re used to being in control, aren’t you?” Shawna replied. “You lived in your own little parsonage, all those years, never having to be tested. Well, now you must live in the world, Spalding. You must put your will to practice in the way you taught your congregation to do. So, it’s like Trevor would say—if he could stand to be around you— do you have the spaldings, Spalding?”
He slapped the wall. “No respect! I refer to you as officer, but you don’t call me by my professional title! Give me Nelson. He’s a trickster!”
She folded her arms. “Your words were Nelson didn’t tear this path down for you, that God did. So, tell me, ‘Pastor,’ who tricked you?”
Comment