Out of the Land of Haran--A Story Snippet 1

  He'd been there once. The place where time is split in two; one side so bright you had to cover your eyes or your irises would seemingly melt and the other side so dark you couldn't see your own hand in front of your face. But now it seemed he lived there with no sight, but he couldn't seem to get past why he was there. He knew why. He would tell why. He would tell them about this place of blinding darkness. He would slam his hands on the white, pine pulpit till the little cross rattled and the mic fell to the ground; sending a vibration through the crowd till they felt it in their breasts. He'd shout it into their souls until they were there too; hands burnt from the sun's rays, but unseen to the eye. Panic born of unrelenting darkness and cold. He'd scream and shout till saliva dripped from his crooked mouth. He'd play the role of madman so they'd never forget. He'd be the terror for them. If only they'd listen. It's easy to dismiss a prophet, but a madman is different. They wouldn't dismiss him. He'd make sure of it. They would try to forget, but he'd come to them in their sleep and he would shout at them till they awoke in a cold sweat.

______________________________________________

   Sweat poured out of his body and leaked through his polyester suit and made its way onto the pavement; leaving little drops of himself for others to see, but he could see nothing. Everything was torrid and void. He didn't want to. He'd given up on seeing. All he cared for was hearing and doing, but now it seemed like his hearing was beginning to leave him and it terrified him. He had shouted into the dark fog, but there was no answer. There was no great voice waiting for him on the mountain top. There was no lone burning bush and the earth had ceased to be holy. It was all just darkness in which helpless haunts moved from one trap to the next. All the world was on fire and he was walking through the flames and they burned him, but he couldn't see them and had ceased to feel the initial searing. His nerves had left him so long ago.
   He moved slowly along the lines of the earth and longed to rest. He didn't need long, but just a place to sit. He knew he couldn't. It would let him. It was driving him into the ground and wouldn't be done with him until he had spoken his piece and told them how it all would be. He had known exactly how he would tell them and what, but as he got closer to the end, he couldn't think of what he would say or how to say what it wanted him to say. The devouring embers had died inside him and he had ceased to see it speak. There was no new vision. There was just vast darkness and a never-ending plain stretching out forever because there was no horizon; for there was no sun to rise and set.....

Keep going or give it back to Flannery,
  David