We just sat there, eyes transfixed on the television as the dust cloud became the characteristic mushroom, and we watched. What else could we do? The powers that be, or the powers that used to be, snapped. They bent the stick until the stress was to much, and we watched as the broken twig launched the first missile.
The messenger rocketed through the sky, and thanks to the blessing of communications satellites, we watched the marathon until it reached its destination, complete with commentary.
The wave of destruction flowed from its source like a flooded drain, and its wake razed the landscape. The Arabian sand fused to glass. Mighty fortresses melted into slag. Cars, trucks, and tanks vanished, leaving only white shadows to remind us that they ever existed, and among all this…people.
Uniformed men stood with fists and guns raised. Children kneeled and prayed. Women huddled against walls, clutching their infants and shielding them with their bodies. As the fire came, guns and jewelry vanished, and the bodies became formerly animate skeletons.
As the fire subsided and we waited for the fallout, we watched to see the remains, and the first thing we all saw…people.
They stood there, stunned. The violence had been replaced by silence. Even the news commentator found himself dumbed. The skeletons we'd seen turned out to be more like an intensified flashlight behind a hand. They had survived the attack intact, albeit naked, for the fire had burned away all their clothes. Something strange, something that would alter life as we knew it, was unfolding before our eyes.
The simultaneous disruption of worldwide silence by the cry of infants and the hesitant fumblings of the news man brought us back to the soothing comfort of the media. We knew we could count on them to rally the experts. They would explain. They would tell us why this happened, or rather, didn't happen. They would tell us we should have expected this because of someone's postulate of nuclear physics.
Would that they could explain.
Our trusted scientific community fumbled for an explanation, but they sheepishly crawled away, hanging their heads in shame.
A moment later, I found myself darting to the window. The fallout had begun.
All around the world, white flakes fell like snow to the ground, clinging to the leaves and grass. It occurred to me that one event on the other side of the world shouldn't have such a global effect, but before I had time to consider it, a knock came to my door.
A small child came to my door, and before I had a chance to open the door, he entered. He looked strangely familiar, reminding me of myself when I was a child. I was comforted that he had come in out of the radioactive ash that continued to descend from the heavens.
He took my hand and started to lead me outside. I resisted. I knew the peril of going out into the world at this point.
"Come with me," he coaxed, "I want to take you to someone."
A voice screamed in my head, "This is insane! If you go outside, you'll die!" I don't know why, but I allowed him to take me.
He took me to a small tent with a smaller doorway. The door was a heavy curtain which had been violently torn in two. From the doorway came a warm light. It beckoned to me, yet terrified me at the same time. I knew that the source of that light had the power to kill me, yet I soon found myself being pulled through the narrow door.
Once inside, I found that the tent appeared smaller than it actually is. In the center of the tent stood a wooden altar, stained with blood as if a lamb had been slaughtered upon it, but was now empty except for a clay jar on the center of it and the same fallout that covered the ground.
Before the altar ran a gentle flowing stream. The water was clean, pure, and inviting, yet deep enough that I knew, should I fall in, I would surely drown. As the water flowed, some of the fallout fell into the water, and as they did, the water turned crimson, yet still clean and clear.
I looked around for the source of the light, yet I saw no lamp, but behind the altar was a large box, overlaid with gold, and upon it sat a man. He looked strong, like he could carry the world on his shoulders, yet weary, like he had. His skin and hair reminded me of the people I saw on television, like he'd been born there, or at least one of his parents was from that area.
His eyes were hard and authoritative, and I felt as if he could see right through me and into my heart. That made me uncomfortable. I tried to hide my discomfort, but I couldn't conceal a shudder.
His eyes turned soft, full of compassion, and a tear rolled down his cheek.
He held out his arms and said, "Come to me."
"I can't," I said, choking, "the water is too deep."
"I have already come through it," he replied, "and all who come to me must come through the water, and through the water, Another will come to you."
"But I'll die!" I said. I tried to cry, but the tears wouldn't come, yet his tears steadily increased so the river started to rise.
"And so you must if you'll ever live. You have nothing to fear, for I have already gone before you, and I will go with you. Come."
Knowing I had no choice, I plunged into the water. It was cold and refreshing, yet a part of me burned so that I thought I would die.
Then I realized I was still breathing, as if I had breath in me for the first time in my life. He pulled me out, and I found myself standing before the altar.
I turned around, and I saw a body being carried away by the water. As I looked at his face, he looked strangely familiar, almost like me, yet older, yet at the same time, he looked like the man standing before me.
I asked, "Where will the water take him?"
The man answered me, "As far from you as the East is from the West." Still, I suspected he'd be back to haunt me.
The man took one of the larger pieces of the fallout from the altar, prayed, broke it, and gave it to me saying, "Take and eat. This is my body, broken for you."
As he gave it to me, I noticed for the first time his wrists. They had large holes in them, as if the hammer of God himself had hammered nails through them.
Taking the piece, I noticed that it was not ash as I had thought, but a flaky bread. When I ate it, it was sweet as honey, and I thought that this must be like manna.
Then, he took the clay jar off the altar and handed it to me saying, "Take and drink. This is my blood, shed for you."
The jar was full of wine of such quality that it must have fermented for two-thousand years, and such was its strength that it must have purified me like a flame to a needle, yet its strength rested not in the spirits, but in the body.
I knew that he had the answers I sought, and in fact may be the incarnation of those answers.
In humility, I bowed to him. "Lord, tell me what happened today."
He took my hand in his and replied, "Today, the dead have died, and death itself has died, and the dead have been raised to new life."
"I don't understand, Lord," I fumbled.
"Then do not understand. Only believe, for in the end, you will understand, but from the beginning, you are mine, and though you cannot grasp me, don't ever let go, for I will never leave you, yet I will soon return."
"Lord, where can I find you?"
"If you seek me, you will find me. Look into the water, and you will see my reflection. Keep my Word, and you will hear my voice. Come to my table, and you will feast in my presence."
As I stood there contemplating his words, the room began filling with smoke, like incense, but I couldn't find the source. In the smoke, I lost sight of the man, but I heard his voice. "Go. Tell everyone what you've seen and heard. Bring them to me as another brought you. Your breath will be my breath, and your words will be my Word."
So I go, and though I'm never home, I know I will be forever. Mark these words, my friend, and moreso, mark his Word.
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© 1998 Dale Critchley