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News: I moved the keyboard to my room and now I feel strongly inclined to tell the world that I adore Phantom of the Opera. Everything is perfectly normal and no, I don't have access to any secret underground labyrinth...yet.

--12 August 2017 --

Quote: Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest of hearts. --Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

The Fellowship

September 18, 2010

The Agony


This story is dedicated to my father on his birthday.

The crouched figure sobbed and tore at its hair. Swirling shadows crept closer and closer, peering in and out from the spiral of their unwavering descent. Flames licked the soil and slowly slithered towards the beast, huddled on the dirt floor. It was as hell should be.

The figure murmured; whether in sorrow or in wonder, I do not know. It bent towards the blue flames that danced across the ground; it touched them. The terrifying pain sent shockwaves of agony up and down the hand of the poor beast. It leaped backwards, only to stumble to the other side of the tightening circle of blue flame.

A scree erupted from the black mass above the creature's head; it was horrible. So horrible I don't know how to explain it. It rattled the bones of the thing and shook every nerve fiber and cell until another wave of pain blasted across its skin. It screeched and huddled in the middle of its circle, crying now. A tear dribbled downwards, reaching for the ground, screaming to be let free from the horrific face, but it couldn't. The beast blinked and blinked but the tear would not fall. Not even that simple comfort was given to it.

As the blaze crept closer and the dark mass cinched downwards, the beast raised its eyes upwards. Far in the distance, through the center of the demon horde, was a pin-hole of light. It twinkled and blinked like a star. The beast stretched a withered claw at it and croaked. It croaked and when it could croak no more and the flames began to lick at its impoverished heels, and the horde of blackness was pressing the thing to the ground, a strange phenomena happened.

The black cloud was split in half and the flames, lifting their scraggly eyes, drew back. A blinding light pierced through the hell-hole, causing evil flesh to sizzle and sin to collapse in eternal death. The beast raised a crooked hand to its eyes and shielded its gateways from the bright light. It sniffed through cracked nostrils and marveled at the scent of roses and mulberries. What was this? It wondered; how did this get here?

And then, when the beast felt as though it would shrivel from the glory, a voice called,

"Would you have me now?" It asked kindly. The soothing tone was water to the beast's parched throat. It felt as though scales were being removed from its eyes and it clawed at the ground to raise itself upwards.

"Yes." It cried pitifully, "Yes, yes, yes!"

Then came the transformation; the light became brighter and more glorious, but the creature did not back away. It drew near the center of the great beam. The room had been transformed; no longer did the hellish prison scald its eyes, rather all was light. All was brilliant, bright, blinding light. Slowly, the beast watched as its own skin smoothed and lightened. It was as though the dirt and filth had been cleansed by some unseen, hidden fountain. The claws were dulled and soon developed into normal fingers and well groomed nails. The dirty rags were traded for a brilliant white robe. The beast was no longer a beast, but the most beautiful woman in all the earth.

She cried, from joy; her tears of holy sacrifice dripped down her face and onto the ground, where flowers and grasses sprouted at their hopeful touch.

Then, the voice came, but this time it was right beside her, whispering in her delicate, new ear;

"You are beautiful." It said proudly.

The woman looked and there stood her Lord and Saviour. The only one who had cared to reach into her own hell and bring her out. She grasped his hand and knelt at his feet.

"My Lord--" she began, but soon quit trying to speak, for her words of worship seemed too trivial to be said.

Finally, when it was as though an age had passed, she managed to form some words with her delicate lips,

"Why?" She asked, with tears streaming down her face, forming radiant gardens beneath her feet.

Her Saviour looked at her and smiled, a smile that made her weep even more with joy.

"Because I love you." He said and stretched out his hand to lift her from the ground.

She jumped to her feet and gazed at his deep, wise eyes. He smiled again and then took her into his arms in an embrace that continues till this day.


---


An allegorical story of a human accepting the Lordship of Christ.

The Moral

Do not give up on those who have not given their hearts to Christ.
He is calling and you are asked to help.
It is your duty
Your calling
Prepare the way.


Squeaks.

6 comments:

  1. I had published this short story on my other blog but thought that some (who hadn't yet joined) might find it interesting to read as well...so I posted it here too. It's dedicated to my dad on his birthday (today; the 18th).

    Squeaks.

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  2. I still love it. :) Even though I've read it twice. :D Happy Birthday, Squeaks's dad!

    PS; Nice new profile picture!

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  3. Thank you for sharing... thought-provoking!

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  4. Very good. My only comment is that verse on the sidebar made it hard to read parts of it.

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  5. @Galadriel; I'm not sure I know what verse you're talking about. When I skimmed over the post nothing inhibited me from reading it. Could you clarify?

    Thanks :)

    Squeaks.

    ReplyDelete
  6. I had a hard time finding your blog and getting it to work... here I be! Hey, your blog looks awesome squeaks! I added it to my favourites on my sidebar! =D And I read the story the other night, thought I commented etc... but I guess not :(

    But good story! and a good moral! =D and I'm not using the word moral lightly either. I mean it.

    ReplyDelete

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