Before I share it, I must state this is a rough draft. It has only been edited by your truly.
The God Killer
He whispers to me. He whispers in the dark of night. His voice comes drifting up from the darkness and fire that is below. He wants me to hear his words. He wants me to see his version of what he believes is the truth. But I shall not yield to his words. I shall not bend to his will. I will never cower to his lies, for indeed they must be lies. An angel told me the truth when I was but a mere child. She told me all I needed to know and what my role to play in this world was. I was to be God’s justice upon the earth. I was to be his arms and legs. I was to be his mind and body. I was to be the vessel of judgement he desired. I was to become what the press named me. I was to become the God Killer. I am he who obeys his master without question. I am Zachariah…my few friends just call me Z.
When he speaks to me at night, he tries to convince me that I am what the newspapers call me. He tries to tell me that killing is wrong. I ask him to explain to me why our nation’s killers are called heroes. Just because a government tells you to kill, that makes the act of doing so heroic. That makes it right? He tells me I am correct. He says all killing is equally wrong. Just because someone says you can do something does not mean you should. He tells me that men and their laws are not always to be trusted. He tells me that my conscience should be my guide. I tell him my conscience is fine. I tell him I serve the highest power in the universe. There can be no greater cause. There can be nothing that is more right and just. I tell him God is my conscience.
He then tells me I am no better than a soldier blindly following orders. He tells me I am, in fact worse than that. He says even a soldier following orders does not deliberately kill innocents. I tell him nobody is innocent. I tell him even children may not be. For certainly a child may be stained at conception by his parents sins. I tell him that even a child learns to lie by the age of two. I tell him I could kill nearly all of the people of the planet and never slay one innocent being. I tell him he knows nothing of innocence. He has never been so and should not pretend to know that which he does not.
He says the world seems to agree with him. I am an abomination and deranged. I say it is only right that they should do so. For who else would defend a liar such as him except for sinners. He tells me someday they will catch me and then I will have to pay the price. I tell him even if that is true, they will only have caught my body. Even if it does come to pass God will save me from their lies and corrupted justice.
He returns to me randomly trying to convince me to change my cause. I tell him to take his lies elsewhere. I know who he is and what he really wants. You might call him many names. Satan, Lucifer, the fallen angel and such. I just call him Luci. This my tale though and not his. I will share it with you. It is my hope that in doing so, you might understand what you did not before. I am Zachariah…don’t ever forget my name.
He set down the pencil and walked back over to the man. The man still hung from the cross which he’d been tied to. He was still unconscious and remained so, until Zachariah slipped the knife into his chest. The man immediately began to scream in pain and thrash, as if it would do any good in releasing him, from the binding. Zachariah moved closer and whispered into the man’s ear. “Donnie, if you move it will just take longer. It you want the pain to be done with, stay still!” Zachariah began once more to carve upon the crucified man. When he’d carved the numbers 12:14 upon Donnie’s chest, he took a step back, to make sure his etching was clear. Satisfied with the results, he walked over to the shirt, he’d previously torn from Donnie’s chest and began to slowly wipe the blade. A drop of blood spilled from it’s shiny edge and fell onto Zachariah’s finger. He rubbed the blood between his finger and thumb. For some odd reason, he thought perhaps the blood of another killer, might be different. He discovered he was wrong in that assumption. It did not matter. The man had killed another. He’d taken the law into his own hands and judged another. That was not his place. That was God’s place.
After cleaning the blade, he set it down, and once more picked up the pencil.
The memory replays on the screen of my mind once more. It always does. Does it do so to remind me of my purpose, my destiny, my design? Perhaps it’s just the surge of electricity, I begin to feel, as I down a foe of God. I don’t know why it comes, truly I don’t. I just know, when it does replay within my mind, I watch, I absorb, I succumb to its embrace and dance once more, within that vision of my youth. The moment in time, where I became. The moment I turned, from caterpillar to butterfly.
I was only eight years old, at that moment and a little too smart, for my own good. At least, that was what my parents told me. They only had to tell me once though. I got it the first time. I learned never show anyone exactly how smart you really are. As soon as they know, they will fear you and that never leads, to a good ending. That never allows you the chance, of learning what you want to know, about them. The more you know about anyone, the better your chance of dealing with any trouble, that might arise. I would always prefer to fight a friend, than an enemy, if that choice we mine. But it is no concern of mine anymore.
On that night, an angel stood before me, at the end of my bed. The room was dark. Darker than usual, I remember, and the angel glowed. Oh yes, indeed, she glowed. It was a golden shower of light, that made me feel as if, I was bathing in heaven. I was washed without soap and truly cleansed, of whatever wrong I had done, up till that moment. When that much power and presence enter your room, you have no choice. None really. You must kneel before such and show reverence.
I climbed out from my blankets, and slid softly to the floor. Quickly I approached her, and knelt before her feet. Her golden light, so blinded my eyes, that I bent my head onto my knee. She had called for me, and I had no choice. I had to hear her words. I knew within every cord, of my being, that I must listen to her. When she spoke to me, it was a majikal, musical thing to hear. It was as if, the songs birds all fell into total and complete harmony, with each other. It sounded otherworldly, and yet familiar, at the same time. She only had to say three words, and I would do whatever she asked, for the rest of my life.
A moan of pain came from behind Zachariah. He set down the pencil, and smoothly swiped up the blade, without a second of hesitation. Zachariah was just as comfortable, with a blade, as he was with the pencil. He turned swiftly back to Donnie. As he approached, he quietly but clearly said, “Ahh, he wakes once more to find, his reality is worse than his nightmares.” Fluidly, Zachariah moved behind Donnie, and the cross, he was bound to. He then spared no more words on the man. He only issued his sentence. Life, the end of it. Blade slipped by so fast, it was little more than blur. The blood had not left Donnie’s veins, before Zachariah, was sheathing his blade. Zachariah turned, gave one quick glance around. While he was certain he would hear someone coming, he was not, if they were hiding. He perceived nothing out of the ordinary and saw no one. He casually strode over to the car. (Quick movements catch attention). He grabbed up the notebook and pencil, he’d been telling his experiences with, and jumped into Donnie’s car.
He did not drive off in a hurry. He did not drive fast, nor did he drive slow. He drove the proper speed of any one having a normal day. For Zachariah, this was a normal day.
Fifteen minutes later, he found a good place to park the vehicle, and nobody around too see him do so. After making sure he’d left nothing behind, he climbed from the vehicle, and trekked off into the woods. According to the maps on his phone, he knew he could cut through the woods and end up, at another road just a mile through the woods.
He enjoyed and rejoiced in the time he got to spend in the woods. The smell of the leaves as he trampled them underfoot, the random flowers he passed by, and the very wood itself intoxicated him with their oder. Every sensation and sense, was always heightened, the second he stepped into a wooded area. Instinctively, it just happened, as the training of his youth kicked in. He knew in the woods, while being closer to God, he was also closer to dangerous predators. The thrill of it sometimes overwhelmed him, and he had to take a second, to let it all in. This mornings kill had been exceptional, and when that was combined with where he now was, he found he had to take a moment. He scanned the area quickly, and found about 50 yards into the woods, a fallen tree. He walked over to it and sat down. For a moment, he just sat there, letting his senses explode internally, with all that was going on around him. Finally, after a few moments of glorious sensation, he removed the journal from his backpack. He pulled the pencil from within the metal rings and began to write once more.
To be continued…