Google docs version (italics included): https://docs.google.com/document/d/12BU4TaJYw05MvffAAgAAcbSdsa9k1dg448czxDFJx5A/edit
– False, The Prophet –
“When a bell rings, an angel gets its wings”
– It’s a Wonderful Life
Today had started out like any other. Isn’t that how tales always start? The schedule is the same. Wake up. Go to work. Come home. Do it all over again. Over and over and over until I die, and that’s how I thought my life would stay. But in a twisted sense? That’s exactly what happened.
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Rain fell all through the night, smearing the view of the outside world from the window. As the drops tapped away at the roof I thought back to the rainy days long since past, not unlike like this one. A long time ago I would have told you that rain was some sort of God, crying out over the unfortunate state of the world. Now, I believe in science. Science is safe, secure, and easy to understand, at least compared to the idea of faith and another plane beyond our own. The idea of God is a childish fantasy best left behind, like the dirt and leaves running to the gutter with the fallen rain.
Getting up from my spot beside the window (The rain was calming, perhaps a bit too much) I went to the kitchenette to rummage through a mini fridge full of the same microwave lasagna I had been eating for a while. Pulling out one I knew should have been thrown out weeks ago, I barely glanced at the lifeless cartoon lasagna on the package before placing it in the microwave. Some lightning flashed outside as I yawned, watching the lasagna spin on the stained and unsavory glass dish. I should clean it sometime. I should clean a lot of things sometime. The warm glow of the microwave barely started to light the room before the work was done, package steaming slightly with the plastic cheese sizzling through the sound of rain.
It’s not too bad to be alone with my thoughts. Moving out might be the best thing that has happened to me this year. Not that there’s much better to compare it to. A younger me would have told you that after college, you just… get a job, and that’s that. But now? I wish I had connections to get me anywhere.
“I can’t keep living on a salary like this.” I mutter to no one in particular. Setting up my spot at the rickety old folding table, I take a slow bite of the lasagna. It’s slightly crunchy in places it shouldn’t be, but I keep chewing.
I hear a sound. At first, I don’t recognize it, as I’ve never heard it before. But I soon come to my senses and realize it’s the doorbell. With a quick glance at my plastic watch (it chafes against my skin but I know I can’t afford better.) I mumble again. “Who comes knocking this late at night?” Another flash of lightning. “With weather like this, no less.” I shuffled to my feet to get the door.
I don’t know what to expect. A distant family member. Someone looking to sell a vacuum. A friend looking for a place to crash… though I don’t have enough friends for that to happen, I still expect it more than what occurs.
A stranger, who stands easily a head taller than the doorframe, looms above me from my porch in a white robe that easily covers their entire being, their only other color is a red satin… scarf? What did my parents call it… a stole? I look up slowly to meet this person’s eyes, a sudden weight dropping to my stomach as I realize they have none. In place of eyes they have a white mask with small holes, no bigger than jacket buttons. The button holes have purple crayon scribbled around them in an unorganized manner. To make matters worse, the “eyes” are accompanied by a wide and crooked smile, as if scratched on last-minute by a young child. In fact, the whole mask gave off the idea of childish inexperience. But the yellowing edges of the mask showed age compared to the perfect white of their robe. I looked around at the rain, then back at the tall stranger. A lightning strike flashed as if to articulate a revelation.
They’re completely dry. “Excuse me–hate to be a bother, but do you have a moment to talk?”
The man (at least, they sounded like a man) was surprisingly soft-spoken, sounding very polite despite his imposing height and… odd fashion choice. Clearing my voice, I avoided eye contact. “I, uh… what?”
The purple crayon markings on the mask seemed to shift around as he spoke. Even looking at the button eyes caused a type of vertigo I couldn’t place. The man cleared his throat. “I asked if I could have a moment of your time? Just to talk, I promise.”
Despite the relative charm in his voice, his appearance clashed so severely that it threw off any chance he had at seeming friendly. Regardless, I tried to be friendly back. “Er… sorry, sir? But uh… it’s well into the night and I’m headed off to bed. I um… maybe next time?” But as I closed my door on the stranger, a brown boot stained red and black with age and travel caught the door. Once again, the stranger spoke in a friendlier tone than I could ever imagine. “Oh please, won’t you reconsider? I know it’s late, but this’ll only take a moment, I promise.”
I had a pretty good idea of what he wanted to say, but I asked anyway. “What do you even wanna talk about?” I kept the door as closed as his foot would allow. The stranger flinched before laughing slightly, peeking through the crack in the doorway. His arms were oddly stationary at his sides, as if they were broken off at the socket, hanging uselessly. The purple crayon shifted again, now going in the opposite direction. “Oh, silly me! I didn’t even tell you what I wished to talk about, of course you’re suspicious.” That, among other things. “Do you have some time to hear about the words of our one true God?”
There was something I couldn’t quite place with how he said ‘god’ that sent a shiver down my spine. Despite the discomfort, I tried my best to keep my voice steady. “I uh… I’m an atheist. I don’t really believe in that stuff. Not… Not anymore.”
The crooked smile etched upon his mask seemed to lessen by a fraction. But as if it had never happened, the smile returned, if a little forced the second time around. (How could I tell?) “If you’ll at least hear me out, I’m sure I can change your mind. Perhaps you just had a bad experience with your first religion. Mine is… different, to say the least.”
The chipper tone his voice had contained so far was starting to slip and strain, frustration beneath the surface begining to show. I could no longer control the fear I felt on my face and in my voice. “I-I really don’t need any of that, I’m uh… good as is. Now really, I should get back to my–”
A black tear started dripping slowly down his right eyehole, staining the mask as it traveled further and further down. His voice was now painfully sweet, seething in annoyance and displeasure. “Please, will you at least try and listen? It is very important that I get this message out–”
“I said no! Go away, please!”
It seemed “no” was the stranger’s breaking point. Another tear came out of his left eye, both eyes now dripping black. It wasn’t the tears that scared me though, it was his suddenly frozen posture, straight and as still as a statue, dripping ink like some sort of corrupted fountain. When he spoke again, it was barely a whisper, shaking and tense. “No…?”
The tears of tar started dripping faster, staining his white robes. “No?” he repeated, snapping one of his hands at a breakneck pace to crush the door with an elongated orange hand, texture brittle like clay, small bits breaking off and flaking to the ground. The door creaked under the pressure of his grip. “No?” he said again, as the pressure increased on the door. If even possible, he seemed to grow taller as he dug his dirty nails into the door, wood splitting from the effort. I was useless against the creature.
“No!” the creature growled out, voice becoming as distorted as his appearance, as if gargling on the very tar dripping from his eyes. As the door slammed against the wall, the hinges barely had time to groan before they snapped. (Just another thing to fix…) I get flung back with no choice but to watch as the creature hunches over to enter. Before I even know what’s happening I’m pinned against the kitchen cabinets, head pounding from the impact. My lungs try and fail to bring in air. The creature sounds like it’s struggling to maintain clear English as it speaks. “Every ti-me I try to help you-r insig-nificant ra-ce see the tru-th, you refuse! I off-er you a spo-ot among the enlight-ened, but no! You wi-sh to remain ig-norant forever!”
I’m still struggling to breathe as I choke out some final bitter words. “Maybe if you worked on your approach, it’d work bet–” The creature tightens its grip and I start seeing spots, whether from the tar dripping on my face or lack of oxygen, I can’t tell. The creature shakes its head in disappointment. “You-r peo-ple will nev-er experi-ence the true gl-ory of God.” The failing lungs were starting to reach my brain. “Fine by me…” I whisper out, as a last sort of jab of defiance before completely fading. The creature releases its grip barely, just enough for me to breathe again, the color returning to my face.
“Hu-man, expl-ain one thing t-o me, bef-ore you per-ish.” I don’t respond, but the creature asks anyway. “Why d-o you choo-se to re-main ignor-ant, wh-en the ans-wers are all s-o cle-ar in fro-nt of you?”
He’s right, in a way. This is clearly a supernatural figure, right in front of me, and yet, I still can’t take him on his word. I look out the window to the rain one last time before spitting out some of the chalky tar that had dripped on my face. “Because I don’t trust false prophets like you. Always shoving the idea of salvation in our faces like it can be bought or sold, as if simply apologizing is gonna make it all better.”
This false prophet wiped his face with his sleeve, the black tar now even more smeared than it was before, obscuring the smile and purple crayon of his face. The carved smile disappears entirely, replaced by an equally crooked frown as the small button eyes widen, the vertigo from earlier reaching a peak I didn’t know was even possible. Staring into the eyeholes, it’s impossible to look the other way. I could have sworn there were church bells among the screaming choir in my mind.
Quick, like the lightning in the storm, everything is gone. All aside from the abandoned lasagna. Cold and moldy, the only company is the bugs.
