Matt W Cook

     Volume: 6
     The sounds from outside disappeared, washed out by the drums and guitar rushing through the earphones. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
     In.
     Out.
     In.
     Out.
     He opened them. The bad feelings past. Good.
     The screen was on in front of him. His battlefield. The place where he waged his Holy War.
     He opened his Bookmarks folder and picked a random web forum, trusting the Spirit to lead him. It was an atheist community.
     Fresh Meat.
     He signed in: JesusLvr223
     No new messages.
     A smirk pulled at his mouth. They were afraid, of course. Afraid of the Spirit-filled words he threw at them. It was time to throw some more. Casting fearsome light into the shadows of midnight, the screaming music reminded him. Encouraged him.
     Click, click. Open thread.
     His fingers danced over the keyboard. Different sites cited. Logic backed up. A healthy dose of anger and righteous indignation. Done. Beautiful. He asked for a blessing on the post and hit Submit.
     A clamor from outside tried to catch his attention. He reached for the dial on his earphones.
     Volume: 8
     Next.
     A homosexual community. He suppressed a shudder as he opened a new thread there. A treatise of anger calling for love, filled with Scripture and cynical arguments flowed from his inspired fingers. This one was longer, more passionate. Passion was good. It focused the thinking and made sure that he stayed on topic. Without passion it would be hard to convert anyone.
     Submit.
     An Islamic Bulletin Board. A JW Community. Hindu. The Golden Compass Fan Site. He fought on all these fields. A lone warrior brandishing his sword made of words and pixels against the unevangelized masses of cyberspace. It was impossible to know how many he had already saved. Or how many seeds planted would grow and produce fruit. It hardly mattered. He was fighting, and that was noble in itself.
     The clamor outside grew louder. Steel clattered against wood. Shouts. Screams. Cries.
     Volume: 10 – Maximum.
     He entered the chatroom. Real-time battles against democrats, Harry Potter fans and other infidels. He was cussed at. Insulted. Belittled. In short, horribly persecuted for his faith. They called him a fool. He replied that the foolishness of God was wiser than men. They called him closed-minded. He said their minds were so open that their brains fell out. They called him blind. He just threw that one back at them, cautioning them to avoid the ditch they were headed for.
     He smiled, the light from the screen dancing on his pale face. Persecuted for Christ. Could there be anything better?
     The noise from outside grew again. He didn’t turn to look out the window behind him.

     The Darkness was not still. It never was. Ballard gripped the sword in his right hand while his left checked the wound at his side. Still bleeding. Maybe mortal, but not for a while.
     His two companions crouched at either side of him, peering at the darkness and watching the princes and principalities it was spawning. They were uncountable. Long-toothed creatures of injustice stomped around, their massive arms crushing innocents and soldiers alike. The many-races of venomous serpents of Religion poisoned and ran, patiently waiting for their victims to die before fully devouring them. Orcs and giants spiders and wraiths, all representing a different side of the shadow, all worked together to expunge the light from the village. Few fought. Few ran. Many died.
     Ballard gripped his sword tightly. He felt the wound at his side split open again and ooze out, the fluid staining his tunic.
     “Are we ready?” he whispered.
     “Always ready,” the friend to his right said.
     The one on the left nocked an arrow and said a prayer as his answer. Ballard gestured to a particularity large group of serpents who had taken over an entire section of the village. Long and white, they went from house to house, taking entire families, searching for fresh prey with their large, moon-like eyes. His friends nodded. They attacked with a fierce cry.

     Back at the computer, the pale man had figured out how to turn the volume up to 11.

This is second-hand unless you’re reading it at http://www.theilliteratescribe.com

     It was odd that the two notes would arrive at the same time. Odder still that letters of such weight would come immediately after graduating the academy. It seemed that he had been at the academy all his life. Sitting there in the sterile barracks Luke could hardly remember the boy he had once been, dusty and wild-eyed, spending his spare time at Tasha Station or pegging off wamprats in his old T-16.
     What an odd hobby, he thought to himself.
     He couldn’t bring himself to regret that rash choice, a year earlier. Biggs was going to the academy and it hardly seemed fair for Uncle Owen to forbid him from joining him. Even though everything had changed between him and Biggs since then (rumors were that Biggs had gone AWOL and joined the rebellion), he still couldn’t bring himself to regret. Even with the first letter in his hands.

        Cdt. Skywalker,
     It is with deep regret that we inform you of the tragic events that have recently occurred on Tatooine. Your aunt and uncle have been savagely murdered by the roaming bandits you call Sand People. The tiny Imperial presence in the area has already made it their number one priority to hunt down the murderers and bring them to swift justice. You have my deepest condolences.
          Sincerely,
           Davin Felth

     Out in the cold, dark abyss of space, Luke could not really realize that they were gone. In a way, they had been gone for a full year. He had never actually believed that he would see them again. So the letter, though depressing, could not completely overshadow the other message he had received.

        Cdt. SKYWALKER,
     You are commanded to report to DOCKING BAY FOUR at 2300hrs tonight for transport to your new posting. At the moment this posting is classified TOP-SECRET and you are ordered to share the new of this posting with NO-ONE. Upon arrival you will be awarded rank of FLIGHT OFFICER.
          Wing Commander Jestman

     The sympathy letter from Felth was in his right hand. The posting order in his left. He looked at them both. One seemed brighter. One seemed bigger. One had a future. He put the note in his right hand down on his bunk. Half-smiled to himself.
     That clinches it, he thought, moving out was the right choice. I would have been killed along with them. There never was a future for me on that rock.
     He lay down to sleep what little he could before his post.

     There were no windows in the cargo bay. Only people. Rows and rows of people. Most of them were older, gruffer than Luke. Only a handful had been in the academy with him. And those, he remembered, were near the top of their respective classes, like he himself had been. No one spoke to him as they cruised through hyperspace. Few spoke at all. It was as if most of them had never met each other. Not that it mattered. Their job was not to socialize, Luke knew and understood this. He was a little ashamed of the foolhardy boy he had been, playing around and wasting time with friends when there was such a conflict going on in the galaxy. A wasteful one that refused to allow peace and order to take charge.
Well, at least he was on the right side now.
     Luke felt the ship drop out of hyperspace. They were close. Announcements sounded over the PA system. Assignments were handed out. Luke learned the name of the new post: Death Star.

     It felt like walking onto a starport on a planet, not a space station. The artificial gravity had no fluctuations. The sleek design and brightly-lit corridors were wide open, as if there was plenty of room to spare. And the hangers, oh the hangers!
     Luke didn’t pay much attention to the hanger his transport docked in. It was the TIE hangers that drew him. His old T-16 seemed like a child’s toy next to these ships. More maneuverable than anything he had ever laid his hands on, the TIE fighters seemed made for him, their quick reactions to every delicate touch thrilled him and told him a deep truth: You belong here with us.
     And, of course, he did not spend all his time staring at them. He flew them. Oh how he flew them! His heart flew when he found out that he had been selected to train with an elite TIE squad. To study under them, fight alongside them, and help bring order to the galaxy. Life could not have been better.

     He trained long. The other pilots became close friends. He went on missions, kept the peace. He even provided escort once when Lord Vader (who lived on that very station!) went out for his weekly flight. Life was good.
     And peaceful. There was not much need for battles after the Death Star began pressing the wasteful rebellion down. The last battle he remembered was at a far-away system called Yavin. A rebel base was lodged there. The Death Star moved in. The rebels reacted with violence. There was a terrific battle. Luke fought in it. On his own he took down four X-wings and a Y-wing (on his own!). The battle fizzled out and the rebel base was removed. The rebellion faded away after that. Faded into nothingness, with no will left to fight.

     On the other side of the galaxy another force was fading. The force residing in a small green creature, once strong and vibrant, drained away. Leaving a shell of despair and sadness and the repeating words, “Why…why?”

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This is second-hand unless you’re reading it at http://www.theilliteratescribe.com

I really miss fiction. I used to write it a lot. I’m getting back into it, with a few neat projects on the go. But I really wanted it to be a part of this blog. Otherwise people might think that I’m just a whiny dude who doesn’t like Christians (I do, actually, like Christians).

So on that note, I’ve decided to start writing some flash fiction, aiming at around 500 words. We’ll see how it goes. Enjoy.

They said he would get used to the constant whirring of the servers behind him. He never did.
Or maybe he did. But whenever he would stumble across that thought he would notice them all over again, and they would drone away in his mind, burrowing under his thoughts and permeating them. He was sure they were driving him mad. But only when he thought about them. Or when he thought about how he hardly ever thought of them.
It was a slow day. People rarely called on Fridays. He thought that was a good thing, though he couldn't put his finger on why he thought that was a good thing, why no work was better than work and idle, better than moving.
But even though he was convinced that it was a good thing, he was full of angst. He stared at the screen in from of him, primed and ready for a service call, and played with the tea bag in the already-saturated water.
He thought about playing a Flash game, but his boss would probably not have appreciated it. His boss knew he was idle, but it was better to be idle and bored than idle and entertained, or something like that.
He stood up, pushing his chair out and letting it roll out of his workstation. He peeked over the dividers flanking his desk at the other support grunts. They didn't look up. One was busy with wikipedia, the other with facebook. Both better than Flash games, he supposed. More productive, in a way.
He sighed. No one looked up. He looked around the support pit, taking in its painful familiarity, and walked out to the coffee makers. One of the developers was there. He thought his name was Don, or something.
"Hey man!" the developer said with a grin. "Great news!"
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah! I figured out the problem with that ODBC sync. I've already written a work-around and the new mde is up on the server. Woo! What a rush!" He spilled a little coffee on his bright shirt.
"Yeah? Wow. That's great."
"Yeah, it's great!" Don said. "I don't understand people who say the software industry is boring."
"Huh. Yeah, me neither." He poured himself a coffee.
"You know, people ought to learn programming skills in school. It's good for mental development. Just think of what you've gained by working here."
"What I've gained?"
"All the life-skills you've gotten by working with this software. It's unique, no one else knows how to handle the program like you support guys."
He tried to smile. "Yeah, I guess it is really useful. I mean, I don't even know how many times in life my knowledge about online product purchasing and receiving software will come in handy. Yeah. Woo ha."
He turned back to the support pit. Found his way to his desk. Noticed the full mug of tea sitting there. Put his coffee beside it.
He his hands to his temples and wondered if he could have been an actor. Then he began to type.
www.wikipedia.com

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This is second-hand unless you’re reading it at http://www.theilliteratescribe.com

This post has been removed. But I shan’t tell you why.

As I walked through the world I happened upon a great bazaar. I had heard of this famous place long before I saw it with my eyes. Its name is Vanity Fair. In ages past many good men have written of it. The fair is massive and glorious. Every good and service imaginable is sold there. An observant man once wrote that one could purchase

houses, lands, trades, places, honours, preferments, titles, countries, kingdoms, lusts, pleasures; and delights of all sorts – as harlots, wives, husbands, children, masters, servants, lives, blood, bodies, souls, silver, gold, pearls, precious stones, and what not. And, moreover, at this fair there are at all times to be seen jugglings, cheats, games, plays, fools, apes, knaves, and rogues, and that of every kind.

In a word, the Fair contains everything you could ever want to amaze, distract and tickle you, though it seemed to lack bread, meat and wine. This was of little discouragement to the patrons, of course, for the necessities of life are easily forgone so long as one has the luxuries.

I wandered for a while in the fair, careful not to attract the attention of the merchants, for they were eager to make a sale and I did not have the will to pay the high price for the wares they sold. I would have wished to not pass through that fair at all, but me destination lay beyond it and there was no way around. Seeing that I was not very interested in the wares they offered, the merchants directed me to a very large shop that I had not read about before. Indeed, I had never expected the merchant I was presently introduced to.

She was obviously a woman of wealth and high birth. Her many jewels and golden chains shimmered in the light. I noticed that while this was the best-lit shop, it also seemed to house the most shadows. The woman smiled at me, much like a lioness sneers at her next meal. She bid me enter the shop and inspect her wares.

“Come in, come in.” She said to me as she took me by the hand. “I promise I have the finest things, the best in all the land. Here in this town I’m sure you’ve found that many things are foul. But in this place I sell cheap grace and feelings for the soul. I am the Church, and I sell the wares of God.”

Her introduction piqued my interest, and I consented to being given a tour. The first room she took me into was full of color and light, as dazzling as a casino strip. I heard voices and musics and tongues of every kind running to and fro aimlessly throughout the room, all of them trying to entice me. I could tell that my hostess was a master saleswoman.

“This is the room of emotion.” She told me. “It is our biggest seller. I’m sure you’ll find something here to your liking.”

I browsed for a while, half-wondering if there would be anything here for me. I saw products fit for every disposition you could think of. There was a display called mindless prayer. In it I saw two men praying. Walking closer I noticed that their skulls were open and their brains were actually sitting outside their bodies in jars attached to them by copper wires. It was disturbing to say the least. The first man was on his knees, his eyes toward the ground and his mouth moving slowly and reverently. I crept up close to hear him speak.

“Great God and heavenly Father.” He said in a tone monotonous enough to kill a tortoise. “I thank you for the great joy in my life. For the amazing ecstasy and happiness with which you have blessed me. I thank you I am the only one who seems to be privy to this amazing, mind-blowing joy. Thank you.”

I walked to his brain jar to examine the contents. It seemed asleep, as no alpha waves were being produced as far as I could tell. His jar read the name of his product. “Foolish Reverence.”

“That’s not much of a big seller these days.” My guide informed me. “But you should have seen the sales we’ve made in the past! We still keep it in stock for those who prefer vintage brands.”

The second was on his feet, hands stretched out toward heaven. His mouth moved rapidly, spitting words I could not understand. His brain was a world of difference from the first man. It seemed to pulsate and sparkle with a sort of sugary energy in its jar. I thought for sure this was a useful product. As I looked closer I saw the display screen report that, like the first man, there were no Alpha waves involved in this brain’s experience. There were many wires going into the brain, they seemed to be the source of the pulsating and the sparkles. I traced the wires and saw that they led back out into Vanity Fair. Interesting. The label read, “Distracted Devotion.”

“This is our biggest seller in many places. Shall I box one up for you?”

I told her I was just browsing for now, but I’d let her know if I found anything I wanted. I happened upon a section of the room marked “Theologies”. Boxes of equal size lined the walls. They were clearly labeled with product names, pictures and price. I examined a few.

On box of yellow and pink color was labeled, “The Anthrocentric God.” The picture was of a small man on a throne while a being of radiant light knelt before him. It promised to give the purchaser the whole world. The price was a mere soul.

A translucent box held something called “The God of the Possible.” It promised to preserve self and free will. The price was servitude to hopelessness.

The green box held “The God of a Thousand Cattle.” It gave a life of health and wealth and a very upbeat crowd. The price was an intellect and all your possessions, payable upon death.

Another box was offered in a package deal with “Distracted Devotion.” It was “The God of Fun”. Also known as “Buddy Jesus”. The price of that one wasn’t listed, so I assumed it to be pretty steep.

The last one I saw was a white box labeled “The Enlightened God.” The subtitle was called “The Wisdom of Men.” This one promised to give you the best of both worlds. Respect from the world and religious feelings from the church. I noticed that many people had purchased this one and all became quite prominent in the Fair. I would have queried about the price, but then I remembered that I had already purchased “The Foolishness of God” back at the Wicket Gate on Someone else’s account. I also remembered the saying that the foolishness of God is wiser that the wisdom of men. So I passed on.

The woman showing me around took me by the hand and speedily showed me the rest of her wares. She offered every kind of emotion (that was her specialty). Some, she said, enjoyed ecstasy while others delighted in solemnity. Some loved peace and others loved Rock n’ Roll. She catered to all. She also sold causes and ministries and many ends to which her religion could be a means. She sold clothes and foods and teachings to match every palette under the sun. Some were intellectual while others killed the mind. Some stirred the emotions and others dulled the heart. It was a good experience to see all these things, I was sure. When I had my fill I decided to take my leave. I bid my hostess good day and made my way to the door.

“Leaving so soon?” She said with crookedly sweet smile. “But you have not yet made a purchase.”

“I know,” I replied. “But you see I haven’t the money to pay your fees.”

“Oh that is no problem!” She exclaimed. “We can work out a payment program. You could even do a little work around the shop to help pay for whatever it is you need. I’m always open to negotiate.”

“You’re very kind.” I said. “But I really have no need for the wares you sell. And I think that even if I worked a payment plan out with you I would still end up paying more than I could afford. Besides, my Master has bid me be wary of the merchants in this Fair, and I think it would do him dishonor to deal with you.”

“But good sir! Your master is also mine! Perhaps you did not catch my name. I am Ariel, the very bride of the Master you serve. Immanuel has put me here to be a shining light to the sinful stalls all around. I blend in among them and dispense the spiritual light my husband has given me.”

“I find that hard to believe. I see all the electrical cables in your shop come from the Fair, so it would seem that you draw your power, not from the Celestial City, but from the Vain Fair itself. I have also noticed that the things you sell can be easily purchased at a hundred other stores in this fair, only in different boxes. Your emotions can be found in drugs, music and fun. Your causes and ministries can be found in thousands of other forms with only wrapping as the difference. And your theologies can be easily made at home. I see nothing unique at all about your wares. The only thing unique is that while the other shops fully claim to be of the world you claim to be of heaven. Only your selling tactic is different.”

At this my hostess took offence. Her nostrils flared and she shouted out at me. “Heretic! Judgmental fool! Begone from here! You don’t belong in this place. Do not criticize what God has anointed and blessed. Get out and take your uptight, narrow-minded, puritanical ways with you!” And she drove me out of her presence.

I continued my walk through the world and passed through the fair. As I walked the path I came upon a grave man with the best of books in his hand. His eyes were turned towards heaven and his back was to the fair. He addressed me when I caught up to him.

“Good day, my dear son.” He said. “I have been waiting for you.”

“How is that? For we have never met.” I asked.

“I have been sent with a word of warning and encouragement. I also come with a gift, if you will accept it. My name is Teacher.”

“I stand in need of both. Please tell me what it is you were sent to say.”

“I know that you came across a woman claiming to be Ariel in the Fair just a short while ago.”

“This is true. She tried to sell me delights of every kind, but I perceived that though they were packed in heavenly boxes they were only worldly things that would perish along with those who delighted in them.”

“You perceived correctly. Many are taken in by that woman. She is not, as she claims, Ariel, the wife of our Lord. Her true name is Gomer and she is a prostitute by trade. Her skills lie in seductive and deceit. Many have fallen greatly by her and there are few pilgrims today who do not carry at least a few trinkets from her store in their pockets. She has been the fall of many and will be the fall of many more, ere this age comes to an end.”

“But why,” I asked, “does the Master allow her to use His name and claim His relation if she be but a prostitute.”

“There are several reasons for that. Some we cannot enter into until we cross the river. One is that the Master does indeed love her and offers to heal her faithlessness. He sends messages to her daily, inviting her to come out of the fair and be separate. She gets few of them, however, as the other shopkeepers intercept them and destroy or pervert them. The few she does receive she herself changes and sells them in her shop.”

“Praise be to God that I escaped her.”

“Praise indeed! For many do not realize that a part of the payment for any ware in her store is to be blinded and sent among the tombs to wander until death. Most of her customers are satisfied, however, because they love the feelings she grants more than the sight and wisdom available at the Wicket Gate.”

I mused on this for a good while and praise the God who kept my foot from slipping into her net.

“And now for the gift I mentioned.” At this point a simple but beautiful woman stepped out from behind him. “This is Wisdom. A wife for you on your pilgrimage that the Master has prepared for you and all who ask. Treat her well and heed her counsel. Lean not on your own understanding, but seek the Lord in all you do. Fare thee well.”

I rejoiced in this and set my face toward the City of my calling. As I walked I embraced my new wife and sang out.

“Blessed is the one who finds wisdom,
and the one who gets understanding,
for the gain from her is better than gain from silver
and her profit better than gold.
She is more precious that jewels,
and nothing you desire can compare with her.
Long life is in her right hand;
in her left hand are riches and honor.
Her ways are ways of pleasantness,
and all her paths are peace.
She is a tree of life to those who lay hold of her;
those who hold her fast are called blessed.”