October 3rd (Suspense/Thriller)
It had taken two years.
Jack stood in front of massive earthly arches in front of him,
nervous and fatigued. He could barely keep his eyes opened, his body
scraped and worn from the plight through the mountains to reach the
remote shore. A soft whisper floated around him every step he took, but
he couldn't make out the words. He trudged across the warm, sparkling
sand toward the end of the arches, hoping the trip had not been in vain.
As he reached the first arch, a mild wind began to pick up, swirling
the sand at his feet, and at a distance, creating a seemingly formidable
cloud of sand which blocked his vision. Passing underneath it, the
ground behind him rose and cut him off from the entrance of the shore:
this was it. The whisper grew with a calm intensity, the raspy and
almost sharp hisses it commanded intruding his hearing; sounds similar
to a skipping audio recording played in reverse filled his ears. He
began to feel a sense of dread and fear as he continued onward toward
the second arch.
Around him, the vast ocean had dissipated into a barren desert, the
bones of fishes and other creatures he couldn't recognize adorned the
once seafloor. He could feel a lump in his throat, his body slightly
shivering as he continued moving. In the direction of the mountains now
existed a massive landscape of rock and fire, a darkening sky loomed
over his head as ash fell on the forsaken ground.
When he reached the second arch, the cuts and hisses he heard
disappeared, replaced by a clear statement repeated over and over again:
only the noble may rise. As he stepped under the arch, the
mountains and ocean reappeared again, returned to their beautiful
wholeness. The statement rose in pitch and urgency, being repeated
slightly faster and faster as time went on.
Only the noble may rise.
Jack knew he was in no way noble, but he also knew that the notion of
nobility the current era of man had created was not the noble the voice
meant. He had been chosen. As he passed the second arch, the once-blue
sky had now taken on an ethereal glow, an almost holy white light beamed
down from the heavens and illuminated the path toward the third arch.
Instead of an ocean, a great city floated on what seemed to be clouds,
the mountains were replaced by a field that stretched until the horizon.
Only the noble may rise. Only the pure may change.
Jack recognized the prophecy, every added clause an indication that
he was reaching his destination. The site had been the earliest place of
worship, a fitting scenario, for early man to worship and feel awe of
his Mother's creation. The arches had withstood the test of time and
nature, a feat most scientists would deem impossible. But, nothing was
impossible for what was ahead. He had been reborn once from
an early grave, and heard the whisper that eventually led him mad with
curiosity: the same whisper which led him to this desolate location.
"God is not immortal. He is not superhuman. He is not immoral. And, he is tired."
His steps became drags as he continued toward the final arch, his
body inflamed and sore from his trials to this location. Lack of food,
an inconsistent supply of oxygen, and a number of other complications
had taken its toll on his body. He knew soon enough he'd have to slow to
a crawl. As he neared the arch, the light overhead glowed brighter and
brighter, to the point of nearly blinding him. The city began to shake
and collapse, the field became lit and burned as wildfires do. A
piercing screech filled his ears as he sluggishly motioned on, he felt a
trickling of liquid on one of his ears: he was bleeding out of it.
Only the noble may rise. Only the pure may change. Only the chosen resurrect.
Upon being underneath the final arch, the visions once again
vanished, returning the mountains and ocean to their original state. Am I looking forward in time? Backward? He stopped for a moment to
collect his thoughts. Both? He had spoken to God once, while in his
personal limbo. It had told him that it was not the original God, and
that the God before it was not either.
"No one knows who the first God
was. Hell, we don't even know if there WAS a first God. It's completely
possible that the God before me was the first God but we didn't know it
because we assumed there was always something before us. It's also
possible that we may never know, that it never introduced itself so we
couldn't know how it all really began."
Only the noble may rise. Only the pure may change. Only the chosen resurrect. Only the martyrs become.
He fell to his knees in front of the third arch, and began crawling
toward the horizon. The words of the Secundus echoed in his head: "Even
in omniscience, we know nothing." He finally saw what he had been
searching for for two years, a tear formed on the corner of his eye. The
altar stood in front of him erect, but quaint; minimal adornments
blemished its pale, white brilliance. Jack managed to drag himself onto
the altar, and peered at the book that laid on it. The chant was there,
the cup empty but waiting for his blood. He reached into his pocket, and
reached out a small, radiating purple jewel: his soul, he had been
He was finally ready to begin the ceremony. The final words of the
Secundus echoed around him as he began his destiny, slicing his wrist
and bleeding into the cup.
"Every boss needs a replacement, even God. Go forth, Joaquin. Assume your rightful role in this world. Become their new God."