He sat, alone, in his room. The room was locked. The curtain was drawn, and the windows were tightly secured.
His house was free from the presence of another human being.
He was determined to shut himself up from everyone.
He must be careful. The success of his act depended on the fact that no one knew anything about it.
His wife and children, especially, must be kept away from the secret for as long as possible.
He had taken precautions to ensure that they knew nothing about his decision. It would be months after he completed his task before they would find up about it.That was his plans. His plans always worked. He was a careful man, a man of plans.
The pistol was loaded. It should be a quick one. Just a pull of a trigger. Just once. And it would be over. He should vanish into nothingness. God is a myth invented by fearful men to convince themselves that their pathetic lives were worth more than just some random products of chance. Strong man like him had no such need for an entity that existed only in the head of those who were afraid of death.
"I will do this like a man," he said to himself. He took a deep breath, and pointed the tip of the pistol at his own head.
What if... He existed?
No, it could not be the case. He had given his entire life to disproving His existence. It must not be the case.
"You are running away," a small gentle voice spoke into his ears. He hesitated.
"I am not," he replied.
"Yes, you are," the voice replied to him.
I must be going mad, the man thought to himself
.
"I am running away from nothing." He replied. His voice was steady.
"You are running away from me." The voice was firm.
"Running away from you? You do not even exist. Why will I run away from someone that doesn’t exist?” He laughed.
"You know the answer," the voice said, calmly. "You do not like the idea of being made by me. You do not want to be accountable to someone for your actions in life. And most importantly, you are fearful.”
"Fearful? Ha, are you joking? The fearful ones are those who believe in you!”
"No, they are the brave ones. But you, though you deem yourself to be intelligent and brave, is the real foolish coward.”
"What am I fearful of? Tell me, oh my imaginary friend, what am I afraid of?" The man sneered.
"Admitting you are wrong." The answer was straight forward. It stunned the man into a long period of silence.
“I am famous in the University for being the moral and intelligent atheist. I cannot tell them now that you exist. My reputation is very important to me.” The man pleaded. His voice was still calm, but his fingers began to tremble, slightly. "I am in debt, more debt than my family can ever pay off. My investment in the stock market has backfired. I am left with a wife and three children and I can no longer provide for them. It is the end for me.”
The man waited for the voice to respond, but it did not respond. The man waited for a long moment. There was no voice. Only silence. The man laughed. What a fool I had been, to think He is real. He turned his attention back to the pistol that he pointed towards his head.
"A choice," the irritating voice spoke. "I give you and everyone a choice. You can choose to swallow your pride and bravely confront the ruins it had brought into your own life, by accepting my help. Or you can be a coward, and choose to run away from me forever."
"Oh, shut up," the man shouted to no one in particular. His voice was trembling, now. The man was in anguish. He was no longer certain about his absolute belief in the non-existence of the being that fearful people chose to worship as God. Time slowed its pace to a stop, while the fingers of the atheist continued to tremble. The atheist struggled in the stillness whether to pull the trigger or to confront the people who used to respect his belief in the non-existence of God.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Short Story: Not Alone
It was night. Late at night.
She was sitting there, alone.
Everyone had gone home.
But she was still there, alone.
The brown box which contained her father was there with her.
The accursed brown box. The final bed of her father.
Her father. The one she loved.
He lied there, in the accursed brown box, asleep. He would never wake, again.
She sobbed.
“Oh, God…”
The crickets were singing at a distance, nearby, oblivious, indifferent to the piercing pain that numbed her. How selfish they were! Didn’t they know that she had just lost her father… forever?
“Oh, God…”
The Taoist priest had chanted loudly during the funeral. He was opening the way for her father to journey into his new after-life. She wished he wasn’t the one to conduct her father’s funeral.
“Oh, God…”
She held tightly to her cross. So tightly it bit into her palm. Red liquid flowed.
“I am the way, the truth and the life. No one came to the Father except through me.”
These words, they had always been her comforts. What joy they had been to her when her eyes were first enlightened to the reality of His love and she took that first step to accept Him into her life. Yet, these were the words that were piercing her, now.
Repeatedly, cruelly, again, and again.
“Please accept Jesus, Daddy,” she pleaded, at the sick bed of her father.“I love you, my child, but I am a staunch Taoist.” He was determined that he did not need Him, until the end. Why was he so stubborn?
“Oh, God…”
She wanted to scream, she wanted to shout, she wanted to do something to stop that burning pain within.
Why didn’t He save her father, why didn’t He?
“My father, is he going to be in hell?”
“God has a purpose for everything, Shu Mei.”
“Cut that out, pastor, tell me the truth!”
“Shu Mei, I am sorry.”
“Idiot.”
“It is a sin to say that.”
“Oh, shut up!”
They will never understand. They are from Christian homes, Christian families. All their loved ones, all their relatives are Christians. What do they know of her pains?
“I will change place with my father if I can. I will take his place. Oh, God, I really will. Where is my father, now?”
He disappeared. He never spoke a word to her. She knew the answer to her question. She didn’t want an answer.
She sobbed.
“My God, my God, why had you forsaken me!” She screamed.
The red liquid fell from her palm like rain-drop to merge with the puddle of her tears that formed on the ground.
She was oblivious to a shadow that stood behind her. He had been there for a long time. He had never stirred. His right hand was placed on her shoulder, hand that made the star, hand that was pierced on the cross, but hand that could do nothing to alter the free-will of someone who chose to reject Him.
The tears that fell from His face and the words that He longed to say were shut off from her eyes and ears. But it did not matter. He stayed there with her.
It was night. Late at night.
She was sitting there, confused.
Everyone had gone home.
But she was still there, in pain.
It rained. She was not alone. He was sobbing.
She was sitting there, alone.
Everyone had gone home.
But she was still there, alone.
The brown box which contained her father was there with her.
The accursed brown box. The final bed of her father.
Her father. The one she loved.
He lied there, in the accursed brown box, asleep. He would never wake, again.
She sobbed.
“Oh, God…”
The crickets were singing at a distance, nearby, oblivious, indifferent to the piercing pain that numbed her. How selfish they were! Didn’t they know that she had just lost her father… forever?
“Oh, God…”
The Taoist priest had chanted loudly during the funeral. He was opening the way for her father to journey into his new after-life. She wished he wasn’t the one to conduct her father’s funeral.
“Oh, God…”
She held tightly to her cross. So tightly it bit into her palm. Red liquid flowed.
“I am the way, the truth and the life. No one came to the Father except through me.”
These words, they had always been her comforts. What joy they had been to her when her eyes were first enlightened to the reality of His love and she took that first step to accept Him into her life. Yet, these were the words that were piercing her, now.
Repeatedly, cruelly, again, and again.
“Please accept Jesus, Daddy,” she pleaded, at the sick bed of her father.“I love you, my child, but I am a staunch Taoist.” He was determined that he did not need Him, until the end. Why was he so stubborn?
“Oh, God…”
She wanted to scream, she wanted to shout, she wanted to do something to stop that burning pain within.
Why didn’t He save her father, why didn’t He?
“My father, is he going to be in hell?”
“God has a purpose for everything, Shu Mei.”
“Cut that out, pastor, tell me the truth!”
“Shu Mei, I am sorry.”
“Idiot.”
“It is a sin to say that.”
“Oh, shut up!”
They will never understand. They are from Christian homes, Christian families. All their loved ones, all their relatives are Christians. What do they know of her pains?
“I will change place with my father if I can. I will take his place. Oh, God, I really will. Where is my father, now?”
He disappeared. He never spoke a word to her. She knew the answer to her question. She didn’t want an answer.
She sobbed.
“My God, my God, why had you forsaken me!” She screamed.
The red liquid fell from her palm like rain-drop to merge with the puddle of her tears that formed on the ground.
She was oblivious to a shadow that stood behind her. He had been there for a long time. He had never stirred. His right hand was placed on her shoulder, hand that made the star, hand that was pierced on the cross, but hand that could do nothing to alter the free-will of someone who chose to reject Him.
The tears that fell from His face and the words that He longed to say were shut off from her eyes and ears. But it did not matter. He stayed there with her.
It was night. Late at night.
She was sitting there, confused.
Everyone had gone home.
But she was still there, in pain.
It rained. She was not alone. He was sobbing.
Short Story: The heart of a slave daughter
“Aren’t you glad I brought the torch light?” Amy gloated, as they traveled inside the cave tunnel.
“Ya, always the clever one, huh,” Brian sneered.
“Clever? Not really that clever. Just better than you two idiots,” Amy smiled.
Heck, just because she is the rich man’s daughter, that does not give her the right to insult us, thought Brian to himself in anger, but he said nothing.
“Er… we are reaching… an opening, I think,” Mary stuttered, pointing to some flickers of light at a distance.
“I can see that for myself, cripple!” Amy replied, sharply. “I wonder why we even bring you along in the first place.” Mary bowed her head down in response to the curt reply of the daughter of her mother’s master. Her limping right foot was always the game of the girls in town.
“Mind your words, Amy,” Brian defended Mary. It was the slave’s daughter who found the map to the treasure and shared it with them. There was also a rumor going on that the daughter of the slave at Amy’s house had come down with some terminal sickness.
“Keep quiet, Brian. Don’t forget, your dad still had not repaid some of the money he had borrowed from my dad!” Brian was quiet for the rest of their journey towards the flicker of light.
It took them minutes after they had entered before their eyes finally adjusted themselves to the blinding whiteness. Sparkling whitish-golden valuables of all shapes and sizes filled up an empty pit about 4 knee lengths away. A man, with chocolate colored hair, stood dutifully beside the pool of valuables.
“You had come for the treasure?” His rich and deep voice echoed through the cave.
“Not all of us, just this guy and me,” Amy replied, pointing to Brian. “That cripple… she is just our servant. Isn’t that so, Brian?”
“Yes,” Brian replied, after some hesitation.
“It doesn’t matter. The treasure will belong to whoever can answer my question.” The man said, emotionlessly.
“Then, let me be the first to answer your question,” Amy requested.
“Very well, then. Here is my question: Where is the treasure of treasures?”
“The pool of valuables beside you,” answered Amy. She collapsed to the ground, instantly.
“What… what happened?” Brian asked in fear.
“A rule of this game,” the man explained, dutifully. “You will forfeit your life if you give a wrong answer to my question.”
“I… I am out... out of here,” Brian stuttered. His legs refused to obey his instruction to escape.
“Another rule. You cannot leave unless you answer my question.”
“I… I don’t want to die,” Brian stammered.
“Where is the treasure of treasures?” The man asked, coldly.
“Please!” Brian pleaded, and crumpled instantly to the ground right after he uttered the word.
“Your turn, young lady.” The man turned to the crippled Mary.
“I don’t want the treasure. You can take my life, too, if you really must, but please… please… let these two friends of mine live!” Mary pleaded in tears.
“I can see you are sick, my child, from your face. The treasure can cure you if you hold it near to you. You are dying, child, unless, you have the treasure. Why not take a gamble at the answer and see if you may win the cure to your life?”
“No, dear sir,” she replied after a moment of hesitation. “I don’t want the cure. I want my friends.”
“Are you sure you are willing to trade your life for theirs?” The voice of the man was gentle and soothing, almost familiar.
“Yes,” the slave daughter cried.
“Even though they had been so wicked towards you?”
“Yes,” Mary confirmed.
“Mary, I am proud of you.” The voice was unmistakably familiar.
“Jesus,” Mary exclaimed and the man before her transformed into the familiar figure of her savior. The overjoyed girl limped speedily into the laps of her smiling Master.
“Do you know where you can find the treasure of treasures?” Jesus whispered.
“Where?” The limping girl asked in curiosity.
Jesus smiled, “I am bringing you to a mansion I had prepared for you, my pretty child. I will tell you the answer when we get there.”
When Amy and Brian regained their consciousness, Mary was nowhere to be found. The pool of valuables was gone. Where the valuables used to be, there shone a golden heart. And, oh, it was so beautiful. The treasure of treasures.
“Ya, always the clever one, huh,” Brian sneered.
“Clever? Not really that clever. Just better than you two idiots,” Amy smiled.
Heck, just because she is the rich man’s daughter, that does not give her the right to insult us, thought Brian to himself in anger, but he said nothing.
“Er… we are reaching… an opening, I think,” Mary stuttered, pointing to some flickers of light at a distance.
“I can see that for myself, cripple!” Amy replied, sharply. “I wonder why we even bring you along in the first place.” Mary bowed her head down in response to the curt reply of the daughter of her mother’s master. Her limping right foot was always the game of the girls in town.
“Mind your words, Amy,” Brian defended Mary. It was the slave’s daughter who found the map to the treasure and shared it with them. There was also a rumor going on that the daughter of the slave at Amy’s house had come down with some terminal sickness.
“Keep quiet, Brian. Don’t forget, your dad still had not repaid some of the money he had borrowed from my dad!” Brian was quiet for the rest of their journey towards the flicker of light.
It took them minutes after they had entered before their eyes finally adjusted themselves to the blinding whiteness. Sparkling whitish-golden valuables of all shapes and sizes filled up an empty pit about 4 knee lengths away. A man, with chocolate colored hair, stood dutifully beside the pool of valuables.
“You had come for the treasure?” His rich and deep voice echoed through the cave.
“Not all of us, just this guy and me,” Amy replied, pointing to Brian. “That cripple… she is just our servant. Isn’t that so, Brian?”
“Yes,” Brian replied, after some hesitation.
“It doesn’t matter. The treasure will belong to whoever can answer my question.” The man said, emotionlessly.
“Then, let me be the first to answer your question,” Amy requested.
“Very well, then. Here is my question: Where is the treasure of treasures?”
“The pool of valuables beside you,” answered Amy. She collapsed to the ground, instantly.
“What… what happened?” Brian asked in fear.
“A rule of this game,” the man explained, dutifully. “You will forfeit your life if you give a wrong answer to my question.”
“I… I am out... out of here,” Brian stuttered. His legs refused to obey his instruction to escape.
“Another rule. You cannot leave unless you answer my question.”
“I… I don’t want to die,” Brian stammered.
“Where is the treasure of treasures?” The man asked, coldly.
“Please!” Brian pleaded, and crumpled instantly to the ground right after he uttered the word.
“Your turn, young lady.” The man turned to the crippled Mary.
“I don’t want the treasure. You can take my life, too, if you really must, but please… please… let these two friends of mine live!” Mary pleaded in tears.
“I can see you are sick, my child, from your face. The treasure can cure you if you hold it near to you. You are dying, child, unless, you have the treasure. Why not take a gamble at the answer and see if you may win the cure to your life?”
“No, dear sir,” she replied after a moment of hesitation. “I don’t want the cure. I want my friends.”
“Are you sure you are willing to trade your life for theirs?” The voice of the man was gentle and soothing, almost familiar.
“Yes,” the slave daughter cried.
“Even though they had been so wicked towards you?”
“Yes,” Mary confirmed.
“Mary, I am proud of you.” The voice was unmistakably familiar.
“Jesus,” Mary exclaimed and the man before her transformed into the familiar figure of her savior. The overjoyed girl limped speedily into the laps of her smiling Master.
“Do you know where you can find the treasure of treasures?” Jesus whispered.
“Where?” The limping girl asked in curiosity.
Jesus smiled, “I am bringing you to a mansion I had prepared for you, my pretty child. I will tell you the answer when we get there.”
When Amy and Brian regained their consciousness, Mary was nowhere to be found. The pool of valuables was gone. Where the valuables used to be, there shone a golden heart. And, oh, it was so beautiful. The treasure of treasures.
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Short Story: Numbers
“Do not…do not kill me.” She trembled in fear, holding tightly to a book.
The assassin’s face was blank, expressionless. His eyes were lifeless, void of a soul within. He was made for one mission, created for one purpose, trained for one function. The tip of his gun continued to point at the young lady that was before him.
Kill. 757, your mission in life is to kill. The words that were repeated into his blank mind echoed again and again.
“I… have a secret that can change your life…” Bang.
Emperor Number Infinite was standing at the stage, facing a crowd of more than a million expressionless people, all dressed in similar identical gray factory made clothes.
“For the first time in the history of planet 345, we had created one billion factory babies within 365 days with a fatality rate of zero.”
The people gazed at the emperor with lifeless eyes, listening.
“Of these one billion babies, the most genetically healthy ones will be groomed to be leaders and breeders. The remainders will be assigned to be trained respectively to specific roles which we had paved out for them.”
The people continued to gaze at the emperor.
“And on the 25th year of my reign, we will go to wars with earth. We will pay the earthlings back for abandoning us here.”
The people clapped. There was no smile, no joy, their faces were all blank.
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.
That was the first sentence found in the book which the dead girl had been holding.
“Your name, given name, is number 757. You are the 757th successful babies that survive through your first 5 years in planet number 345.”
He was given a name for the first time in his 1,825th day alive.
So God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him, male and female He created them.
That was how those pathetic earthlings who dared to travel to planet 345 believed themselves to be made?
“You were all made in a factory, with a machine. A sperm was collected from the male specimen, and an egg was collected from a female specimen, and the rest of your making took place inside a special machine known as the baby fertilizer.”
He remembered looking vaguely into some pictures that were taken from planet earth; the planet was so beautiful, with things which they call trees, cows, horses and butterflies, all coming forth naturally, not made in a factory.
It was so different from planet 345, where everything was artificially made, from the planet itself, to every single of the machinery tree, and chemically produced food.
Planet 345, a round metallic ball invented by the top scientists living in planet earth, was created by the earthlings to get rid of overpopulation problem on earth.
The people on earth in those photos were so different from the people in planet number 345. They have smiles, they have tears, and they all look so different from one another, as if they are made by a creative and unique being, not a product from a factory.
Through Him, all things were made; without Him nothing was made that has been made. John 1:3.
All things? Even factory made babies? Even him? A foreign feeling suddenly gripped hold of number 757, it sent strange water raining down his eyes.
"I am just a number. I am not like the earthling. I am made in a factory. I am not made by Him, whoever He is, wherever He may be."
He envied the girl. She was made by Him, not in a factory. Not like him.
For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.
“Does that also apply to me, Jesus? Will you also save me, if I believe in you? Please save me.”
Something strange entered into the heart of Number 757 for the first time in his life, something he could not explain. "Your body may be produced in a factory, but it is I who put your soul inside," a voice whispered gently within him.
Number 757 smiled. "I am a living being." He threw off the gun and held tightly onto the book.
The assassin’s face was blank, expressionless. His eyes were lifeless, void of a soul within. He was made for one mission, created for one purpose, trained for one function. The tip of his gun continued to point at the young lady that was before him.
Kill. 757, your mission in life is to kill. The words that were repeated into his blank mind echoed again and again.
“I… have a secret that can change your life…” Bang.
Emperor Number Infinite was standing at the stage, facing a crowd of more than a million expressionless people, all dressed in similar identical gray factory made clothes.
“For the first time in the history of planet 345, we had created one billion factory babies within 365 days with a fatality rate of zero.”
The people gazed at the emperor with lifeless eyes, listening.
“Of these one billion babies, the most genetically healthy ones will be groomed to be leaders and breeders. The remainders will be assigned to be trained respectively to specific roles which we had paved out for them.”
The people continued to gaze at the emperor.
“And on the 25th year of my reign, we will go to wars with earth. We will pay the earthlings back for abandoning us here.”
The people clapped. There was no smile, no joy, their faces were all blank.
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.
That was the first sentence found in the book which the dead girl had been holding.
“Your name, given name, is number 757. You are the 757th successful babies that survive through your first 5 years in planet number 345.”
He was given a name for the first time in his 1,825th day alive.
So God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him, male and female He created them.
That was how those pathetic earthlings who dared to travel to planet 345 believed themselves to be made?
“You were all made in a factory, with a machine. A sperm was collected from the male specimen, and an egg was collected from a female specimen, and the rest of your making took place inside a special machine known as the baby fertilizer.”
He remembered looking vaguely into some pictures that were taken from planet earth; the planet was so beautiful, with things which they call trees, cows, horses and butterflies, all coming forth naturally, not made in a factory.
It was so different from planet 345, where everything was artificially made, from the planet itself, to every single of the machinery tree, and chemically produced food.
Planet 345, a round metallic ball invented by the top scientists living in planet earth, was created by the earthlings to get rid of overpopulation problem on earth.
The people on earth in those photos were so different from the people in planet number 345. They have smiles, they have tears, and they all look so different from one another, as if they are made by a creative and unique being, not a product from a factory.
Through Him, all things were made; without Him nothing was made that has been made. John 1:3.
All things? Even factory made babies? Even him? A foreign feeling suddenly gripped hold of number 757, it sent strange water raining down his eyes.
"I am just a number. I am not like the earthling. I am made in a factory. I am not made by Him, whoever He is, wherever He may be."
He envied the girl. She was made by Him, not in a factory. Not like him.
For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.
“Does that also apply to me, Jesus? Will you also save me, if I believe in you? Please save me.”
Something strange entered into the heart of Number 757 for the first time in his life, something he could not explain. "Your body may be produced in a factory, but it is I who put your soul inside," a voice whispered gently within him.
Number 757 smiled. "I am a living being." He threw off the gun and held tightly onto the book.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
