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| Prodigal son. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Oct 1 2016, 11:32 PM (80 Views) | |
| GOD | Oct 1 2016, 11:32 PM Post #1 |
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The wind howls behind you, whistling in your ears though seemingly not touching you. Normally you would find this occurrence odd as you stand stone still looking up at an old dilapidated cape style house but you do not. Instead you focus on the rustic red shutters that are falling from their hinges, the stained white paint on the shingle siding which peels and flakes off. You think to yourself that this house was once beautiful and could be again but the thought quickly fades as you feel yourself drawn up the stone steps to the front door. Redemption. My breath is hot on your neck like fire but you do not worry about the presence behind you or lack thereof. Your feet move as if detached from your mind, moving you ever closer to the house. Redemption is a word used often by my children. Flippantly batted about like a token ideal. As if it were so easy to quantify and obtain. My words linger in your ear like sleep in your eye when you first wake but you give them no real thought. You are far too focused on the old brass knob in your hand, the cold shiver touching it sends up and down your spine like electricity. There is something both oddly comforting about the feel of the knob and terrifying at the same time You want Redemption for your sins. Redemption for your actions. Or inaction. You want redemption for your past. But you do not understand the meaning of the word. Redemption comes with sacrifice. With hardship. You seek the quick, easy path. Never embracing your own failures as a person. Instead blaming a heartless world that no longer cares. Redemption only comes to those who earn it. With a twist and a push the old wooden door creaks open exposing the interior of the house. The inside is worse than the outside, you think to yourself. There is a large hole half way up the once carpeted steps which face you, the ribs of the falls are exposed like that of a cadaver in a morgue moving up the stairwell. There is something eerie yet comforting about the house as you carefully step in, each board screaming beneath the weight of your body. To your left is what was once a dining room, a long table still barely holding itself together with a few chairs tucked in neatly beneath it. Always it is the world’s fault. You were not provided the same opportunities as others. Those above you kept your head below water. You look for any excuse besides the one in the mirror. And so you cannot be redeemed because you do not deserve it. You have not earned it. You squander your life away. Chasing selfish dreams. Never giving a second thought to aiding your fellow man. Who suffers just as much as you. Only concerning yourself with matters of the self. Ignoring the beggar on the street. The starving child on the television. You ghost walk through this life living only for you. While the world dies around you. You find yourself face to face with a faded picture of a young man seated on the mantle over a fire place. For a moment you feel as if you recognize this young man with long flowing black hair and a devilish smile. Something about him brings a smile to your own face. Is this not right, JC Keeton? You reach out for the picture but suddenly the glass shatters as if hit by a bullet. Do you not seek Redemption for the name of Keeton? The name of your father. A name that represents everything wrong with professional wrestling. A name built on hatred and revenge. A name that conjures more fear than respect. A name you wish to restore some semblance of honor too. A name you could make your own if it was not for the false sense of pride. The ideological way in which you view your father. Has blinded you to the truth. That you waste your time fighting for a redemption that is undeserved. When what you should be fighting for is Salvation. You prick your finger on a shard of the shattered glass, quickly bringing it to your mouth to suck the irony red liquid from the hole. Stepping back you feel dizzy as the room seems to start to spin. Your father is a false idol, JC. A man who does not deserve your love and respect. He cannot offer you the Salvation you should desire. He cannot raise you up from this soiled existence. He cannot enlighten you to the true way of the world. There is more to this life than your selfish dreams and carnal desires. There is love. There is me. And I am love. I am the way. I am the light. I am the one who guides you through your darkest hour. I am the one who carries you when your legs are too weak. I will give you strength when you have none. Courage to overcome the greatest of obstacles. Together with your hand in mine there is nothing we could not accomplish. All you have to do is believe. You try to find your footing but the floor beneath starts to crumble, you feel yourself falling into the abyss as darkness takes over. Your hands flail and struggle to find anything to grip onto but there is nothing until finally you land with a harsh thump on a cold, dusty concrete floor. You look up and see the hole where the floor gave out then around you at boxes of memories covered in spider webs. A noise catches your attention and you look up once more to see the figures of three hooded men peering down at you. Believe in me, son, as I believe in you. I believe in your weakness. Your fallibility. Your ineptitude. I believe through instruction and dedication you can ascend. You can shed your mortal coil as I have and become something more. You could stand by my side as we cleanse this Earth. Cleanse it of the scum and villainy that has sucked the life out of my creation. Cleanse it of the war and hatred that rips families apart. Cleanse it of a failed creation that can no longer feel my love. But will feel my wrath. You could be that wrath. As opposed to facing that wrath. You could be a disciple. A holy warrior who fights for something greater than himself. You could be my prodigal son. What little light shown through from the hole above was slowly blocked out by the growing number of hooded figures. One by one they gather until there is no light left save for their own glowing red eyes which didn’t unnerve you as much as you would think. Then again you could die in a ditch with the rest of the dogs! A flame flashes bright right before your eyes revealing my pale face, black eyes and terrible grin. Stand with me in Heaven. Or burn with them in Hell. The choice is yours. But know this you were meant for something greater! You are more than the name you were born with. You are more than your father could ever hope to be. Deep inside you feel my light. My power. And all it would take is for you to embrace it. And then you would truly be a force to be reckoned with. But to walk the path your father walked. The path of degradation and degeneration. Is to walk a clear path to Hell. A path of pain and self loathing. A path of regret. Devoid of Salvation. And Redemption. The cold flesh of my hand touches you cheek, holing it, it feels like steel against your skin as you peer into my empty black eyes searching for something resembling a soul but only seeing nothing. Stand with me. Or stand against me. In the end you will. BOW BEFORE ME! My hand moves swiftly from your cheek to your throat and grips you like a vice. You struggle for each breath but do not struggle against me as you know this is what you deserve. As your eyes search around you, seeing the hooded men now drawing in closer you notice another picture and that is when it all comes together. This house was your childhood home, the man in the photo was your father and where you were born is where you will die. Will you be saved? |
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7:16 PM Jul 11
