by M Purcell
sir."
"Are you a smart boy, do you do well in school?" he asked. "Oh yes sir, I'm a straight 'A' student, and I work odd jobs to make money for college when I'm not studying."He looked down at me with the same face that Aunt Mae gets when she is about to give a verbal lesson. "That is excellent. You know Donald that a hard-working man can get very wealthy fast. And an affluent man depends on no one but himself. He is independent, stands on his own two feet and speaks his mind. The same as you are doing here and now Donald." I liked the sound of that, I thought to myself. That is the kind of man I want to be alright. To be as hard working as my dad, and as outspoken as my mom. They sure made a great team, how my heart longed to have them back. But I will make them proud of me. I will not let them down.
"I've always worked hard sir, and my aunt tells me all the time that idle hands is the devil's playground." I was feeling proud again. "And right she is my boy, right she is. I'll tell you what my new young friend, you keep working as hard as you possibly can, and I'll keep doing what I do best. What do you say, do we have a deal?" The priest put his hand back out to shake and seal the pact. I grabbed his hand firmly and shook it. "Yes sir, it's a deal!...well I had better get going home now or my aunt Mae will skin me alive sir!" I knew my fast running would make up for most of the lost time, but I couldn't push it any further than this. "Certainly Donald, I understand. Actually, I too must be moving on. I feel a calling for my services nearby." The priest lifted his head in the direction of the blocks further up ahead. "Goodbye sir, and thank you for the talk!"
Running off down the block back to Aunt Mae's house, I hardly heard his last words to me. However, I know that I felt proud and also with a bit more inner strength that I just know I received from this priest. He seems to have cemented my goals even more securely in my heart. As if him having faith in me and praising me, has passed some of his inner strength on to me. It was a good feeling, a strong feeling, and I liked it.
Chapter 4: The Priest Hears a Calling.
The night air is cool as the priest watches the young boy running home with his bag of flour. He whispers to himself "He will do fine, just fine...now" Turning back in the direction of the last block. A firm look replacing that warm face the boy had been looking at. Now it was a face of a man who was all business, and no man could have looked more serious than he did at that moment. He was a man on a mission, and it would be fulfilled. It was after all....what he did best. He turned his focus to the pharmacy near the end of the block. As he approached the pharmacy door, he raised his right hand and snapped his fingers, as if a magician calling for his assistant to come over and help with his next trick. The night fell silent as he stepped through the door and entered the pharmacy.
Once he was in the store, he could see the pharmacist with both hands raised above his head. There were only two other people in the store, both men in their thirties, and both holding guns pointed at the pharmacist. It was obvious that the pharmacy was being robbed. The priest continued walking right up to the two gunmen, as if it was exactly what he had expected to find. There was no fear on his face, no sweat from apprehension. Just that cold serious look of a man on a mission, a mission that he knew, he would not fail. "Are you gentlemen sure that this is the path you wish to take?"
The two men were standing in front of the priest, one to his left near the wall, and the other to his right about two feet from the pharmacist. The two men seemed amazed that the priest had just come in and walked straight up to them. But they were not intimidated or repentant in the least. The man on the left spoke first, spitting out his words with venom in them, "Shut the hell up, you god damn bible thumping freak." Both men were moving their guns back and forth between the pharmacist and the priest. The timing seemed almost perfect as they switched off between the two targets. It appeared that they had plenty of practice at this sort of thing in the past. The gunman on the right spoke next, "I ain't never killed any priest before preacher man, but makes no never-mind to me. So stay perfectly still, and you just might live."
Suddenly, the pharmacist quickly reaches down and comes up with his own pistol. He takes two fast shots, one at each of the robbers. The first bullet smashes into a glass cooler door, plowing through a tray of soft drinks. Glass shattering to the floor, mixed in a waterfall of flavors, orange, grape, lime. The second bullet punches a hole just a few inches from the man on the left, causing him to flinch and yell out, "What the hell...." He quickly fires three shots into the pharmacist's chest, sending him sprawling backwards through the air. His arms flailing, he crashes through a display case behind him. More glass shatters as his body comes to rest with him sitting inside of the display case. His legs sticking out the front, one pant-leg pushed awkwardly up to the knee. Both of his arms were still raised, long shards of glass from the top of the display case stabbing through his hands and wrists. The pistol falling from his hand, landing between his legs with a thud. His hands fall over limp, as the blood streamed down over his body, his white pharmacist jacket now more red than white. A bloodied marionette, waiting for someone to pull his strings and reanimate him.
"Now you have both sealed your fate." The priest said, a look of content and approval on his face. The man on the right immediately replies, "And yours preacher man, rule number one, no witnesses." Now the man on the left turned to face the priest, his adrenaline still pumping hard from shooting the pharmacist. "No more talk, time for you to meet your maker bible thumper!" His pistol pointing directly at the priest's chest, he squeezes the trigger three quick times. The man looks down at his gun in disbelief as it does not fire but just makes three clicking sounds. "Jesus Christ, are you kidding me, I know damn well I fully loaded in the car before we came in here." The priest raises his left hand and waives it in front of the man on the left. "Hold that thought son, you and I have unfinished business. Which of course, we will attend to shortly."
Walking over so that he was standing directly in front of the man on the right. " I see you're having trouble moving, don't fight it son. It's bigger than both of us. As you can see, your friend over there has the very same problem. Maybe it is something in the air perhaps. Now you stay here. I promise to return shortly, right after I teach your companion some proper manors." The gunman on the right was petrified in place, the only thing he could move was his eyes. He could see that the other gunman was also frozen and could not move. So still that he could be mistaken for a store mannequin. All he could do was watch and listen. He wished that he could close his eyelids, wishing he did not have to see what was about to happen to his friend. His instincts, and his heart told him that it was not going to be good or pleasant.
Little did he know just how right he was. Walking calmly back over to the man on the left, the priest looks at the man with a disappointed look on his face. "You my son, are absolutely lacking in any respect for the cloth I see. Well, I guess I can't hold that against you." Now the priest waived his hand once again in front of the man. Feeling himself free to move, he yells at the priest, "I'll cut your heart out and feed it to piece by piece you freak. All you goody-two-shoes preachers belong in hell." Smiling, the priest replies, "I have to agree with you there, but I must take offense to your threatening to cut my heart out." The man still in disbelief over his gun not firing, quickly fires three more times at the priest. This time the gun does fire, slamming three bullets directly into the priest's chest. Blood begins pouring out of the wounds, soaking into the priest's uniform.
The priest takes a step backwards as the bullet's pound into his chest, but does not go down. In fact, he responds by taking two steps forward, closer to the gunman. "Well I'll be a son of a bitch. You were right son. It was fully loaded. Hasn't anyone ever told you not to play with guns, you could get hurt." A look of mock humor on his face now changes to a look of anger, and of pure evil incarnate. His eyes begin to glow red, slowly changing until an intensely bright amber. He slowly turns his eyes to the gun in the mans hand. The gunman tries to thro
w away the gun as it begins to heat up in his hand, but he is unable to. A look of fear turns to terror, as the gun becomes hotter and hotter. Smoke rising from his hand as the gun changes into a ball of molten red hot steel in his hand. The sickening odor of burning flesh permeating through the air, as the gunman's screams of agony echo throughout the store. His friend watching helplessly, his gun fully loaded and still in his hand. Terror now filling his own eyes, as he watched in horror.
Screaming and grasping his left wrist with his right hand, the gun finally drops from the mans hand to the floor, a red ball of steaming metal. His hand reduced to a disfigured lump flesh, bone and blood. His eyes full of pain and insane anger, he pulls a large knife from behind his back and screams at the priest, "I'll kill you!...I'll kill you!" Leaping forward, he charges at the priest. He shoves out his hand with the knife, burying it deep into the priest's chest, straight into his heart. Blood sprays from the wound, covering the mans face and chest. The priest does not falter from his position, standing firmly in place as if nothing had happened to him