A Abba's Apocalypse

by Charles E. Butler

  Mark leans against the rear wall while bracing his head up. It’s like he is forcing himself to eat with each slow struggling gnaw. “Can you tell me anything about your family?” I hear the protein bar fall on the bench. Mark suddenly reappears in the light, as he thrusts his head into his hands. I hear his elbows thump off his legs onto the bench, and then search for a more secure place to support his heavy head. His body silently bobbles, crying the tears his eyes are too dry to produce.

  Paul interprets Mark’s intentions, and explains what he

  has found out so far. “Mark told me he has two sons. Aiden is

  the oldest; he’s eleven, and there is nine year old Abraham.” Paul’s introduction settles Mark, as the intervals of his bouncing silhouette slows. “A group of men came by Mark’s home several days ago. Then, Mark’s house was still standing. They wanted him and his family to come with them, and join their Irreverent militia.” Mark interrupts Paul by crying out, “My boys.” Paul continues by stating, “Mark said he refused their offer, but one of the men threw a piece of paper at Mark right before he left. He saw it had instructions for joining their militia. The paper also contained the militia’s purpose along with directions to its location. He thought that would be the last time he’d see them.” “My Peggy,” Mark cries in his hand, “They took my wife Peggy!” Paul continues by stating, “Mark was told by this man about this other place he could bring his family. They offered free food and shelter to anyone.” Paul stares at me, as we both shake our heads in acknowledgement. We both know that place has got to be “Project Hope.”

  Mark fights to lift his head and interject his personal views in our conversation. He stares cockeyed towards the floor, which illuminates just the corner of his left cheek and mouth. It’s like he’s ashamed of himself. “I abandon my babies!” Mark proclaims. “I left them alone while I went to check out this rumor-firsthand. Shortly after I left, I heard this loud noise. I ran back, and my house was destroyed, and, and my family too!” He returns to the dark wall behind, and then leans the top back of his head against it. His throat sounds too dry to cry anymore, so he just coughs several dry scratchy coughs instead. I ask him if he knew what caused his house to collapse. He tells us he could not figure that out. I ask Mark what he was looking for this morning. He replies, “It was for that piece of paper with the directions to the militia.” He checked through the pile, and there was no sign his family was inside when it fell. Mark figures that the militia has something to do with them disappearing.

  I see Mark grabbing his stomach while his body jerks in agony. I ask him if he thinks the pain is being caused by

  hunger, or something else. He reports having diarrhea and gas pains the last two days. Mark complains, “I can’t stand all this pain!” I ask him, “When was the last time you drank any water?” Mark states that it’s been two days. I find out that’s when his symptoms started. I reach into my rucksack and pull out two pieces of my carbon medicine concoction. “Mark, swallow these. It’ll make you feel better.” He leans forward over the light and grabs it. I also hand him my water canteen and tell him, “Take several swigs, it will help you swallow the medicine.” Soon after, Mark’s pain is relieved. His irritable condition, causing to squirm, subtly turns more melancholy. I make a mental note that the local water source is probably poisoned, and it’s the reason for Mark’s illness. That is most likely what made him sick, and what killed the LD I found in the alley.

  I ask Mark if he has a personal relationship with Jesus. Mark immediately gets angry and barks out at me, “I don’t want to hear about that god thing. Where the heck was he when I lost my family?” I think Mark would probably try and take a poke at me if he wasn’t so worn-out. I pray silently, “Dear Lord, give me the message you would have me say to change his hard heart.” Mark repeatedly rocks in frustration, into and out of the light. He slides his hands over his face, and then combs them through his hair all the way to the back of his head, repeating this process over and over. I feel the last thing I want to do is push him over the ledge by forcing my beliefs on him. “When you’re ready Mark, I’ll promise you a way to find your family.” Mark mightily makes an untrusting lunge at me, stopping his face just inches from mine. Angrily and powerfully he musters all his strength to condemn and test me with his one word sword, “How?” I sense Mark’s reasoning is waiting to slice my throat, if my next words don’t agree with his logic.

  I realize both sides of this blade only seem to oppose each other. But, in reality, it is where the metal gets its real strength. The razors edge of “reason,” and the steel of “faith”

  are just two different parts of the same blade. The shank of true wisdom is what holds the temperament together. I appeal to the whole sword with, “When you’re heart is ready, I’ll tell you how.” He just stares deep into to my eyes, waiting for me to flinch in my faith. But, my faith is strong.

  I decide I need to pop my head out and give us all a fresh breath of air. I move out and ascend up the stairs to release the excess tension outside these doors. I pan the perimeter and see everything is still shaking. It’s like looking through the beveled glass of a blender with my eyes fixed even with the liquid horizon, as it churns on high speed. I check my watch and see the shaking has been going on for over two hours. There is nothing standing anymore. I think this must look like the flat plains of Kansas during a cyclone, or a view of the “badlands” on a “Santa Ana” windy day. All I see are tornados of dust, steaming black clouds, vibrating debris, and dark gray spewing fountains fixed along the distant horizon. It seems everything that can be shaken apart is now apart, and everything that can’t be is still standing. The only building still standing, that I can definitely make out, is the pulsating outline of “Project Hope,” which is about two miles away. I pray, “Dear God, let all my Irreverent family be safe, and the other “Alpha” teams too.” I shut the doors and return to find everyone napping. The only thing we can possibly do right now is sit here, and ride the rest of the quake out. I decide to join the fellows in a much needed nap.

  I slip off into the calmness of my rest as the peace of darkness covers me. A fresh wave of sweet smelling honeysuckle, orange blossom, and lilac warmly wash over me. I feel a loving hand supporting my heavy head, as the other hand gently bathes me in the cleanliness of innocence. I hear splashing on both my sides while I rest in this pond of protection. There is a familiar melody humming all around me, which I’ve heard over and over before. This beautiful music pours over me, as I playfully pat this puddle. Everything is wonderfully warm and bright, under this Sun of

  all possibility. Giant wet velvet hands slide me up into the newness of the light. I am astounded at the things ahead of me; things I never ever seen before. The stranger connected to this string of music, circles me with her soft voice and warm wool robe, softly brushing over me. I somehow recognize this beautiful kind woman. I don’t know who she is, but I feel I do know her. In her protective presence I just feel happy and carefree. I hear something strange that alerts me something is happening, so I try and lift my head up to see what all the commotion just ahead of me is all about. I hear laughing and giggling, and see running and leaping. Small little people circle this large man and laugh at him. He leans down, shooing them into his outstretched arms. I am so enticed to know why he is making this roaring noise, scarring these little people. The beautiful woman humming comes between me and this intriguing event. She shoves her face towards mine; scarring me! Big blue eyes stare into mine, and her moist lips begin pressing at me. She starts on my head, and then moves to both sides of my face. She continues down to my chest, and finally onto my flailing hands, attempting to frighten her away. I just can’t find the words to tell her, “Please move out of my way!” I don’t understand why she is so attracted to me. I cry out in anger, and try jiggling lose from her overpowering embrace. But, she just holds me firmly tighter.

  Finally, she allows the light and the scene to return. I think she too must be attracted to the event. I
watch her head turn towards the commotion, as she lifts me to her shoulder. I want to tell her, “Thank you for this advantageous new view point,” but, I just can’t find the words. I see a dust cloud forming below, as this lady holding me swings me quickly away from it. One of the small people that made it emerges, running to attack the large man that roaring, and taunting the little people with his wicked laugher. I think this tiny herd must be under his evil spell, because they freely welcome his clutching arms. They run into his trap lassoing them; and even grab his arms, pulling the snare even tighter. This just makes

  the tall man tilt his head back and forth, and roar even louder. I think he is very bad, as this lady holding me oddly laughs at him. This makes me upset, and I cry. She makes this sound to me, “Shhh,” and then tries bouncing me. I don’t understand why she thinks this will help the situation. This just makes it even harder to see the giant monster man. I cry even louder, yelling in her ear to stop. This makes her yank the cloth she is wearing further over her head, while she too stares at the beast. I think it may attack us, because she begins holding me very tight.

  The whole world grows mysteriously quiet in my epiphany. Suddenly, I can understand this man in the funny white tunic. He stares at me and smiles. “Oh, all my lovely children, come to me.” Every little person sits, and then patiently fidgets against his flowing tattered white fountain. A benevolent breeze blows tickling threads across their giggling faces. He asks, “Who wants to hear a story?” I want to scream the words the children are screaming, “I do, I do, I do,” but, I just can’t find the words. He starts his story with, “Who knows who the wisest man whom ever lived is? This includes the past, the present, and the future to come.” All of us, including the lady, are speechless to answer. “I’ll tell you. His name is Solomon.” This monster man turns and smiles a particular personal smile that he bobbles along to each and every small person sitting in attendance. I want to yell to him “How about me? I’m over here!” But, I’m at a loss for words. I don’t know why it is so important, but every part of me urns for him to just briefly acknowledge my small existence. A film blurs my vision, as I experience this great sadness of my rejection. I stare at his eyes, but I feel they’ll never see me across this vast ocean of distance. Then, his eyes move slowly upwards, as his head remains facing down towards the small people. A special smile forms just under his jutting stare. His words pierce my tiny heart and hurt it so kindly. “I have not forgotten you. For you are very, very special to me.” I feel both the drums of our hearts pound proudly faster and

  louder. A notion of doubt warns me, “But, I am tiny and useless. How can you possible think I’m special?” My reason saddens me.

  “I’ll tell you why Solomon was the wisest of the wise. It started when he was a child. He had a wonderful loving father who filled his tiny heart with love.” I think about me in the moment, and how I have a tiny heart too. “Every moment of every day his Abba reminded him of how very special he was to him. He taught him what was true, right, merciful, wise, and loving. The young son asked his Abba how he knew all these things. His daddy smiled down at him from the pedestal his son had made of him. He replied, ‘It is because I love and fear God’. Solomon didn’t quite understand how anyone could love and fear at the same time. But, his wise Abba explained it so he could understand.”

  I watch intensely as this intriguing man, very, very slowly inches closer towards this woman holding me. “One day two children asked their father which one he loved the most. Immediately, both the son and the daughter cozily contended with their hugs of affection to their adoring Abba, while awaiting his response. This complicated question briefly perplexed the father. He responded, ‘I love each of you differently, but the same. You, my sweet son, are like the warm sunrise of day. And you, my dear daughter, are my cherished beautiful sunset’.” This storytelling man continues to humbly approach the lady and me. His face is bowing downward, and his penetrating eyes continue facing me and the lady. “‘I’ll answer your question’, the father said. ‘Which of you loves me the most’?”I think their father is just trying to evade the question. “As you’d expect, both proclaimed they each loved father more. ‘Prove it to me’ Abba asked. ‘Would you give me everything you have?’ Both children thought then nodded ‘Yes’ to his request. ‘Son, give me your pet lizard Sampson, and daughter give me your darling dolly.’ Both scampered off to retrieve these objects of their affection and return to deliver it to father before the other does.” This

  strange smiling man bringing along the entire herd of little people. He stands very close to us now. The woman holding me opens her mouth in awe, and I can smell the eggs she’s eaten for breakfast. I want her to close it, but the suspense seems to have propped it open. The smell makes me cry, so she starts bouncing me up and down again, making the situation even worse. I decide to ignore her and concentrate on the storytelling man.

  “Both children arrive together and force their most cherished treasure up towards their Abba’s face, proving to him their utmost sincerity. These two things were all each child had that they could call their very own. So, they loved their possession very much. Their father pushed the objects down and asked each child to go stand near the well. From a distance, father said ‘hold out your present to me overtop the well’. Both obeyed and did what father asked. ‘Now, I want you to let go of your gift to me’. Each sibling turned towards the other with surprise filling their face. Father watched patiently for them to obey his command, but both were reluctant to let go of their beloved treasures. The older son just could not drop his Sampson to his drowning death. The daughter watched, as her crying brother ran away with his dear lizard. This made her sad too, but she was determined to honor her dear father’s request. She closed her eyes and hung her head back, as if to face God while asking Him for immediate help in this matter. She began crying loudly saying, ‘Abba, why?’ Her father beckoned her to let go, by encouraging her with the words, ‘trust me my love’. The hand squeezing her dolly tightly suddenly opened, and her heart waited to hear her dear dolly splash to her dark drowning death. But instead, all she heard was a ‘plunk’. Through her tears all she saw was Abba’s smile approaching. She was confused by all that had happened, and ran to leap on

  her wise poppa for help. He embraced his dear daughter and walked over to the well. ‘Now dear, don’t cry anymore’. Her sobbing subtly subsides as she watches Abba reach into the

  well and retrieve her dear dolly. She immediately grabs her precious child and hugs both of them like never before.”

  This funny man standing in front of me is reaching his hand towards my face. The lady is bending her protecting head away from me allowing this atrocity to happen. He is sliding his rough hand over my cheek and staring fervently into my eyes. He asks me, “Which child do you think loved their father the most? She feared the father, but also trusted her Abba with all she had, and with all of her heart. You see, father had prepared a way of escape when the children weren’t looking. He placed the well bucket back inside the well to catch their treasures.” This rough hand of this strange man feels surprisingly comforting. He tweaks my cheek and laughs at me, as the lady leaks on her wonderful smile. “This is why it is impossible to please God without faith. Trusting Him in the midst of fear is real love. That is why Solomon is the wisest of the wise. He feared, but trusted God.” After these words, the not so strange man winks at me while moving gradually away. “Don’t go!” I think to yell. The nice man steadily smiles at me as he gets smaller and smaller. “But, I don’t want you to go,” I want to scream to him. I wave my arms frantically up and down, crying for him to come back. But, not even the beautiful lady can stop this chain of events, as she fights to hold on to me. I drift back, and back, and back into the darkness, feeling somehow I’ll return to him one day.

  I awake to a lighter shade of darkness that barely distinguishes itself from the one prior. This one is cold though. I feel around for my rucksack and retrieve another “Canned Heat.” The fl
ame restores some facsimile of order to my focus. The warmth comforts me into a state of momentary meditation. I ponder the wonder of this wise flame, and find it too is like faith and reason. The life giving breath blowing the fire is no more important than the material the flame dances upon. It is the wisdom of the heat that sears them all together, in this one spot, in this certain time, and for its own purpose. Yes, the burning question is answered in the eternal flames.

  Reason, without faith, is a fire without light.

  I gain my composure by rubbing my cold hands on my warm face. I stare into the dark and see the gang is still sleeping. I slowly rip back my Velcro’s watch cover to see the illuminated hands silently whispering to me, “It’s 5:15.” Quietly, I stand and turn in the dark, and then ascend up the stairs. My feet crunch the fragments that must have adhered to the bottoms of my shoes during my previous journey. Paul begins rustling on his dark spot of the bench. He undoubtedly is influenced by the loud pop of the stowaways sticking to my soles. But, he turns this in to an opportunity to search for a better and more comfortable resting position. I feel blindly under the metal doors for the retaining rod securing them shut. I find it and begin sliding it slowly away, which creates an irritating sound; similar to the one that a full bow by a new violinist might make. The metal rod slowly scratches an eerie song along the metal securing hole. I am amazed it does not wake Paul and Mark. I lift one side of the door into the darkness that shouldn’t be. I stick my head out and see the world is still shaking with the same violent intensity. This time, vibrating orange and red sunsets paint the distant dreary sky. I spin my head and notice the brilliant colorful horizon extending in all directions. I turn my stare straight up and see a pitch black starless sky. There are no stars, not even one. This sight is beyond belief. I think this must feel sort of like the night Rome was burning. I close the door and leave death to pass over us.