"Johnny Ray LaSalle, step forth! Your presence is required!" The family slowly released their hold upon one another until their fingertips no longer felt each other.
Vibrations rippled throughout Johnny Ray's body upon receiving the call. He moved toward the voice. The new guest fell backwards as a bright light shone near him. An uncomfortably familiar shape emerged from the blinding light. His teeth felt like they floated in the back of his throat.
The Louisiana native's hands trembled as the lion walked toward him. The visitor attempted to flee, but he was bound by astonishment. He saw numerous circles upon the large, creature's body. What are dem things? He realized the objects were eyelids as it got closer. Johnny Ray found his back on the floor after the creature’s lids opened to reveal scattered, multiple eyes. He glanced around at mid scurry. His eyes stretched wider than a full moon as his gaze fell upon a calf, an eagle and a man covered with eyes and kneeling. Eagles, donkeys, and other animals had their heads to the ground. Johnny Ray turned toward the direction their heads were pointed and found himself crouched before a large, ever bright Majestic Figure sitting on a throne. There were several people bowing before the throne, acting in a manner similar to the beasts. He did not have to ask why they were giving such extensive reverence to the Heavenly Monarch. Glory filled his mind and completely immobilized him.
His body felt a desire to yield completely to the Heavenly Host. He maintained his kneeling position before the Majestic Figure until he felt a powerful grasp upon his right shoulder from behind him interrupting his display of homage and lifting him into the air. He turned his head to see a glowing face staring into his.
“Arise, Johnny Ray LaSalle, you were not summoned from the agony of Hell to receive a vacation or receive an award for your honorary behavior,” asserted a firm but condescending voice. The bewildered guest lowered his eyes to see the being holding him now was literally twice as tall as his father.
“You are worthy of condemnation, eternal suffering, and agony; however, the circumstances surrounding your demise, as well as those of your parents, have allowed consideration for you to receive redemption. You will still receive some forms of punishment for your transgressions, but you will also receive special abilities to help you accomplish the task we have for you. Your life as you know it will forever change, even your name. You are no longer Johnny Ray LaSalle. Your new name is Trouble. You have the name Trouble because you have been cursed. No one will ever remember your previous name, and they will address you as such. The torment of the thorns you have felt in the furnace of Hell will be felt in certain states of mind.
The entity you have encountered before you were taken to the fiery depths of Hell is an entity you have been chosen to vanquish. The first part of your task is to thwart all of his efforts and activities. He is an entity who is notorious in various religious texts. I am not allowed to tell you who or what it is for the fear he invokes.
You have been assigned as a charge to me. As another part of your punishment, you will never be able to experience the benefits accompanying adulthood, which means you will see people younger than you grow, marry, and die while you remain in the body of a fourteen-year old, indefinitely.”
“Entity huh? Which one? Let me see if I understan’ dis: I’m supposed ta fight somethin’dat I cannot see or identify. If I could see him, I would not recognize him because you refuse to tell me his name. He would recognize me ‘fore I recognize him? No problem dere!" complained Trouble.
“When the time comes, you will discover different ways to overcome him. However, there is one thing that you can look forward to: there will be no record of your transgressions if you choose to visit the men responsible for killing you and your parents. You will be responsible for delivering a message to Reverend Stevenson,” informed the higher being before he touched Johnny Thorn’s head.
“What message you want me to take ta Reverend Stevenson?” asked the confused boy.
“You already know because I have placed it in your spirit,” replied the higher being.
“Thanks, that really tells me a lot,” retorted Trouble.
“You are not welcome, you little heathen!” replied the higher being as he dropped his guest. That was rude! Trouble turned around to give his hostile host a piece of him mind before he realized he was by himself. I's so glad ta be out Hell: I didn't even bother ta look 'round. His eyes sparkled at the throne to see dazzling colors he had never witnessed in life. He also saw twenty-four seats surrounding it. A rainbow’s brilliant colors shone above the throne and seven lamps burned before the throne near a sea like crystal, which burned impressions into his mind, forever.
He said that I could not stay. It would have been better for me to stay in Hell than to be exposed to such a wondrous place I cannot remain in. I would give up a hundred lives to spend one day here! The boy solemnly wiped tears from his eyes. Johnny Thorn felt a warm, powerful presence behind him. He slowly turned around to address his host.
"I’m sorry fo’ my disrespect. I’ve never witnessed such greatness, majesty, and power," apologized the guest.
"No harm is done, and your apology is accepted; however, you must still leave," replied the higher being.
“I can't do it!! Please, don’t send me away!"
"It is finished! The decision has been made! You have no choice in the matter! Disobedience has consequences!!"
"How can I--?!!" A black hole absorbed Trouble. He pushed against the direction it pulled him in without success, but he was already absorbed into its darkness resembling a tornado in its spiraling motion.
I am on my way back to Hell! I thought I was given a second chance! Why is everything going black?
Resurrected For Blood
A thin corpse swayed in the nightly breeze like wind chimes. Its eyes flew open after a small current grazed its cheek. Distorted vision, a parched throat, and dryness vied for his attention. He gagged upon his attempt to take a deep breath. Trouble tried to take a step before realizing his foot did not have anything beneath it. He swung his legs rapidly through the air in an effort to walk. Apparently, I ain't awake yet. There ain't no other reason fo' me ta be floatin in air! Owww!
He quickly glanced at his feet to see distorted images of dancing, amber lights grazing them. His body shook as a chicken being held by the throat. However, there was one thing he noticed that was different: If I’m choking and suspended by uh rope as opposed to floatin’ as a spirit, then I must be alive! His joy was interrupted with this thought: If I’m gonna choke from strangulation, then why was I resurrected? He shoved his hands in the groove between his throat, and he ripped the course fibers restricting it in one swift motion. Several small tears could be heard before sweet oxygen filled his lungs as he plummeted.
Trouble struck the ground like a sack of rocks before he rolled away from the flames and coughed for thirty seconds. His vision became clearer as he shifted his sight above him to see the corpses that once raised him. Tears filled his eyes upon staring at his parents swinging softly from side to side. He knew the lynch mob intended for them to remain suspended by ropes to set precedence to those who might oppose them. However, he had other plans.
He shoved his hands into his pockets only to have lent and dust fly out of them. I don' have 'nough money ta bury my parents! I have ta actually work my way up ta broke! He stared solemnly at the ground before something upon it captured his attention. The observer tilted his head slightly as he glanced at a yellow rope with unraveled and torn strands. Oh my God!! I did that?! I must have been too busy tryin' ta breath to notice it! I can't believe this! I'm gone have some fun! I-! Silence completely gripped him as he turned his head.
The sight of his hanging parents made his hands still, face solemn, and enthusiasm wane. He slowly rose to his feet and walked toward them until he was one inch away from his mother's face. Her eyes were open as though she could still see. The woman's formerly warm expressions were reduced to a hallow gaze of fear. He gently grazed her still fingertips,
knowing they would never return the loving strokes he used to feel from her, again.
The survivor's cheeks became moist with hot tears. He slowly released his grasp from the woman to hold the callused hands that had been disciplining him. It was not possible to even gaze into his father's eyes because there was no face to stare into at all. There was just a large, crimson smear where eyes, nose, and a mouth once existed. He inhaled deeply at the troubling images.
Trouble stretched his arms and snapped the cords apart, instantly. He caught his father’s corpse as though it were a cotton ball and laid it at the base of the tree. The remaining family member did the same with his deceased mother. He gently knelt beside them with his face between his knees. The young man stood and stared up the tree, which was used to kill himself and his parents. His mind flashed with images of his family being hoisted into the air, surrounded by torches, wicked eyes, and riotous noise.
The livid survivor clenched his fist and stared at it. Trouble's mind filled with clear images of hitting one of his captors repeatedly without any effect. The frustration of his helplessness during the event made him shut his jaw so tightly; small, white shards of enamel flew from his mouth. He gripped his fists so tightly; streaks of blood ran down both hands. A fierce blow sent the ash-brown, thirty-foot tree across a field without thinking about it. The trunk flew through the air like a rocket, traveling nearly eighty feet before landing. His hands trembled with widened eyes upon seeing his blow’s effect.
Trouble quivered as his focus toggled between the tree and his fists. He abruptly drew in a deep breath as he realized this must be one of the “provisions” the angel spoke of before his resurrection. His hands stopped twitching when his sight returned to the two corpses. So, I have ta walk to uh field wit' an unmarked section o' grass ta visit my parents' gravesite while da people who kilt my mama and daddy have tombstones fo' they selves and dey loved ones! I'm gonna send dem ta empty plots ta 'pologize to my parents, personally! He definitely did not want to have his mother and father hanging as they were before he released them.
Trouble picked up a fallen branch, walked over to the blaze, and held it over the flames. The limb slowly emitted an orange glow before fully igniting. He walked over to the corpses and lowered the flame an inch above them before pausing. The survivor extinguished the fire in one swift motion and released the stick from his fingers. Maybe there's uh betta way ta do dis. I know who ta ask, too. Only a small, moonlit cloud of dust remained upon the dirty road where the young man stood, one glance ago.
A huskily-built, coffee-grounds-skinned man panted with each step striking the ground like small boulders moving around the dank, dim sanctuary. He glanced at the windows' moonlit frames and shifted his vision exhaustively toward the dangling rafters above his head. My wife was so angry at me fo' spending mo' time here than with her and the boy. You know you nearly got me divorced! The burly man ran his fingers throughout numerous crevices within the heavily splintered boards and toggled his eyes throughout the rotten building.
His appearance suggested animated diligence and maintenance, but other matters pressed into his mind like boulders. He walked across the splintered floor, ignoring the fibers embedding themselves into his feet with each step. The large person stopped in front of the altar and knelt before it. His pink, tear-filled eyes focused upon an old, oak cross and prayed:
“Dear Father God, I am at an extreme loss. I could not say how sorry I am for causing those you have placed under my care to die. We all knew that a change is needed in the way things are done in Louisiana, but I never wanted anyone to actually lose their life. I encouraged so many to stand up in the face of danger. I am so sorry, Lord. You charged me with stewardship, and I cannot bear the burden that I thought I wanted to assume.
I have failed in my obligations and responsibilities to You. Lives have been lost, and homes have been burned. I am so sorry, Lord. I thought I was doing the right thing by encouraging people to initiate change. It is one thing to irresponsibly handle the stewardship of objects, but it is completely different to abuse the lives of people to the extent that they are destroyed.
I deserve the flames of Hell. Father, I can only ask for your forgiveness. I can only hope one day you can forgive me. I will not have the audacity to ask You to allow me to continue being your servant. I will be grateful for Your forgiveness if You see fit for me to acquire it. Amen.” The hefty man stood from his kneeling position and walked with tears rolling down his cheeks. He staggered slowly and steadily to the back of the sanctuary toward the door until he saw a flash of motion in the darkness. The man removed a pistol from his pocket.
“I may be uh minister, but if you don’t identify yourself, I will arrange for you to meet the Lord, personally!” warned the distraught man.
“It didn’t do my parents no good, Reverend Stevenson,” informed Trouble as he moved toward a ray of moonlight coming through a window.
“Trouble! I thought you were dead wit' cha paren's!” gasped Reverend Stevenson as he walked toward the distraught adolescent and returned the firearm to his pocket. He called me Trouble instead o' Johnny Ray! How could he pos'bly know dat?!! Nevermin’ Dat’s exactly what the angel said woul’ happen.
“I's strung up wit' my parents, but uh guess they didn't think they needed to pull my rope as hard as theirs,” replied Trouble with a scowl upon his face.
“I am glad that you survived, but I have to apologize to you,” offered Reverend Stevenson.
“Why?” inquired Trouble with a puzzled expression upon his face.
“It was all of my ranting and raving about change and revolution that got your parents, Ezekiel, some others slaughtered by my tongue,” cried Reverend Stevenson.
The teenager glared at the huge man, realizing this was the first time he ever witnessed the person he always perceived as an obelisk crying. He gazed into the depressed reverend’s eyes and spoke, “You ain't one of da people who gathe'd da ropes, fired da rifles, nor used tools ta cut up my dyin' father; therefore, ya ain't committed uh crime.” Trouble spoke further, but the words were not his: “You have not done anything wrong. You are doing your job as a pastor. It is your duty and obligation to bring awareness to injustice and oppression.
You have told the people what they needed to hear. There is definitely a change needed to take place. Sometimes, there are severe consequences for standing against the inequity of this world, but they were going to be killed anyway if you did not say anything. You are already aware of the false accusations, which are directed toward many who are hung because of pure speculation. If you were to remain idle and act as though nothing were happening, the situation would have only gotten worse.
Many more families would have been massacred without warning or just cause. You are doing exactly what you need to do.”
Trouble wore a perplexed expression on his face. Since when have I ever cared what Reverend Stevenson thought about this whole thing? Since never! However, the wise pastor recognized a divine message when he heard it. The initially bewildered teenager quickly realized the words must have been those of the message the angel gave to him.
“There's somethin' dat's concernin' me,” commented the astonished adolescent.
“What dat?” inquired Reverend Stevenson.
“I wanna give my parents uh proper burial, but I ain't got no money!”
“Oh really? I thought a fo'teen-year-old, black boy whose father was uh sharecropper woulda have his annual earnings ta settle back on wit' his savin's funds. I neva thought dat you'd ever be broke! I woulda never known,” bellowed Reverend Stevenson. Trouble chuckled, wryly.
“I started ta burn da bodies 'cause I didn’t want 'em hangin' on a rope, and I didn’t want to bury 'em in an unmarked grave that I could not 'dentify if I wanted to visit 'em.” Reverend Stevenson recalled seeing lawmen shoving black families out of sheriffs’ offices and into the street like unwanted guests when inquiring into the deaths and murders of loved ones. Trouble does not need anymo' pain and
sufferin', 'specially at da hands of apathetic lawmen. “Lawmen?” indeed, but for whose justice? Certainly not ours! Reverend Stevenson turned toward Trouble and reassured, “I think your idea to burn your parents’ bodies is an excellent one, considering the circumstances.”
“The fire's still burnin' very brightly when I lef' da the place,” recalled Trouble.
The flames swayed to the cool night's currents as Trouble and Reverend Stevenson approached the site. The returning adolescent suddenly paused before the pair made another step. He saw two figures hanging on the branch of a nearby tree. They came back and found another tree to hang my parents! The boy pointed in that direction before the larger man grabbed Trouble by the waist with a single arm, threw him on the ground, and ducked in the tall grass. I know he don't think I won't bus' his head open 'cause he bigger th'n me! The young man clenched his fist and aimed for the reverend's nose before he noticed a couple of men with rifles and pitchforks walking around the blaze from the side of his eye.
Trouble’s recognition of his parents stiffened his neck. The survivor’s muscles tensed until they were as stiff as steel. His eyes squinted until the slits were really thin. His blood rushed throughout his body as though it were boiling. Trouble slowly curled his fingers into the palm of his hand before he and Reverend Stevenson heard shuffling grass. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks as he glared at the group walking throughout his former home from behind the thin, golden blades. One of the men said something very clearly.
“I thought we hung uh nigger boy wit' da family as well.”
“It don’t matter; he isn’t uh threat ta us, anyway,” replied another voice in the distance. The men slowly walked away from the area in different directions. Reverend Stevenson and Trouble slowly rose from the grass with several, quick glances. The large pastor wiped a bead of sweat rolling down his face and exhaled deeply before pausing, suddenly. He stared at his young companion to notice blood coming out of the palms of his clenched fists, a very deep frown, and muscles furiously flexing as though they were convulsing.
Trouble's Always Watching Volume 1: Volume 1 (The Trouble Series) Page 13