A (semi)Biblical Zombie Apocalypse

     The sharp crack of automatic weapons fire filled the air, punctuated by RPG detonations and sporadic war cries. Kent ran pell-mell toward the wall of a bombed-out building, desperate for cover. He dropped into a crouch behind the wall just as bullets pinged into the road where he had been standing. Breathless, he pressed his back up against the wall and considered his options.

     Garet had said that the army was protected, that the tattoos on their hand and heads would keep them from harm, but Kent's marine training wouldn't allow such foolhardiness. No, let the others test the claims of their fearless leader. Glancing around the battlefield, He was surprised at the efficiency he saw. Mankind had apparently abandoned all military training after Garet's disarmament plan went into effect seven years ago. The only operation with an even remotely violent nature was Garet's peacekeeping force, and they were strictly top secret.Not one for non-violence, kent had signed up for the secret group. He still craved the fight. For him, the  rush of being under fire was unlike any other drug or high out there. It made him come alive. So he had taken the, "kings coin" and continued in the path of the warrior.

     Over the last two years, he and his team had rooted out many of the potential usurpers of Garets rule, establishing peace in the new world order. Realistically, the rebels had no chance. Their terrorist threast couldn't compete with, well, whatever Garet was. That man had something about him that Kent couldn't quite put a finger on. A lot of people were calling him a god. Especially after the assassination, or rather the attempted assassination. Really, Kent didn't know what to believe. All he knew was that Garet was alive again, and without a doubt the most powerful man on earth. If he told you to jump, you didn't even ask, "how high?" you just jumped and hoped it was high enough. So when he said, "go to war," Kent didn't ask questions, he geared up. 

     So here he was, at the root of the world's problems, in this godforsaken desert, doing a little, "gardening." The Israelis had been a thorn in the world's side time out of mind, and finally someone was doing something. Really, it was easy, almost a massacre. The nationalists were out-manned ten to one, it was only a matter of time.

     Kent peeked around the corner of the wall, surveying the street for potential threat. Seeing none, he rounded the building, sprinted the short distance to the nearest doorway and, lowering his shoulder, smashed through into the dark house . He quickly canvassed the small room with his P90, established vacancy, and moved toward the nearest hallway. Kicking open a door, he discovered what he was looking for. In a corner, a mother and her son were trembling on the floor. At the sight of the soldier, they stilled, the mother muttering under her breath.

     "Well well," Kent leered, "The spoils of war." He chuckled.

     "Leave her alone!" The boy, no older than twelve by the look of him, jumped to his feet and charged Kent. A quick bullet silenced him and threw his body against the wall.

     "That's a dumb kid. You shoulda done better with him."

     Tears streamed down the mothers face as she kept a steady stream of prayer running under her breath.

     "Shut up, there's nothing your god can do now." Kent hoisted her up roughly by the arm, and threw her onto the cot on the right side of her room. "Whaddaya say we have a little fun before you leave this world, eh?"

      Kent stepped menacingly toward the bed, and the woman screamed. Long and shrill, it rang in Kent's ears like music. But then, the scream changed. Abject horror crept onto her face, she struck out at him, flailing in terror. He grabbed her arms, forcing her back down onto the bed, trying to still her. But she wouldn't have it. The closer he got, the harder she resisted, screaming all the louder. Finally, exasperated, he slammed her head against the wall and she blacked out.

     "Crazy hag," He muttered. "Wait, what the..."

     Looking down at his arms, he saw long ragged gashes, skin hanging in ribbons, but no blood. Stranger yet, no pain. In a curious daze, he looked around the room for a mirror. Finding none, he left the room, walking down the hall into the bathroom. A monster stared back at him in the mirror above the sink. His skin hung, shredded off of his jaw where the woman had slapped him. Through the red gash he could see the white bone of his mandible, exposed to the air. Tentatively, he raised his hand to his mouth. He prodded the cut, and when he didn't feel anything, returned his hand to his side. He squeezed his eyes shut, but when he opened them, the horrid freak was still there, staring back with grey eyes. They looked like they had grown cataracts, even though he could see perfectly fine. He shook his head, rolled his head to the side until his neck popped and turned to leave the bathroom. As he shut the door behind him, he realized how hungry he was. It was as if the last three meals on the base had never happened. Then, the thought came to him. "Hmm, there was that woman and kid..." He turned and headed back to the bedroom.

     An hour later, gorged but unsated, he stumbled out into the street, his P90 banging his side from where it hung loosely on his shoulder. Glimpsing movement out of the corner of his eye he swept up the gun and fired crazily. His bullets ripped into a figure emerging from the alleyway next to the house. Stunned, the man, also dressed in desert camo, let out an inhuman wail and fell upon Kent, flailing nails and dead grey eyes widened in rage. They fought like animals, neither willing to submit in the absence of pain. Suddenly, what sounded like a bomb rocked the whole section of the city, coupled with a blinding flash of light. The two fighting on the ground looked up to see dozens of men pouring down the street, clothed in bright white and carrying swords that shone like hot iron. They came like a flood, in their eyes a fire burned like a thousand torches. They swept through the town, illuminating every corner with pure brilliance. The last thing Kent remembered as the white hot brand sliced through his neck was the resonant sound of a trumpet, ringing in his ears.

     Zechariah 14:12 This is the plague with which the LORD will strike all the nations that fought against Jerusalem: Their flesh will rot while they are still standing on their feet, their eyes will rot in their sockets, and their tongues will rot in their mouths.

Life after Death and Childhood

Contrary to popular belief, life is not like a box of chocolates.

It's more like...

Well, actually, things resemble life more often than life resembles things.

The saying should go, “A box of chocolates is like life. You never know what you're gonna get.”

Yes. Most definitely.

Another one would be, a relationship with your creator is like life.

Oh, wait, maybe a relationship with your creator is life.

Hmm... Alright, so lets take a step back and take this concept from another angle.

I have found that there are stages in a spiritual walk that closely resemble the stages in life.

First comes birth. Having given up control of my own life and consciously transferred all governing authority to God, I “die,” and am reborn

Immediately thereafter, I am a child. I talk like a child, think, and reason like a child, even act like a child. Even though technically, God is in authority, I do what I want to do, while Dad watches out for me. He is there for advice when I need some, hugs and spankings both when necessary. He takes care of me, teaching me what I need to know.

And now, I think I am becoming a man. Let me see if I can explain.

It began when I started questioning. I knew all the rules, I didn't know why they were there. You could call it the “Teenage” phase. I am finding that the rules are good. I think that's one step to becoming a man. I want the rules written in my being, not just imprinted on my mind. I need to retain the values of my childhood in the midst of independence.

“A man will leave his parents and hold fast to his wife, and they will become one flesh.” There comes a time when we have to leave off dependence on spiritual parents in order to form the most intimate bond a man can make, with the creator.

I'm on the brink, about to jump.

The Perfect Woman

A casual glance. 

Back to the task at hand.

My eyes slip to her face and I force them back to the page.

Unruly things!

Perhaps it is her. There is something about her that draws the eye. What could it be?

Her eyes? Those opalescent orbs, set deep in mascara pools of reflected midnight, adrift on the pale ivory lake of her skin?

It can't be. As her gaze dips to the screen in front of her, and those enamoring gems retreat beneath the lash, the haunting pull remains.

She turns her head , whatever has appeared on her laptop screen intensifying her gaze.

Perhaps its her hair, falling in waves like a soft velvet curtain, accentuating the jawline sloping gently from ear to chin like a soft, ripe peach.

No. I'm simply trying to pin detail on the ethereal. Maybe the pull comes not from her face itself, but her expression and mannerism? The hint at a smile, the intense focus, the... but no, these are commonplace and found on every face in the room. Yet she remains the sole object of my attention.

Could it be that my search is in vain? Yes, I see now that it is not simply an underlying feature or manner that continually draws my eye, but rather the lack of flaw.

To my eye, she is perfect. The culmination of the desirable, partially hidden behind a computer screen, containing nothing but appeal.

Yet this is folly, for certainly, she is not perfect. The perfect match, my “hearts desire,” does not exist. This woman merely resembles her. If I were to look longer, I would find that she is too short, or has some annoying way of referencing hair products in everyday conversation, or some other equally fatal flaw.

And so, perfect one, continue on in anonymity. Let hope remain, while I slip out.

Call me a coward, but do not fault me, for hope is a cherished friend, and I seek his well-being before my own.

The Wizard's First Role

They're in all of the stories, meddling and manipulating. Everyone loves them, but no one really knows them.

Full of mystery, they show up at the precise moment they are needed, and disappear soon after they are finished.

Only heeded, never vaunted,

 frequently needed when things are haunted,

uncompensated, misunderstood,

the bearer of blame, protector of good,

The mind behind kings,

Orchestrator of things,

older than days

that kindly, wise sage

Look to the east 

on the third at first light,

Pow'r unconstrained,

yet not quick to the fight

Of whom do I speak,

not a grim puppeteer,

but the archetypal wizard,

and you found him right here.

That's right folks, Wizards.

Gandalf, Merlin, The Wizard of Oz, Dumbledore, Zeddicus Zul Zorander, Allanon (although technically a druid, he plays the part), and even old Ben Kenobi...

They seem to be in a higher world, a world of their own, with a somewhat more important to do list, but with less corporeal items than the pressing trials of the hero. Often distracted or quirky, they nevertheless work behind the scenes to help the hero be... well, heroic. But, why?

Why, with all that power, are wizards not heroes themselves?

Something Peter S. Beagle hit on in his book, The Last Unicorn, made me realize the truth.

He said, "Wizards make no difference, so they say nothing does, but heroes are meant to die for unicorns."

A wizard, in all his searching for knowledge, has realized that there is a higher power orchestrating everything, Thus, nothing anyone does makes a lick of difference. The wizard in the story understands that he is in fact, a character, in a story. He/She has just refused the delusion that anything he does will change the outcome of said story, since the author is in control anyway.

If you disagree with me, it's fine. You're probably not a Wizard. You may be a hero, and thus your desire to alter the inevitable makes you heroic. So fight for it. Change the predetermined course of things. I will do my best to help you, to guide you in your search. May the Author bless you and choose to keep you from harm.

-Rock Darkwater

Pure Seduction

She steps through the door,
     girls jealously glare,
     guys, drooling, stare,
  yet somehow, of beauty, she remains unaware.
They wait in the wings, for pure seduction.

One gentleman stands with a gesture,
     she moves to his seat,
     this generous feat,
  endearing and charming, she feels exquisite.
And so he moves in, for pure seduction.

Soon they rendezvous,
     showered with gifts,
     and granted a kiss,
  she cannot but feel that nothing's amiss.
She's under the spell of pure seduction.

She's been discarded,
     her virtue taken,
     all confidence shaken,
  her thirst to be loved no closer to slakened.
Get ready again for pure seduction.

A new man in pursuit,
     small tokens resume,
     sit, gaze at the moon,
  she wonders, "how long?" the end could be soon.
She's dreads it's approach, that pure seduction.

Too good to be true,
     the comforting touch,
     the listening and such,
  always the support and yet never the crutch
Could she finally be free from pure seduction?

Skip ahead several years
     he's passed away,
     she lost him today,
  but she values herself, and so she's still okay.
And that, my friend, is pure seduction.

When The Rain Pours

Hey All, 

This is a story I wrote for Teen Mania's Marketing department about ESOAL.

Leave me comments on what you think, as well as any memories that come up while you read.

The rain comes down from the black skies above, falling from invisibility to drench the world beneath its unforgiving onslaught. Our friend the sun...

Well, unfortunately, the sun refuses to show itself on this “field of battle.” The persistent darkness, along with the perpetual downpour has kept me from videotaping today, and so my editors will have to make do with a written account of this event. I'm standing on a grass berm, overlooking a slightly run down football field, it's about six o'clock on the morning. The only light comes from the few unbroken stadium lights, struggling to pierce the darkness. It illuminates a muddy hundred people, some trying to grab some sleep on the northern edge of the field, others running back and forth, doing various exercises under the close watch of another group, dressed mostly in fatigues, with the odd spattering of black T-shirts and cargo pants. It seems to be a military affair, but is strangely out of place on this back-woods campus run by the Christian ministry known as Teen Mania. Prominent on the field is a large, Liberty-style brass bell, positioned in front of a wooden stage at the 50 yard sideline. The group gathered around this structure seem to be in charge, so I head over to them to get the scoop on what exactly is going on.

Fweep!

The sharp whistle comes from a lone facilitator. A group that was sleeping quickly rouses themselves and sprints over to him, assembling themselves in sharp lines and finally coming to attention.

“Too slow!” the facilitator barks, “Drop!” Pacing back and forth, the group positioned for push-ups, he continues, “Two whistles, you army crawl towards me. One whistle you stop.”

Fweep! Fweep!

Grunts erupt as everyone drops to their stomachs and begins to crawl.

“A little sleep, a little slumber, and poverty will come on you like a bandit. That's Proverbs right there. You all need to be sharp.” He walks casually around, leading the mass of bodies in slow circles. “You love sleep too much. Even now some of you are thinking about your nice warm bed back in the dorms.” Fweep! “Get it through your heads, you are not here on earth to sleep.” Fweep! Fweep! “This proverb applies spiritually as well. Think about it.”

As I make my way past the crawling mass of people, one young girl groans, pushes herself to her feet, and walks off toward the bell. Interested to see what happens, I trail her to where the “officers” are gathered.

“General Hasz?” she says, “I'm done, I want to ring out.”

She is addressing one of the men under the stage awning, a strong looking guy in conventional army colors. He looks to be in his mid forties.

“Two-Oh-Three is it?” She nods, “Tell me, why do you want to ring out?”

Painted on her helmet is the number 203, somewhat faded by the rain. She is soaked through and shivering slightly, makeup trailing down her face like camouflage paint.

“Sir, I cannot continue, sir” She says, at sharp attention, eyes straight ahead.

“Okay,” is the reply, “at ease. Let's talk about this, what's going through your mind?”

“I'm c-cold,” she stammers, “and I'm wet, and I'm just so tired. Tonight has been horrible, I couldn't sleep because I was shivering so bad, and now we're army crawling. I can't put up with this any more. I just want it to be over.”

“Did you come out here to ESOAL expecting it to be fun?” Hasz asks.

“No sir.”

“Well then, why are you here?”

“Umm... what do you m-mean, sir?” 203 is falling asleep on her feet, her eyes drooping as she struggles to pay attention to the General.

“You came out here expecting this to be difficult, right?” A nod. “If you expected difficult, and you don't enjoy difficult, there had to be something else you were going for, right?”

“I guess so...” 203 is barely hanging on, “I guess I came out 'cause of my family core. I wanted to help them through this thing, as their ACA. People said it'd be hard and so I figured I could encourage my family to keep going.”

As she finishes talking, another facilitator approaches. She's holding a thermometer, takes 203's temperature, and reports to the general.

“Alright, well, medically you're fine.” General Hasz hops down from the platform and walks over to stand next to 203, facing the group bear crawling the field. “That's your family core?” he points.

“Yeah”

“They look pretty run down, don't you think?” He has a point, the group is moving at a snail's pace. A few have given up, collapsed on the ground. “Does it look to you like they need encouraging?”

“I guess...”

“If you were to ring out now, how many of them do you think would follow you? You're there to hold your team together. You are their glue. You need to forget about how uncomfortable you are, realize that everyone else is in the same boat, and help them press forward. Does that make sense?”

203 shrugs, “Yeah, I guess it does.”

“Well then, Miss Encourager, what are you doing still standing here? Get back to your company.”

“Yes, sir!” 203 says as she turns and jogs back to her group. I hear her yell, “Come on guys! Lets go! We got this!” as she drops down, squeezing someone's shoulder and starting to crawl.

I turn to the Honor Academy's director, Mr. David Hasz, the “General” who gave me permission to do this story. “Does that happen a lot?” I ask.

“Oh yeah, at least 4 or five times every night, and then some more during the day. Not all of them have her strength. Most don't have a reason to keep going, or can't find one in time. A lot of them ring. But she'll make it, if she can keep focused.”

Over the next day and a half I watched this group of interns go through the rigorous gauntlet known as ESOAL, and was amazed at what they would put up with. One facilitator, when asked about his experience, told me, “Yes, ESOAL was hard, and yeah, it wasn't fun. But even though almost no one liked it, the redeeming value,” he said, “is that it brought people together. It formed a bond that has lasted me years. Oh, and it lets you know you can put up with a lot more than you think you can.”

Although personally, I'm not sure I would put myself through this craziness, only a fool can miss the value in it. Determination and tenacity, the unwillingness to quit, and the selfless nature of a team spirit are all rare characteristics in the world of today. Teen Mania has realized this and seeks to remedy it with the “Emotionally Stretching Opportunity of a Lifetime.” Their methods? A little bit on the unconventional side. Their results? Well, get to know an intern who finished ESOAL. I would let the results speak for themselves.

The Real Story Starts After You Are Dead

I have been thinking about Jesus, and I'm a bit befuddled.

He's divine, worthy of worship, in essence God Almighty.

But He's also human, like us. Limited.

Jesus did all kinds of craziness on earth, displayed authority over the elements, demons, and even the laws of physics. But was that His God-powers? He was supposed to have given those up, in order to identify with us...

We must be missing something here.

Maybe, Jesus was truly simply human. Perhaps, he was fully God in that He was birthed from the pure seed, like Adam before him. Yet, unlike Adam, A woman took part in his conception.  Maybe, God created Him to be the forerunner, to show us how humanity was supposed to be. A "firstborn" son of God. Because He had not chosen disobedience, there was a whole realm of power opened up through an iron hard faith.

With that in mind, what power and authority do we have? If we can "die to ourselves" as Jesus provided a way for us to do, can we begin to understand and replicate this higher power?

What are your thoughts?

-Peter

P.S.

Jesus is referred to as the Firstborn when compared to Adam. Does that mean that we, who are saved, are those who come after? That puts us close to equal standing with Jesus after this world is done. I mean, we are going to sit on thrones.

P.P.S.

This sounds kinda edgy, but currently, it's just an idea taking shape. Feel free to rebut it with scripture.

Don't read this...

Today I was trying not to expunge my grey matter with Kleenex when this idea hit me.

It's all about reverse psychology. 

I told you not to read this, and lo and behold, you did. (well, "are") 

Anyway, now that you've started, feel free to stop. 

My first thought was that reverse psychology works because of sin nature. 

We have the tendency to fight against rules.

But, is this a bad thing?

Yes and no. Yes, because some rules, like, "Don't eat that," are for our safety and wellbeing.

But on the other hand, rules like, "The human body cannot run a four minute mile" are only in existence to be broken. 

Thus we see that human nature is to test perceived limits. It has to do with creativity and imagination. It also has to do with searching for truth.

We're always asking, "why?" or, "how?" and I say, bring it on! Let the quest for truth begin. Find out the reasons for the rules.

Oh, and don't post a comment to discuss pointless rules you've heard.

-Peter

P.S. Some rules, like the aforementioned, "don't eat that" have somewhat obvious reasons, i.e. "it smells like dirty socks"

Greetings

Welcome to my world.

       Hold loosely everything you think you know.

    Although the same rules exist here, you will be surprised when what you think you know becomes strange and new.

       But take heart, you are welcome here.

  Although I cannot guarantee your safety, since there is evil in my world, I can say that you won't be alone. After all, it's my world, what kind of host would I be if I left you to fend for yourself?

       So step in. Take my hand, and together we will see what there is to see, find things no one has yet found, and who knows? Maybe your world can be the better for it.

...the best is yet to come