{CROSSWAYSNET}

GOD was spent. Expended. Wasted. Left thoroughly empty. All Three could barely keep eyes open. And with a blink, Creation could no longer see God. Anywhere. As if the Birth had killed off the Mother. What had been a hot writhing mass of Life upon life; Change upon change; Day upon night upon day was suddenly a frozen expanse. Embers barely ignited suddenly shivering in an icy void, clutching to them their newborn chicks in constellations of Now; Not Yet; Now What?!

God was dead.

God slept.

Eons passed.

All in a Sabbath. The First.

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I see the face, drawing into focus. 
NO.

NOT ETHAN.

Not the face I was expecting. He cannot hear my scream.



I’ve lain here in wait for so long. For ADAM, not YOU!

I see the flash of fire in the angry eyes. They grow darker as that fire burns.

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Benjamin's jaw ached. It did that a lot now. Especially since the weather had turned. He pressed the tip of his tongue into the socket where his eye tooth was missing. It pushed out the scar on the lip above, beginning another dull pain.

Benjamin felt a lot older than his 20 years. He shifted to his side to give his hip a rest. David played his harp to keep his mind off this hind side, he supposed. The tumbling hills below Bethlehem were certainly no more comfortable in David's day.

It was the last watch and the darkest of the night. Benjamin's eyes had fully adjusted to the unpolluted darkness. He could see the sheep and their starlight shadows. Some stirred but most were still. The strange convergence of stars above seemed to be growing in intensity and continued to disturb the shepherd. For weeks the strange and undoubtedly bad omen had assembled itself in the sky. And now? The greens, blues and reds were converging in colorless light, almost like the startling flash of midday sunlight off the tops of rolling waves. He'd seen those once up in Galilee when a storm from Jordan stirred the sea from afar. The waters had seemed almost alive and certain of themselves, driving mystery, light and darkness of depth his way. Why did this strange new star remind him of that? Benjamin looked back down to his group's flock.

He caught sight of the one lamb he felt most responsible for. The one he dreaded most. He drifted away to the memories of one terrible day. The one to which his jaw and lip gave testament...

*****

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“Now on the first day of the week Mary Magdalene came to the tomb very early, long before first light and saw the stone had been removed…” from John 20:1-2

 

She RAN. The others followed as fast as they could. All the way across town to the safehouse.

 

“Peter! John! WAKE UP!! The tomb…” And then her throat closes off. She can’t seem to choke out the rest of the horrible thought: “Someone’s stolen his body.” She blubbers on and on about what must have happened. The other women plead with the Disciples to DO something. Peter and John are suddenly awake and rushing out the door.

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At midnight, Anna stood at the ramparts in fervent prayer, still looking expectantly to the East. She was certain the signs would continue, as they had for weeks. Last night was so close…

All morning, a heavy cloud had sorrowed on the Temple Mount, shrouding Solomon’s Porch in mist. Anna had waited all day for the weather to break before stepping across the Women’s Court to the covered path high above the Kidron Valley. 500 of them. Stunted, slow steps, nearly the entire furlong across Herod’s Court. She had served 70 years as the Asher Priestess, half of them in this very place. Even as her eyes began to fail, she had witnessed the daily progress as Herod’s artisans raised the New Temple. Stone by stone, planted over Zerubbabel’s rubble. The last distinct thing she remembered seeing with her earthly eyes was the flash of gilding being soldered in place atop the columns of Herod’s vanity. Doubly gold in the last light of a Fall day. Anna’s eyes had been dark for almost 20 years now, even as her ears followed the constant and furious progress on the Temple and the great pavements beyond. She heard the scraping of metal on stone as the altar was moved into the Courts.  She heard the hiss of heavy velvet as the veil was hoisted to seal the Holy of Holies. Her mind painted the blue, purple and scarlet yarns on the back of her eyelids. She swayed her hand, dreaming of sewing in the golden thread that embossed the cherubim to the color-shifting fabric. She knew this Temple to be a sham, at least compared to the Temple of Solomon. Yet the design was grand. She had heard rumors that Herod’s men had even been compelled to manufacture an imposter ark to complete the fiction.

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Isaac’s knuckles scraped across the rock, smarting. The burden on his back shifted forward, almost sliding over shoulders and taking his tunic with it. The tip of a rough branch dug into the nape of his neck.

“Steady, boy!” The old man’s voice was ragged as he stumbled forward to catch his son from falling face first into the boulder. “You don’t want to…” The voice trailed off to silence.

“To what, my Father?” Isaac looked back under his arm to Abraham’s weathered face.  It seemed suddenly drained of color. The first glint of sunrise shone blood red in the patriarch’s eye. He didn’t answer the boy.

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Aunt Edna’s Money - Writer's Digest Writing Prompt - August 12, 2016


[Your wealthy Aunt Edna has died and left you all of her money. At first you’re excited, as you’ve been living paycheck-to-paycheck your whole life, and this newfound money offers you endless possibilities. But, in her will, Aunt Edna left one big catch—and, if you don’t do it, all of the money is to be given to your most unlikable cousin, Wilfred.]

Nelson adjusted his pince-nez and cleared his throat. Again. He looked up with that self-righteous disgust that simmered below that polished professionalism. He cleared his throat. Again.

"...the sum of $895,000 shall be transferred to escrow and assigned to the account of James Reagan Wilson immediately upon full hearing and acceptance of the following terms..."

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The boy introduced himself to the blacksmith.

“’God Saves,’ huh? Well He can save us from the Prefect then. Please - Go right ahead. Look around all you want. You won’t find much after Rufus’ goons made off with everything. And I’ll be gone all day working off this tax bill.”

The grizzled man pulled a few Tiberius coins from a pouch behind his belt, spalled and speckled with burns from countless hours behind the anvil. Before he handed them over to the deliveryman, he faked a sneeze. Yeshua clearly saw him spit on the image of the Emperor. The teen handed over the reins to the rented cart and mule; even helped to load some of the beastly heavy boxes into the bed. The load of spikes, nails and shoes clanged loudly as they landed, as much from the anger of the blacksmith as the shifting bed of the cart. The mule began to protest.

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Cyrus leaned back on the throne of Babylon as the words swirled in his mind. The scribes record he ‘inclined his face to the heavens as in transport.’ All the satraps and diviners, the wise men and captured princes stood at nervous attention, while the old prophet of the Jews noisily rolled up the old scroll and returned it to its ornate ark. The lid lowered and the hasp swung closed. All seemed to hold their breath.

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"Waste not - want not." Did not.

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……….………………..“Ta, ta, ta, teh, teh, teh….”

The misshapen mass in front of him stuttered and shuddered. As far as he could tell, that is. This cloying darkness swallowed everything. Even his sanity, it would seem. How could it be THIS dark at THIS hour? The sun should be halfway to the horizon putting these jagged beams in stark relief. Now, nothing. 

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WRITER'S DIGEST "Your Story #54" Competition entry

Prompt: Write the opening sentence (25 words or fewer) to a story based on the photo above.

Your whisper slayed me and you did as you promised, leaving her at the altar -- so I waited for you till the tide came in.

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WRITER'S DIGEST "Your Story #52" Competition entry

Prompt: Write the opening sentence (25 words or fewer) to a story based on the photo above.

"With their eyes on the prize, he fingered the axe knowing he had a choice to make: The best Christmas tree, or they disappear forever..."

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WRITERS DIGEST "Your Story Competition #51.

Prompt: Write a short story, of 750 words or fewer, that begins with the following line of dialogue: “Heads, we get married; tails, we break up.”

*****

“Heads, we get married; tails, we break up.”

Bill observed the silver dollar through rheumy eyes. The 1899 Lady L stared blankly off to his left, betraying none of her feelings. The only hint, her lips - slightly taciturn, maybe disapproving. Still, she didn't argue or object. A stoic, unwilling to face him. A face that would decide Bill's fate, whether she cared or not.

The skirt across the table from him was much more lively. Practically dancing in anticipation of the answer. A betting soul, sure to win.

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NPR Three-Minute Fiction 50 Word Challenge: "Memorial Day"

She sips her juice box while her father faces the wall. Her hand holds a black crayon and slightly crumpled rubbing. 

The man traces the 'R' of a name the little girl has never known. A name Gommy hasn't used in 40 years. He stays. They head for the statue.

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[Prompt: Write the opening sentence (25 words or fewer) to a story based on the photo above...]

"His depth perception was failing, or the sky was literally falling - either way he wanted answers and he wanted them NOW..."

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[Prompt: Write the opening sentence (25 words or fewer) to a story based on the photo above...]

"Ripples of Scarlet and alabaster shimmered before him as he lowered the gun slowly to his waist."

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Writer's Digest Short Story Contest Entry, 2013

The man froze in his tracks. His weren’t the only ones pressed into the fresh fall of snow. A scuffling trail of sneakers - a child’s sized 7 - led from his front door, between his own, turning left down the sidewalk.

He panicked, dropping the shopping bag, splitting the milk jug and soaking the newspaper and paper bag of fresh-ground coffee. The cherry twizzler hung limp from his lips, an indecisive weathervane in the still air.

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2013 "Beat the Clock" Contest Entry - Bookrix.com

Slats.

Lucy reached forward to poke her finger through, thinking that maybe she could see better. Jimmy yanked his four year old sister’s hand away from the door.

“Don’t do that!” he hissed. “Be quiet - and still.”

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The challenge: Create a new genre - "Cozy Apocalypse Mysteries"

Take One...

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