Wednesday, March 02, 2011

Jesus Murphy: Blog Story (4)

- Chapter 4 -

When I was questionned by Poncius yesterday, my mind kept drifintg back to my childhood and how innocent I use to be. I use to believe that I had control over my actions. I have come to learn that every step I took and every word I spoke were dictated long before my birth. Poncius called it guidance. Seldom have I been guided against my will and continued to call it so. I wasn't being guided. I was being shaped.


Jesus was sitting quiet in the back of the red sedan. He was looking out the window, observing the scenary as it flew by at alarming speed. Martin was driving and singing at the same time, which he hoped would cheer up his nephew. It had quite the opposite effect. The melody reminded Jesus too much of his father and tears soon swelled up in his eyes.

Martin noticed and stopped humming immediately. He parked the car on the side of the road and turned towards his crying nephew. The poor boy had trouble breathing as his sobs took his breath away. Jesus looked up and noticed his uncle looking down at him.

"It's not fair. Why did they have to go?!"

"Sometimes things, terrible as they may be, happen to shape a man. They are useful in your path to success."

Martin could see that Jesus was trying to make sense of his words. His brow sunk towards his eyes and his lips quivered.

"You will understand in time, Jesus. Just don't forget that I am here for you." Martin said, trying desperately to reassure his nephew. He knew words couldn't heal the pain that manifested itself and that only time could heal his nephew's wound.

Jesus didn't utter another word for the rest of the journey home. He played with his thumbs and would stop sometime to take in the scenary outside. He looked at nature and admired the strenght it had to continually evolve through time. Trees grew, created seeds, died, and were then reborn. Flowers made pollen and then gusts of wind would blow them around until the pollen reached safe ground and grew into another beautiful flower. Their cycle of life was continous. Why couldn't humans be the same?

Martin pulled into his driveway and Jesus recognized his uncle's house. He had fond memories of playing here as a child, running around the large backyard, swimming in the pool, running with the other kids. The red tin roof gave him comfort as it reminded him of a weekend he spent here with his father and they played cards while rain tick-tocked off the metal sheeting.

"Hey, we're here. You go inside, i'll take your bags in" Martin instructed, and watched Jesus walked somberly inside the house.

Martin was lifting the bags out of the trunk when he noticed a lilac flower at the bottom of the trunk. He knew what this meant.

"I didn't think you would be around all the time." Martin said, dropping the bags to the pavement below and turning around to face Madonna Riviera.

She wore the usual blazer paired with a mauve tailored skirt. She smiled, looked up at the house, then back at Martin.

"I told you I would watch over him. Make sure he doesn't stray from his path." Her voice was meant to be comforting but Martin was always apprehensive when around an Agent. He knew what they did, respected their dedication, but loathed their lack of human emotions and understanding.

"He doesn't trust me enough?" Martin asked, picking up the few bags that still remained on the driveway. Madonna didn't like the tone of his voice or the implication it carried.

"It's temptation He doesn't trust. Why do you question His work, Martin? Don't you trust us?"

"I trust Him, Madonna, and nobody can question my loyalty. I don't trust you, however."

She smirked. It was one of her trademark. She removed her glasses and slipped them inside her purse. Martin knew this to be a sign of anger. Or at least, as much as an Agent could express.

"You know what I can do Martin. Don't make me use my abilities against you."

"Is that what you call guiding the people? Making them act upon your behalf? I saw the scripture, Madonna," He said, turning his back to her and walking up the driveway towards the house, "I know the part I have to play. I told you before I am not scared of you."

Martin entered the house and Madonna could see Jesus helping his uncle with the bags before the door closed and blocked her view.

"History has been rewritten before. It could happen again." She snickered.

Madonna turned around and hummed a sweet tune while walking down the road towards the sunset.

Jesus was twisting and turning in his sheets, unable to fall asleep. Images of his father floated endlessly through his mind. He finally stopped turning and lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling. It had a simple design to it, paint splatters covered it and Jesus was creating shapes and patterns. He was just about ready to fall asleep when he noticed the ceiling was slowly changing colours and soon it turned from white to light purple.

A voice echoed through the room. A soft female voice.

"Rest, boy. Sleep your pain away and dream of a better world. Tomorrow is a brand new day. Tomorrow, you will heal the world."

The voice slowly drifted away and Jesus drew the blankets up to his nose, terrified of what had just happened. I must already be sleeping, he thought, I am dreaming. He shifted in his bed and finally closed his eyes.

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