First Cousin, Last Prophet.

A story fragment.

What you will read here is a fragment. Just a sliver of a story.

It’s possible that is all it will ever be. Or, maybe not.

The undying prophet appears to me in the middle of the night. He comes to prepare me for death. Smelling like smoke, but no sign of burning. He paces alongside me on these dirt floors, offering up prayers and prophecies. “You spoke the truth, boy. Ahab wouldn’t hear it either. These kings never do.” Mumbling like a mad man. Face shining like a lamp. Eyes burning like last embers in the dark.

The truth. What has the truth gotten me? What is truth? I forget more days than I remember now. God’s most holy doubter. Still unsure of all that was, is, and will be. I spoke as plainly as I could, spent my years saying the obvious to all who would listen.

In the end; does it matter?

I don’t know.

The prophet of fire stands with me, but I can’t shake the cold. The journey began in cold caves, now it ends in a cold cell. I can smell the sea, we aren’t far. Salty air. Dead like me. He tells me that I will die. It requires no prophetic power to see. “The angel of death comes near, my son. Gird yourself. The sky will open. You just watch and wait.”

What a hypocrite. Spoke the words of God, called down great judgment, and never tasted death. I hear the guards laughing. The man in the cell next to me thinks I can’t hear him crying. But I do. He’s already dead. So am I.

Leave me old man. Death is coming. Doubt is already here.

The guards aren’t laughing any longer. You can hear the keys clanking together as they walk this way. Moon light shows their shadows just outside the door. It’s time.

—

They bring me to a courtyard. Moon high in the sky. As they walk me through the fortress, I can hear the splash of water bouncing through the stone halls. Laughter echoes, someone playing music. Herod has taken the party to the baths while I go to a grave.

The sounds of the water take me back to the caves. I was just a boy when mother and father handed me away. Who hands off their son? Their only son just given to strangers in the desert. I could see tears in my mother’s eyes, but she turned and walked away.

It’s cold at night there. You don’t think a desert would get cold, but I can still remember when I went into the waters how cold I was. My teeth chattered all night. I couldn’t get warm. The night was long, but the morning arrived suddenly.

——

I keep looking for Judah. Listening for the sound of feet running across stone. He’s a fast runner, but so far I hear nothing. Surely he has heard that the time has come. What could be holding him back? I keep wondering if Jesus will come? Could he stop this? Would he?

The guards are nervous. You can tell they aren’t entirely sure what to do with me. The rumors have reached them. Whispers that I am more than meets the eye. Rumors that I am Elijah returned. They keep looking up at the sky like they expect to see flames descend. But I know the truth, it’s just me.

Will my cousin save the world? I don’t know, but he will not rescue me.

This is the end.

I said what I saw.

And no one listened.

If you read this far and want to read more, would you share this?

Sometimes a storyteller only knows that the story is worth sharing when he hears it repeated.