At long last I awoke — it was nearly 10am my time and a cardinal was chirp, chirp, chirping just outside my bedroom window.
“SHUT UP!” I screamed at the red-smocked bird, before pulling a pillow down over my head – to no avail. “Ah, hell, it’s time to get up anyway.” And I reached a hand over the side of my bed and searched for the bottle of Jim Beam that was usually rolling around on the floor.
I thought about Alan – clearly he was in dire straits based on my last vision of him being accosted by those three goons. You might guess it had something to do with violating Covid curfew but I knew better – he’d just retrieved his Nail from the CEC Catacombs the timing couldn’t have been worse for Alan – it was no coincidence that those murderous men had appeared when they did…and it had nothing to do with any virus.
Despite that recent cavalcade of visions about my friend, I was left with nothing but questions about his present situation.
But let’s be clear here – I’m no sucker.
You know as well as I that He is trying to peak my interest and draw me back into The Commission. But what He doesn’t seem to realize is – I DON’T CARE! I keep trying to tell Him that but He doesn’t listen.
All my life He’s been force-feeding me these visions. Oh, I’ve fallen for His games in the past. I’ve tried to do His Will – but it never gets me anywhere. It’s a damn waste of time, I tell you.
You understand that don’t you? Please, if you learn one thing from me, learn this – don’t fall for His tricks.
Will Eisner “A Contract with God” c 1978
So Alan’s in trouble, huh?
And now I suppose He wants me to go and save him?
Sorry, not going to happen.
Oh sure, Alan is my friend, but let’s face it, he’s a big boy. He knows what’s at stake for holding one of the Three. And, really now, what’s going to happen to Alan anyway? You know as well as I that they can’t kill him, so what can they do to him? Nothing. That’s right, nothing!
So, why did He even bother to waste my time showing me those visions anyway?
As YOU are my witness, I’ll say it again – GOD, please leave me alone!!
Now, you’re just going to have to trust me on this next part as to how I know what I know, but for the time being, just take my word on this, OK?
So after my assailant confirmed I was dead, he held his blade up, watching my crimson-grey blood cascade down the metal. That’s when he did something that might shock you – in spite of not knowing my Covid-status, and even though he was definitely NOT socially distant as he continued to straddle my body, my attacker took off his face mask! (Oh the horror, right?)
Yet what he did next might make you run for the hills.
“I wonder…” The goon said as he brought the knife to his mouth and licked his tongue along the shank. “BLAH! PLUFF! Why, it tastes like… dusty moth balls? Baron, don’t tell me you’ve been crazy enough to experiment on yourself too?”
Unfortunately for him, I was in no condition to reply. However in a rather ironic twist, the record player hadn’t been disturbed by all this commotion and was still playing the Jim Reeves Anthology — now softly sounding Guilty through the speakers…
Dufus that he was, the intruder never noticed this cruel coincidence. Instead he put his face mask back on and then continued the task that he came here for – ransacking his way through my home, he pulled down rows of dusty books from built-in shelves, broke open my dilapidated cabinets, and cleared my closets of rummage, whiskey bottles, and even my dirty laundry — looking anywhere and everywhere for but one specific treasure.
It wasn’t gold, food, toilet paper, my stash of counterfeit Immunity Passes, or anything that held worldly value – for even though I plenty of those rare commodities, my intruder as after… something else.
(Fool! He has no idea what he’s about to do. But, whatever happens, YOU are here to witness that it wasn’t my fault, right?)
For a moment the masked brute paused in thought as he stood among feathers still floating in the air after slashing my mattress (yeah right, like I would hide It in there?). “C’mon, I know it’s here somewhere.” And he scanned the room, until finally, “Aha — the TV!”
And in a flash, he bounded back into my living room.
I still lay motionless in an ever-growing pool of blood, yet the murderer paid me no mind as his eyes searched for something specific – for it wasn’t really the TV he was after.
When he couldn’t readily locate his desire, he took a step back behind the Laz-E-Boy and retraced the steps of his intrusion; throwing a shadow punch or two to mimic his previous assault, and then following along the path of his destruction, finally he came to, ”Yes, I’ve got it!” Kicking the Roku aside, he hungrily grabbed the rectangular box that my rabbit ears had previously sat upon.
“Ha, Antennae Stand my ass,” he ogled the smoke-scorched caisse as he took a seat in my chair, caressing the 10×6” black box. “So this is one of The Three, eh? Oh, my lord is going to be so happy with me — I wonder what kind of reward I’ll get?”
He scanned the sides, trying to see how to open the box. When he located the tiny s-clasp, “What the–? John, you don’t even have this locked?” And flicking off the clasp he then began to open the box “Is that any way to protect one of Jes—“
<Rrraboom-boom-BOOM!>
Thunder shook the house, and the temperature suddenly plummeted – surely sending chills tingling over the man’s body — yet still he looked into the box.
He began to hyperventilate in his mask and his body became gripped in a cold sweat — yet still he looked into the box.
Removing his mask, he took a risk and tried breathing in fresh air, yet his lips began to crack from a sudden parchness and his tongue became as dry as the desert sands — yet even still he looked into the box, totally captivated by the object inside.
Minutes turned to hours while the intruder sat motionless, maskless, and absorbed by what was once my most prized possession.
Until at last, the man began to reach a meaty paw into the case…
<RrraBOOM-BOOM-BOOM!>
Yet, even as he griped the cold relic, he must have realized it was a deadly mistake.
“YAAAWWWPP!” He wailed in agony, flying backwards over the chair. Unable to let go of that which he came for, my murderer’s screams continued for but a moment more, and then he collapsed in a heap, bleeding from ghastly holes in his hands and above his ankles. After only a moment, his shirt began to fill with blood, and I knew that his side had been ripped open as well — allowing his punctured lungs to let flow their contents. Even his hair became matted from the blood that also pulsed forth from the multitude of tiny punctures that wrapped a picket-fence around his scalp.
Oh, please don’t be surprised by any of this, after all, this is the way it always happened – as another would-be burglar died a death infinitely more gruesome than that which he had inflicted on me.
In fact, I myself could tell you this, for I had witnessed the man’s demise.
Rising from a pool of my own blood – and feeling older than ever — I frowned as I looked upon the new mess in my living room, “Hrmpf. I suppose I have to clean up another one.”
I could have checked the man’s IdentiChip to learn more about him, but I didn’t wanna risk activating any 5G sensors in the area by turning on my biometric reader – especially when I knew why the man came anyway. Like all the others he only wanted one thing and that was all I needed to know about him.
Taking a quick breath, I hoisted my intruder-turned-corpse over my shoulder and carried him out through the kitchen door and into my backyard. You might be shocked that I didn’t put on a face mask or that I dared touched another person without knowing their Covid-status, but I’m not a sheep like you so I knew that masks didn’t work against Covid. More importantly I knew the truth about the Covid – it’s a scam! –so complying with a bunch of regulations that were always more about population-control than actual science was never my thing. I’d been around long enough to know a fascist power play like The Great Reset when I see one, and this was wasn’t even hard to recognize because the globalists behind this version of the New World Order didn’t even bother to hide their agenda.
So the technocrats had a new idea to control the world – what do I care? Do what you like, just leave me in peace.
I live on the outskirts of Williamsport, PA – the name of the township is actually called ‘Cogan Station’ – I doubt if you’ve even heard of Williamsport and I KNOW you haven’t heard of Cogan Station – and that’s fine by me. I bring it up now just so you can get an idea of my lifestyle.
I prefer to be alone.
I live in the woods and while there are a number of other home sites nearby, I don’t have any neighbors within shouting (or snitching) distance and that’s the way I like it. My place is located about ten miles off the main road and it’s a good ways into a wooded glade. I have the land cleared out around my house, but there’s still quite a bit of woods that surround me.
All of which means I get to keep my privacy – usually.
Besides the mail (read: spy) drones, every so often I get a visitor – someone from a elderly outreach center (read: contact tracer), or a neighbor who forgets that I don’t like to be disturbed, or perhaps a group of courageous kids who are looking to mess with a known anti-masker like me.
And sometimes I’ll get a visitor like the fellow I got today — which is always a bit of a nuisance.
After I hefted the goon to the yard, I had to catch a breather – thankfully this was easier without a mask to block the fresh country air.
Ahh – I can’t believe this is illegal, I chuckled to myself at the absurdity of all the “New Normal” Covid rules allegedly designed to keep us safer but in reality accomplishing nothing but destroying our freedom.
Now if you saw my lands, you noticed that the rear of my ten-acre property has quite a few dirt piles scattered around; to most people these mounds would probably look like mere compost heaps for my garden — and on the surface they are.
But dig a little deeper and you might be surprised at what you find.
I spent the next hour and a half going digging yet another grave. After I dug the IdentiChip out of his forearm, I gruffly tossed the man into the grave and hauled a bit of compost from another pile to cover the site – burying yet another secret in my yard.
“Hell, I’ve got more skeletons than Dr. Flipflop.” I wiped my forehead with a handkerchief. “I’m gettin’ too old for this crap. God curse your soul, scoundrel. You made me miss my Phillies. Amen!” Then I threw down my shovel and stormed back towards my house. “Hey, maybe I can catch the postgame?”
Yet even as I said it I knew it was a pipedream. First I had to get out my own drone and fly the attacker’s Identichip to a location far away from my house – that took me another hour.
Then I had to drink a beer (or three) to calm down.
Finally I had to clean up inside the house.
When I came to the object that had caused the death of my attacker, I casually picked it up the thin piece of black iron and placed it back into its case.
Too bad this thing couldn’t kill me too, I lamented.
After that I set about the task of trying to get the TV upright again – things didn’t go well at first and I started to let the expletives fly as my anger rose, but just then a new Jim Reeves’ song came filtering out of the stereo speakers – Adios, Amigo.
It was Jim who finally saved my day – for I couldn’t help but sing along with his song, in good cheer at last, “Adios, Amigo. Adios, my friend. The road we have travelled has come to an end…”
A few days later, I was sitting in a rocking chair on my back porch listening to Conway Twitty on my radio.
Somebody’s needin’ somebody the way I do. Somebody’s wantin’ somebody they can hold on to. To be loved by somebody that’s the way it should be. Oh, there’s got to be somebody somewhere waitin’ for me.
It was another scorcher of a day and I conspired against the heat by sipping on an ice cold lager – Beck’s to be exact – crisp, clean, and refreshing.
(Why are you so appalled that I drink so much? Don’t you know the saying “Let them drink and forget their worries?” Hey, I’m not making this stuff up – it’s in The Bible, read it for yourself).
Although nearly two weeks had passed, I still hadn’t replaced the TV that was damaged during the break-in. As a result, I was forced to listen to my Phillies games over the radio. Since the game wasn’t on for another hour, I was whiling away the time listening to some music – naturally I sang along.
“…Hurtin’ inside, going through emotions,” I bellowed out, terribly off-key, “It’s so hard to live. So many feelings, so lonely, when they got so much to give…” Closing my eye as the tune came to a close, I raised my glass, “To be loved by somebody, that’s the way it should be. Oh there’s got to be somebody waitin’ for me…
A <force> pulled gently against me, but I resisted, “No — I will not repent! And I will NOT be silent!” I condemned myself. “I will complain at the bitterness of my soul. Why did You, the God of all creation, credit Job’s words as Faith when he raged against You, yet I remain despised?”
Getting more frustrated, “Damn it all to Hell! Damn all of you; especially you, Mary — it’s all your fault!”
And in a flash, I was lost in memories – unwanted memories from nearly two thousand years ago…
“Damn rain.” I growled, pulling the shutters closed against the cold. In my mind’s eye I was back in the upper room of a rundown apartment building where me and my friends were planning to celebrate the Passover Feast later that evening.
(I was speaking in Aramaic but for our purposes I’ll translate).
Turning to the group, I continued, “It’s the month of Nissan for Yahweh’s sake! Why’s it gotta be so damn cold? I thought we were coming to Jerusalem to be able to enjoy ourselves, don’t you all remember our triumphal entry just a few days ago?
“Of course we do.” Said my brother James.
“Yeah, well since then it’s been pretty rotten.” My lamentation continued.
There was a large table in the middle of the room and around this Peter, my brother James, and a few other men continued preparing the board for our approaching feast. Even still, Peter chimed in, “John, I feel your pain. But calm down, you know as well as I that The Master could tell the winds to cease and the Sun to shine if he so desired.”
“Then why doesn’t he?” I opened the shutters again and looked at the dusty streets below – yearning in anticipation.
“Don’t worry, He’ll be here.” Another man walked over and placed his hand on my shoulder as I continued searching. “He wouldn’t have us do all this and not show up, right?”
“Who knows anymore, Matthew?” I pulled the shutters closed again with a bang. “Ever since Magdala started traveling with us, it seems like SHE is calling the shots now. Does He have to always listen to her advice?”
(Looking back, I guess you could say that I never really liked Mary. Oh well).
“She does seem to always know the right thing to do.” Matthew replied. “Look how the people have responded lately. Why, even the Sadducees are afraid to touch us!”
“But why? How?” I countered. “I know that He dispelled those seven demons from her, but what makes Mary so different from the countless other peons that He did miracles for? She’s just a girl from Magdala for Moses’ sake! Why is she allowed to travel with us, when He always told others to go their own way after He healed them?”
“Because Mary continues to prophecy.” Advised a large man who joined in our conversation. “Only now, rather than speak in the demon tongue, Jesus believes Mary is speaking the words of Yahweh Himself.”
(Funny, I forgot about that. Back then, I was NOT the one with the visions – it was Mary. I never did understand why that all changed?)
“Andrew is right, John. And so far you can’t argue with her results.” Matthew smiled at me. “After all, Mary IS often correct in what she sees. I mean, here we are in Jerusalem, man! Celebrating the Passover in a place that the Pharisees said we would never be able to come back to. And all because Mary told The Master about Bartimaeus’ blindness and that man’s parents were so grateful when The Master cured him that they let us use one of their rental rooms for our Meal this evening…for free – even though this town is packed with pilgrims, and Bartimaeus’ parents could have rented this room for some big coin. Surely that is amazing, neh?”
“Don’t the rest of us count for something?” I retorted. “After all, most of us have been with him for three years or more, yet she’s been around for less than a year. I asked to sit at his right and James at his left — the rest of you practically crucified us for that — and he denied us anyway. Yet Magdala does whatever she pleases and none of you care.”
“Whatever, Matthew, you do that. But I’m serious — what IS going on with her?”
“Do you think there’s a romantic connection?” Andrew asked.
“Unthinkable!” I was quick to reply, not wanting to believe what I most feared.
“Would it be so bad if Jesus and Magdala did unite?” Matthew asked.
“Surely it would diminish our ministry.” Peter surmised.
“I’m not so sure.” Matthew countered. “Think about this, friend — we have come a long way under His direction, but as Judas says, now is the time for action. The people thirst for change. And with Mary’s vision and Jesus’ inspired oration, we could move forward with The Messiah Mission and finally wrest power from the current usurpers.”
“Think of the glory we would all share in,” Peter agreed, “if OUR faction ruled Jerusalem.”
“As good as that sounds,” James spoke up, “I have to agree with my brother. We all know that Jesus is The Son of Yahweh – the Divine Incarnate. There can be no way that he would allow himself to be defiled by a woman.”
“But he is also a man.” Andrew replied. “Surely his flesh has needs.”
(Now let me make one thing clear here — as far as I know, Jesus never did anything untoward with Mary – thankfully. However I still believe that she was his downfall with all her mind games).
“He is a man in appearance only.” Peter rebutted. “He is without sin. He has been tempted by Satan himself – remember what he told us – he was tempted worse than we could ever imagine for forty days in the desert – without faltering. No, friends, I tell you the truth, our Jesus cannot be defiled by anything or anyone in this world.”
“But Mary has been purified by The Master.” Andrew reasoned. “Perhaps this makes her acceptable to him.”
“Who knows? Perhaps you are correct.” Peter replied. “But I believe even if Jesus purified Magdala when he cast out those demons, nonetheless, she is still a human like the rest of us and thus she will always carry Adam’s stain on her. Yet The Master is different – he is pure, he was born without Sin — always has been, always will be.”
(Ha, hear that, Mary? You could never be good enough for Him).
Silence reigned as we all pondered what would become of our club now that Mary of Magdala was gaining more influence within the group and threatening to take our Master away from us – it wasn’t a pretty sight…
Matthew was the first to break the awkward silence, “What you say makes sense, Peter. I can’t see our master, who is so pure of mind and body, accepting a union with a woman who was once possessed by demons and who still carries the mark of Adam’s sin upon her. And yet how can we be sure?”
“Why can’t John ask him?” Andrew offered.
“What? Why me?” I resisted.
“Come on, John.” My brother James coaxed. “You know he loves you best. He tells you everything.”
“Not anymore!” I snapped. “Now she’s his confidante. But this is nothing new because for a while it was Judas too, remember? And speaking of Judas — what’s going on with him? Even though he’s still with us, he’s not been too engaged with our plans lately.”
(Wow! Guess I was correct in that assessment, huh?)
“Yeah, I’m worried about Judas too.” Matthew said softly. “Maybe we should find out what’s bothering him? Perhaps I’ll sit beside him at dinner tonight and ask him.”
“It won’t help, Matthew. Remember, Judas is a Zealot.” Peter reminded them. “He wants Jesus to take power by force, but I get the feeling that’s just not going to happen.”
“Then what are we all doing here in Jerusalem?” Andrew asked. “Waiting for the Pharisees to come and arrest us? I mean, did you see that performance in the Temple today? If Jesus keeps insulting them, they’ll have all of our heads!”
“Let them come and try it!” I grumbled while my brother got riled up as well.
“Be that as it may, brothers,” Peter stopped us in our tracks. “Back to our problem — is there anything else we can do to perhaps minimize Mary’s influence?”
“Lazarus likes Mary.” Matthew tittered. “Perhaps we could get those two to spend more time together?”
(If only Lazarus hadn’t been such a bumbling fool and tried to play Mr. Cool by keeping a secret from Mary, he would have taken her off our hands way back then and maybe things would have been different. Oh, you don’t know that story, yet? Don’t worry, we’ll get to that, too).
“Really?” Andrew asked. “How do you know?”
“Have you seen the way Lazarus is around Magdala?” Matthew replied. “He’s practically a Bar Mitzvah Boy – all wide-eyed and ready to showcase his manhood.”
“Yes, but Mary was there when Lazarus was raised back to life,” Andrew added. “I think it was rather unsettling for her, so I don’t see the two of them getting together.”
“If nothing else, it can’t hurt to include Lazarus more in our affairs.” Peter concluded. “At least, Lazarus might take up some of Mary’s time and leave The Master more with us – so things can get back to normal. After all, if Jesus really is not going to accept Mary’s advances, surely she won’t wait around forever, right?”
With that my Sight snapped back to the present, yet alas my troubles today were only beginning…
The Last Temptation of John 