The Gryphon Generation Book 2: A New Era

by Alexander Bizzell

  The hospital came into view and he pulled into the parking lot. He grabbed the flowers and exited the car, careful not to spill any water. The sliding glass doors of the hospital opened automatically as he walked in and approached the elderly nurse at the front desk. “Hey, I’m looking for Isabell’s room. She’s the gryphoness. I was here yesterday, but I forgot the room number.”

  “Oh the gryphoness. She’s in two-o-two,” the nurse replied without even looking at the computer. “Elevator is down the hall and to your left.”

  Johnathen thanked her and entered the elevator. Once on the second floor, it was a short walk to her room, and the door was wide open. He knocked on the door anyway and peeked inside.

  Isabell turned her head and perked her black eartufts. “Johnathen! I didn’t know you were coming by.” She used the remote to turn down the volume on the television. She had been watching a re-run of an older nineties sitcom. The laugh track played in the background of the show, but the mood in the room was far from joyous.

  “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” He walked in and placed the vase on the table next to her bed.

  “Not a damn thing,” Isabell replied, now turning her attention to the flowers. She snorted through her nares. “I don’t understand you humans and the infatuation with flowers, but it’s a nice gesture.”

  Johnathen shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “It’s just something we do.”

  Johnathen looked her over. She was in the same position as yesterday, her wounded wing outstretched and wrapped in a cast. Multiple wires kept it suspended from a rig attached to the bed. She was reclining on her side, her body covered with a white blanket.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked in a polite matter as he sat down in the recliner next to the bed.

  “What the hell do you think?” Isabell replied sternly. Her eartufts folded back against her head and she turned her attention to the television once again.

  Johnathen sighed and fell silent, trying to think of what to say next.

  She grunted. “I’m stuck in this bed for the next three weeks, they said. I won’t start therapy until the fifth week, and they said if I make a full recovery, I won’t be able to fly for over a year.”

  “But they did remain optimistic you would make a full recovery?” Johnathen pointed out.

  “Well, they seemed positive, but I know it will never be the same.” The room feel silent once again besides the chatter from the television. “And the food is terrible.” She added jokingly to lighten up the mood a bit.

  Johnathen chuckled and looked over to the half-eaten turkey sandwich on the plastic hospital tray. The rest of the sides were untouched.

  He gestured at an untouched container. “Try the cinnamon apples. They aren’t half bad.” He leaned back in the chair and glanced up at the television, memories starting to come back to him. “When my mom was really sick, I would spend days at a time here. After hours I lived off vending machine food and it got to the point where I would look forward to the awful biscuits and gravy in the morning.”

  Isabell turned her slender black beak to look at Johnathen as he continued his story.

  “They would serve country fried steak on Tuesdays, which was the best thing they have. Well, second best thing. The first being those cinnamon apples. My Mom didn’t like them at all, never did. So I always ate them for her.” Johnathen took a deep breath and looked over to Isabell. Her blue eyes stared back at him. “But, yeah, everything else is pretty terrible.”

  “You can have them if you want,” she said and cocked her head curiously. “What happened to your mother?”

  “Passed away. Liver disease,” he replied and took the tray off of the table.

  Isabell’s eartufts and scarlet-colored feathers flattened against her body. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Johnathen picked up the metal fork and speared an apple slice. “It was a long time ago, so no worries.” He put the apple slice in his mouth and chewed on the squishy slice. He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess they’re not that great, but they do in a pinch. Much better when they’re hot.”

  He swallowed and forked another piece. “Enough about my sad history. What about you? Do you keep contact with your adoptive family?”

  “How did you know I had one?”

  “Well, just going from what Thyra has told me, all the gryphons were adopted when the labs closed. Well, at least at the lab she was at. So, I just assumed it was the same for you too.”

  Isabell looked out the window, blue sky and sun shining through the large bay windows. “Yeah, it was the same way in Africa. But no, I don’t keep in contact with them. I wasn’t with them for long before I went out on my own. They were pretty poor and the only reason they took me in was the grants the government gave them for housing me.” She snorted. “They treated me like a dog; giving me whatever scraps they had left over, ordering me around, and refusing to give me any education. So I said screw them and flew off one day. Haven’t seen them since and probably never will.”

  Johnathen finished the apples and put the tray down, staring blankly at Isabell.

  She turned her head to look back at him, confused by his staring. “What?”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. All of it really.” Johnathen replied.

  Isabell snorted through her nares again. “It’s alright. As you said, it was a while ago. Ten years, give or take.”

  “We humans say it’s rude to ask a woman’s age, but I hope you don’t mind me asking. How old are you exactly?” Johnathen asked.

  “I’ll be thirteen in November.”

  “Didn’t know you were so young. Thyra just turned nineteen.” He said. He knew gryphons aged much quicker than humans but thirteen still seemed young to him for someone who had gone through so much.

  “Young? I was fully matured at four. In relative terms, I’m almost as old as you are,” Isabell finally gave a small smile to Johnathen, “And a hell of a lot better looking.”

  He smiled back. “You got a point. Sorry, you know how slow we age.”

  Isabell’s eyes squinted in thought for a second. “You said Thyra just turned nineteen, right?” Johnathen confirmed with a nod. “Wouldn’t that make her one of the first gryphons?”

  Just then, Johnathen’s pocket vibrated. He withdrew his smartphone and smiled as he looked down to see a text from Thyra. “Speak of the devil.”

  Isabell perked her eartufts with new life. “Thyra?”

  Johnathen nodded. “She’s asking how you are.” His thumbs typed on the digital keyboard while he wrote out a message in reply.

  “Tell her to bring me some damn cigarettes when she visits. I need one more than anything else right now.”

  He laughed and put his smartphone away. “Yeah, no way Thyra would do that. But I’ll see what I can do next time.”

  Johnathen stood up and pulled the card out of the bouquet. He handed it over to her free foreclaw. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need, but I’ve got some errands to run.”

  Isabell took the card in her foreclaw and set it down on her chest. “Gee, a card. Thanks, I needed another one of those. What’s on it? A bird?” She said a little sarcastically.

  He let out an embarrassed laugh and waved goodbye on his way out the door.

  “H...hey John.” Isabell called out at the last second, causing Johnathen to stop and turn to look at her. “Come back soon, please.” Her expression had changed from her normal stuck up self to one of loneliness.

  “I’ll come bring you some dinner.” He promised with a smile and turned to walk down the hall.

  She sighed and looked down at the card. The laugh track and clapping on the television played once again as the episode ended. She took the envelope in her beak and tore it open with a talon. Isabell looked at the cartoon chickadee printed on the front of the card and grinned. “Jackass.”

  Chapter 3 Grasping At Straws

  Stained glass windows filtered the morning sunlight through the hall, decorating the spacious chur
ch with a multitude of colors during the opening hymn. When the music finished, the congregation sat down, the small band put down their instruments, and the choir took their seats behind the stage.

  Everyone sat silent as Matthew approached the stand, a large Bible in hand. The white robe he wore was ironed to perfection, and free of any dirt or grime. He placed the Bible down and looked around at the crowd. He tried to summon affection for the group, but he had no love for these people. He never had. He enjoyed being their leader, but in truth he saw them as nothing but his personal servants. Not that he would never say something like this outright.

  The news of yesterday morning’s failure had put him in a sour disposition as well as leaving him exhausted. He had put in many hours dealing with the media, the police, and the followers who were put in jail. The money it had cost him in bail fees had put a thorn in his side, but it was a drop in the bucket compared to what he had amassed over the years.

  Matthew forced a fake smile upon his wrinkled, clean-shaven face and raised his hands, greeting his people. He liked to keep up his appearance, even when he was distraught.

  “A pleasure to see everyone on this beautiful morning. God has blessed us once again on this day.” He spoke with authority and projected his voice, even though he also wore a microphone. “Today, I would like to speak to you about doubt. In the wake of yesterday’s unfortunate events, there are some that have started to doubt our ways. I have heard the media speak slanders against our church, and question our motives. Blessed be those of you that are here now. You are the true faithful. You do not falter, no matter what lies are spread.”

  He looked around at the crowd for their reaction. Most of them were sitting silently and paying close attention. Although, he did spot a middle-aged woman he did not recognize. She seemed to be on edge. He noted her face and opened his bible.

  “I would like to read you a passage out of the book of James today. James chapter one, verses five through eight.” Matthew looked down and began to read aloud. “If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you. But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. That person should not expect to receive anything from the Lord. Such a person is double-minded and unstable in all they do.”

  Matthew finished his reading and closed his book once more. He took a step away from the stand and looked back at the congregation as he walked on the stage. “We all lack wisdom, in one form or another. That is why we come together and ask the Lord. We must take everything he gives us without question and without doubt. In all ways, we must obey.”

  He began to smile once again, his wicked grin creeping across his face. “And I am here to interpret Gods meaning to you. Those of the general public that do not believe in what I’ve been teaching you are sinners. They have faltered from the light of God, and questioned his all knowing wisdom. I have tried to reach out to these people, but they are, as James said, ‘like a wave of the sea.’ They are unstable, and can be blown in any direction, whereas you all are like a rock because you do not question.”

  Matthew walked down a couple stairs to approach the first row of pews. He glanced around at the rows of people as he spoke, and recognized one elderly man, one that he has spoken to many times. That man was none other than George Armando, the same man Johnathen had struck many months ago at the restaurant.

  “Brother George here has been with us since the day The Gathering opened its doors. He has been by our side through ups and downs, high and lows. In return, we have been with him every step of the way. Isn’t that true, George?”

  George nodded his head and smiled and Matthew continued. “It wasn’t too long ago that George was confronted about his faith while having a peaceful dinner with his family. He was shamed in front of his wife, his kids, and others. He was attacked and beaten just like the saints of old! Why? Just for having faith. This abuse came from a man who has faltered far from God’s light, one that has committed the utmost sin of having relations with a man-made beast!”

  George, aglow with the attention, nodded his head and the crowd murmured in agreement. Matthew turned and approached the stand once more, folding his hands behind his back.

  “George knew that this man’s decisions were wrong, as wrong as the decisions of any homosexual or interracial couple.” Matthew put his hands on the stand and looked across the crowd once more. “These are the type of people who have heard God’s word, and doubted it. They are lost, and without hope. They throw themselves into sin, even while knowing what they are doing is wrong. The result of their actions are violence, anger, and pain.”

  The middle-aged woman he spotted earlier began to stand in her pew, causing Matthew’s bushy gray eyebrow to rise. He stood tall and watched her for a moment, worry starting to creep into his mind. She looked upset, but controlled, like she had something on her mind. “It seems we have a question from one of the congregation. May I ask your name, Miss?”

  “My name is Sandra,” the woman finally said. She clutched her hands into fists as she talked, clearly nervous but with something on her chest. “I… I have doubt myself. A lot of it to be exact,” she began and cleared her throat.

  Matthew tried to brush off the building tension with a calm smile. “Ah, Sandra my dear. There seems to be a lot on your mind. What troubles you?” He hoped that it was a typical easy question, one that he could answer with certainty to ease her mind. The emotionally distraught were always so easy, like lost sheep that need a shepherd to lead them.

  “I have doubt that what you say is true.” Everyone in the room turned to look at her, surprised by the woman’s sudden confrontation in the middle of a sermon.

  Matthew lost his composure, and for a moment he was visibly irritated at being called out in front of his congregation. He took a deep breath and put on his fake smile once again. “I only speak the truth. I interpret God’s word to the best of my abilities for everyone to follow.” Matthew said as calmly as he could, stepping down from the stage once again.

  “I’ve seen you speak before, and the way you go about using God’s word for your own personal gain is despicable,” she said with anger in her voice now. Her hands were trembling as Matthew started to approach her.

  “Sandra, you are confused.”

  “No! You say you teach God’s word. You say that you have the best interest for your people, but what I saw last week made me realize what you are trying to do!” she shouted out.

  Matthew’s brow furrowed and he ground his teeth. It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to keep his composure. Everyone began to look at one another, muttering amongst themselves.

  His eyes darted around as he realized that he was losing the attention of the people. “Dear, I don’t know what you mean by any of these things. The events of last week were-.”

  “They were your handiwork! I know it. You wanted that fight to break out at the rally. The blond priest was preaching fascist beliefs! The people there weren’t gathering for a peaceful sermon, they were there to riot!” she shouted once again, raising her voice above the crowd.

  The ushers standing by the door stared directly at Matthew, waiting for a signal. Matthew opened his mouth to talk once again, but she began once more.

  “Y…you just now lied to everyone, again! I researched what happened between George Armando and the gryphon’s husband. George started the fight between them because he hated the sight of the gryphon in the restaurant! And that’s exactly what the blond priest was preaching yesterday. Eradication, hate, and violence towards all minorities!”

  Matthew pointed his finger at her and turned to the congregation. “What she spouts are lies and slander! She isn’t a believer in God, she’s a Satanist!”

  The ushers began to walk down the isles quickly, causing the woman to panic. Everyone in the pew stood up to get out of the way as the ushers grabbed the shouting woman.

>   “I am not a Satanist!” she protested before the ushers grabbed her and dragged her out screaming. “You’re a fascist! A Bigot!” she shouted one last time before being dragged out of the auditorium.

  Matthew stood silent, shaking with anger at the sudden outrage. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath as the congregation continued to mutter amongst themselves. “My followers, I am terribly sorry for that outburst.” Everyone fell silent once again and watched Matthew intently.

  “That woman is clearly troubled and deranged. What she said was uncalled for, and certainty work of the devil’s followers.” He walked up to the stand and rubbed one hand over his bald head. “We will have to cut today’s sermon short. I am afraid that I must deal with this personally.”

  He closed his bible and picked it up in his hands, holding it out for everyone to see. At once, everyone began to chant. “This is the word of God for the people of God! Praise be to God!”

  Matthew bowed to everyone and put on a smile. “Now, go in peace.”

  The band began to play music as the congregation stood up and sang the last hymn of the meeting. One of the ushers walked up to Matthew quickly to accompany him out the door.

  “Who the hell was that woman?” he asked the usher angrily as the door closed behind him.

  “I’m not sure, Sir. We have put her in your office for the time being,” the usher responded.

  They walked down the hall towards Matthews’s office. He handed the bible to the usher and threw open one of the heavy wooden doors. The woman sat, strapped to the chair with several large ushers standing around her.

  “Had to end it early? What’s the matter, couldn’t take a little heat?” Sandra scoffed at Matthew as he walked in and took off his robe. Beneath it, he wore a white collared shirt and plain black tie with dark blue slacks. He did not bother responding to her, which only infuriated her more.