by Ron Glick
A young woman walked by him. Remarkably, she looked up into his face and smiled. “Do you come to know our Lord Avery's blessing?” she asked.
The Witness was stunned. She had spoken to him. Worse, she had noticed him. His presence, though certainly not invisible and more than capable of affecting the world around him, had always been one that had made others uncomfortable. As his powers had developed, he had found himself more and more isolated, if for no other reason than others simply did not wish for his company. His wife had even become more and more distant towards the end of their marriage, his children less loving and affectionate. Once he surrendered to his life as the Witness, fewer and fewer people would look him in the eye, even more would avoid looking upon him, at all. He had accepted that facet of his life as readily as he had accepted his place in the world around him, and it only served to strengthen his emotional isolation from the rest of the world.
Until now. Now, there was this lovely young woman who looked upon him and not only accepted him, but opened up to him with welcome and... love. Yes, love. This young woman was sharing love for another human being towards him, and he could not conceive of how to respond.
As though she understood, the young woman reached out her hand and laid it gently upon his arm. “Our Lord's chapel is not yet built, but his bride's father has opened his doors for all who would seek his love.” The young woman's eyes roamed to his midsection, and she stroked her stomach gently. “I have personally known his love, and Avery's blessing grows even now within my womb.” She looked back up into the Witness' eyes. “Believe me when I say, all outcasts are welcome here under Avery's sigil.”
The young woman took her hand from the Witness' arm and turned her wrist upwards for him to see. “Do you not see? The New Order would have us believe these to be signs of evil, and yet they are our Lord's sigil, his strength and his might. Any who were outcast before are now the faithful of our God. You have only to ask to be blessed...”
A voice behind the Witness spoke up suddenly. “So it be true,” said the man's voice. “Heretics are welcome here.”
The Witness started, for he had not sensed anyone come up behind him. Yet the young lady looked past the Witness and beamed. “It is indeed, sir. But if you were known as heretic before, you are no longer. You are Avery's children, and your Lord and Savior will shine his blessings upon you.”
The Witness turned to see a dirty man, old enough he was certain to have walked the world near on fifty years. And yet, the Witness sensed nothing of the man – his past, his present, nor his future. In his mind's eye, no one stood in the spot where the man stood, and behind him the ghostly remnants of a timeline forever severed from the real world moved in the phantom realm of unreality.
The old man hesitantly brought forth his arm, the right wrist raised, shaking. The young woman moved past the Witness to take the man's arm into her grip, pulling him toward her. “In Avery's name, be blessed,” she said, leaning forward and kissing the inverted horn symbol seared into the man's flesh.
The old man smiled at that, his toothless face lighting up in what seemed an almost painful grimace. Clearly, this man had not known reason to smile in such a span of time that the muscles of his face had atrophied. Tears streamed from the man's eyes as his mouth moved in silent witness to his joy. In moments, the man had pulled his hands back and buried his face within them, his body wracked with sobs.
The woman put arms around the man and gently guided him away. Looking over her shoulder to the Witness, she beckoned him to follow. “Come, good sir,” she said. “There is love for us all.” And without another word, the woman turned again forward and led the old man towards the heart of the town.
The Witness stood in his place, perplexed. For the first time in centuries, he was lost in what to do. This town had become a leper's colony, of a sort, it seemed. The heretics of the world had found a place to love and shelter them. That alone was world-quaking in its import. Heresy was a sin, and heretics were never to be rewarded for fear of Godly retribution. And yet, this town – under the guidance of someone named Avery – a God amongst men, it seemed – had become a refuge. If the Gods were aware of it, they had done nothing for it, either. And if the Gods were not aware... What exactly did that bode?
Time, the Witness decided. He would need to spend time here. To learn what he could of this town and its peoples, to find out what great event had so drastically set it upon its current path. And in so doing, perhaps learn how this community existed outside the boundaries of the reality his mind saw.
By now, the young woman had become a small figure in the distance, though he could make out the structure towards which she led the old man. From a distance, it appeared to be an inn or perhaps tavern. And yes, his sense told him that much to be true, for that fact was not changed – not yet, at any rate. Such places were the hub of information in towns such as these, and it was there he could best begin his investigation.
With a firm resolve, the Witness took his first step forward, ready to confront as boldly as he was able this new world he had found himself within.
About the Author and Illustrator
Ron Glick (born January 20, 1969) is a community activist, and is presently active in several charitable enterprises. He was born in Plainville, KS. After living in various states, he currently lives in Kalispell, MT. He is unmarried, with ambitions to someday change that. His poetry has been published in several publications through the years, and he is presently working on the second novel of the Godslayer Cycle, Two. He loves contact and welcomes input on his work through email at [email protected].
Pamela L Phelps, artist and photographer, has been recovering from addiction for over 30 years. She resides amid the pines, streams, and natural surrounds of the Catskill Mountains in New York, USA. It is through her artistic inclinations that she attempts to depict contentment with small means; seeks elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion. She strives to be worthy, not respectable; and wealthy, not rich. Through her visions she listens to the stars and birds, the babes and sages, with an open heart. Her values are to study hard; to think mindfully, act honest, to speak gently. She awaits occasions, and hurries rarely. It is her aim to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common - for this is her symphony!
As arrangement between author and illustrator, the proceeds of this novel and illustration have been gifted as permanent endowment to GameHearts (http://GameHearts.org), a nonprofit safe and sober recreations program for adults, whose main office is located in Kalispell, MT. Both Mr. Glick and Ms. Phelps encourage purchasers of this work to visit their website and contribute further in GameHearts' ongoing mission.
