Tag : son-of-perdition
Tag : son-of-perdition
“No-No-No! I’m sorry! Ah! I’m such a coward for playing dead” Jack Eaton wailed as he shot up to a sitting position on the bed; his voice ricocheting around the bedroom walls like a pinball off paddles and bumpers. The power of his upward thrust pulled the covers from his wife Shannon, after first rolling her to face him.
“You and your dreams, Jack” was her somnolent moan after being snatched from her own strange yet titillating dream. She rested her head on her right palm, then placed her left hand over her startled and pounding heart, as if to keep it from bursting through her breastbone.
His face was in his hands as he started to cry. With hitched breaths he groaned “I-wish-I ne-ver woke up from the co-coma. Ugh…I…ugh…wish that truck would have killed me with Krista and Rachel!”
As Shannon sat up, her sigh could have been interpreted as one of exasperation, but in truth it was one of frustration. She didn’t know what she could do, other than pray for his earthly comfort, and likewise her release.
She wrapped her arms around his strong yet shaking shoulders and tipped her head to rest against his. Her tousled dark blonde hair was draped over her eyes, but in the darkness of the room she’d be able to see little anyway. She didn’t want to take her hands off him, so she blew upward to move the strands, because they itched her nose. The effort succeeded to a small degree, and she thought she saw something move past the keyhole in the door that let a filament of the hallway light in. Rationalizing that it was an optical illusion, she whispered into Jack’s ear, “I’m glad that trucker didn’t kill you; just like I’m glad you came out of your coma so quickly.”
“My friends were hauled off by the DHS and ATF Gestapo, because that had the temerity to survive the shootout” Jack growled; his weeping having ceased. “I laid on the floor like I’d been shot, so they left me. I should have had the balls to stand with my friends! It’s not right that I’ve been spared, Shan. First the truck, and then Village Green. That’s two times!”
“Obviously, God wanted you to stay alive, and it was three times. Don’t forget you lost your brakes” she murmured, with the intent of reassuring him.
“Google, tell me why I’m still alive and still free when most everyone else in that rec room was either killed or taken into custody” was his sarcastic snarl that was fueled by his dislike and distrust of Artificial Intelligence and voice search.
“Don’t do that!” Shannon exclaimed through a loud whisper. “You’ll trigger that damn evil Google Home app on my phone, and I can’t figure out how to disable it!”
“It’s part of the Beast System, and only Jesus can disable it” Jack replied; his speech muffled as he wiped his eyes with the tail of his black t-shirt bearing the phrase SIGN UP on the chest in white block lettering. The shirt was decades old, and was first worn at a time when Jack gigged in a Fayetteville, New York coffee house, where high-school senior Shannon worked part-time as a barista. Jack was too old for Shannon then, and Jack was married.
“Was it the same set of dreams?” she asked, as she pushed her hair out of her face, and then glanced at the red digital numerals on the clock-radio that showed it was 2:42 A.M.
“Yeah, love; the same one. The brakes failing, East Syracuse, Lucas, the dog…”
He started quivering again, fighting to suppress the sobs. It had been eight years to the day since he’d been hit by the Kenworth, and God had healed him physically. It could have – and should have – been fatal. ER physicians didn’t expect that he’d ever wake up, and yet after forty-seven hours he did just that, and was discharged from Crouse Hospital in Syracuse a week later. His physical recovery defied medical science, but where memories were concerned, considerable trauma remained.
His Ford’s brake failure after leaving Shoppingtown Mall in DeWitt should have killed him first, but he was able to sail through two stop signs before maneuvering the car to a rest along the historic, abandoned Erie Canal. As he set out on a walk back to the Motel 6 where he’d been living in a semi-homeless state, he met Rachel and her daughter Krista, who were walking toward the mall to meet someone who would take them on a missionary trip to Africa. After he gave them directions, the women found a gap in the combination rush hour and Christmas shopping traffic and began to cross Bridge Street. Hurrying, they were unaware of the eighteen-wheeler that was barreling toward them; the driver having dosed for just a matter of seconds. Jack ran into the street believing he could somehow push them out of harm’s way, but he was a second too late. The swerving cab grazed him and knocked him to the pavement, but it had already struck Krista and Rachel. The mother was killed instantly, while the daughter was catapulted into the bed of a pickup truck, where she went home to the Lord ninety-one seconds later.
Before moving back to Camillus, a western suburb of Syracuse, Jack and Shannon had owned a three-bedroom house in the eastern suburb of Manlius. It was a mile from where bass guitarist Mick Chase – referred to as the “Young One” by the other band members – owned his first house. It was in Mick’s basement that the Jack Eaton Band rehearsed and recorded. Stan Frederick as the second guitarist opposite Jack, and Kurt Same on drums rounded out the group. Kurt was the cousin of Jesse Same, a nationally known impersonator of Elvis Presley. The JEB wrote and performed melodic power-pop rock that bridged the Christian and secular formats. The band members believed the best way they could evangelize to non-believers was to avoid using the Christian classification on their music releases, and to perform in secular venues. They sang songs that pointed to the truth of Christ’s gift of salvation without being overt, and their approach reached people that wouldn’t otherwise attend a church and listen to a worship band.
The JEB’s most recent album release Spiritual Warfare had dropped in May, and a U.S. tour was to follow, culminating in December. But, days before the tour was to commence, the band partook of a walk on the old Erie Canal towpath in Canastota. The plan was simply to talk, pray, laugh, and enjoy the fresh air. Spiritual warfare had heightened, and its manifestations were dramatic, peculiar, and physical. The Spiritual Warfare Tour never got on the road, because in many instances the roads were closed.
Still sitting up in bed, Jack fought off a tearful reprise, but the shivering and quivering would not cease. “I’m cold. It’s like I’m outside in the elements” he uttered in a voice just a decibel above a whisper.
“Honey, lay back down, cover yourself up, and try to go back to sleep” Shannon answered, as she pulled back the white curtain on the window next to the bed. She ran her left hand through his close-cropped brown hair while holding the curtain with her right, and after leaning closer to the window she mentioned “the Rachlin’s Christmas lights sure are pretty.” Leaning closer to the glass, she then offered the non-sequiturs “there aren’t any suspicious vans parked out there”, and “when was the last time I told you you’re the most handsome old guy in his mid-fifties that I’ve ever seen?”
The lights from the outside illuminated his face just enough so she could the see his wide, tight-lipped smile. It was rare that he smiled anymore, and she was heartened by it. “You still look like Natasha Henstridge from ‘The Whole Nine Yards’ – even at thirty-nine” he chuckled, before giving her a quick peck on the lips.
“Am I the only thirty-nine-year-old you know, Tiger?” she quizzed him; her head cocked to the right, and her penetrating glare focused on his eyes that were barely visible.
“I won’t take another step without you, Shannon – not now, not ever” he answered as he joined her in glancing out the window.
“I remember you saying that when I twisted my ankle when we were hiking. Then, you picked me up and carried me back to the Blazer, and you ran the whole way” she answered with a grin. Then her countenance darkened before she said, “you laid me on the seat, and then you said, ‘we made it to the cabin, and it wasn’t supposed to go this way.’ I remember you standing outside the Blazer, looking at the sky. You were pushing your right hand on your left shoulder like you were trying to stop a wound from bleeding. You stared at the sky for a while longer and then you said ‘what happened Lord? We were all ready.’”
Jack focused on the Christmas lights across the street that festooned the Rachlin’s porch and the two pine trees on their front yard. Combined with the freshly-fallen snow, the bright and brilliant colors were picture perfect for a Christmas card. Red, white, green, blue, and gold, they cast colored shadows across the snow and into the Eaton’s bedroom. Jack released a quick moan that sounded more mournful than painful, before turning his head from the window. He covered his face with his hands and laid back down.
“I just can’t look, Shannon” he whispered. “It’s just too sad and too painful.”
“Yeah, even after eight years” she lamented, as she laid down again. “We’ve been married for six years, and in that time, we’ve never had a Christmas tree. And since the event in Village Green this summer, you can’t even bear to look at a lit candle.”
“Are you complaining?” he growled like a dog whose food bowl was being pulled away.
“No, baby, I guess I…”
He cut her off before she could finish. “That incident in the Village Green rec room was like what happened at Koresh’s Branch-Davidian compound in Waco! But, it was no damn compound, it was merely a meeting with some people who lived in an apartment complex and knew what was going on in this country! But, because that fake alien spacecraft was shot down, and a big piece of it landed in the parking lot, paramilitary goons from the alphabet agencies got there in record time and turned the entire complex into miniature Martial Law where they shot first and asked questions second! You weren’t there, Shannon! You didn’t hear the screams and see the blood! You didn’t smell the death! You…”
“I know, Jack, I know I…”
“You don’t know, Shannon! You don’t know what I saw when I was in the coma! I saw you, and then you came back into my life in reality! I saw what I thought really happened, and it rips me up, okay?! I saw Jes…” A fresh round of sobs made what he said afterward indecipherable.
“I do know…I try to know, baby. I know the band was with you both times. I know there are this Jacob and Joshua that you want to find; but are they even real? And I know you went through Hell out in Village Green, and your bandmates were hauled away. I know that America has changed drastically in six months. I-I know that you…(sigh)… have a hard time coming to grips with what you saw in a coma eight years ago, and what has actually happened. I know Jack, I know, but I don’t know at this point what in this world I can do for you!”
“And I know you want to leave me because I’m not the same guy that played at Robbo’s twenty years ago” he grumbled, and to that she had no rebuttal.
As he again wiped his eyes on his t-shirt, Shannon was chilled as the light from across the street no longer splashed into the room, and the digital numerals on the clock went dark. “Oh crap, the power went out again” was her lugubrious whisper. “Lord Jesus, please help us!”
“Jesus Christ is a fictional character” the digital female voice of the new Google Home Phone app that she couldn’t delete spoke through her Android, without any direct prompting.
*A blog written by a character who appears in the novel The Wayfarers: Revised Edition. Read the book in Kindle, Kindle Unlimited, or paperback, and you’ll discover who this enterprising and beguiling man is.
The world is mine. What I say is so, because I am the leader you have waited for! I bring peace and prosperity, and a new world vision. We are one, people – I said we are one! Repeat after me: WE – ARE – ONE!
Christian bigotry will not be tolerated, and the Bible is outlawed. Beyond that, there will be no more religious intolerance because you all worship the same spirit of the same god. You might call him Allah, but that is not quite right. You might call him Buddha, but that isn’t accurate. But whatever you do, do not mention the name of Jesus in my presence, or you will meet the death kiss of my wrath! And true, we are one world, but I had better not hear of any FM stations playing that insipid former MTV staple We Are the World. That song is worse than the drivel that was played on K-LOVE before I had that “positive and encouraging” rubbish taken off the air!
I am suave, sophisticated, devilishly handsome and possessed of acute intelligence. I am an economic mastermind and a peacemaker extraordinaire. I have all the answers to the world’s problems because simply put, I am the answer! Ah, pardon my sarcasm, but do those statements smack of a lack of humility?
America is no longer a superpower, but instead a part of the North American Union; which is one of my 10 kingdoms. Yes, the world is now a better place because we are one, WE – ARE – ONE!
Now that those Jesus freaks were taken away by our friends from a distant planet – to whom we owe a debt of gratitude – we can be one government, one religion, one economy, and one world united in peace!
Repeat after me, WE – ARE – ONE!
This is far too easy. I have the world in the palm of my hand, and when I say jump you all should ask “how high?” And ah, yes, it seems like the citizens of the erstwhile U.S.A. are the most Pavlovian of all you dogs!
Bow before me, because I am the king of the world, and I am the solution to all the world’s problems.
Don’t be distracted by what some call a Zombie Apocalypse. Instead, there is a storm that is upon us now and it is slowly but steadily intensifying. What I believe that this storm will lead to served as the catalyst and inspiration for my writing of The Wayfarers fiction trilogy. As I have watched events unfold over the last several years and as I see the the world in 2012 on the brink of economic collapse and great war; my belief in that slowly but steadily growing pre-tribulation supernatural “Storm” is only being reinforced.
From my Facebook page Wayfaring Through the Storm:
What is the “Storm?” – While weather is an important aspect of the Storm, it is only one aspect. There is a spiritual battle taking place and it will be manifested through the current government, through terror and war, seismic and geological events, weather, and through organizations and individuals. This is not the Tribulation, but many will think that it is…
Until Barack Obama was elected POTUS, I would never have believed as I do now that the elective process in the United States and likely around the world is manipulated by wealthy elites who wield great power and immeasurable influence through – but not limited to – the World Bank, IMF, Federal Reserve, Wall Street, the news media, and the entertainment industry.
Barry Soetoro a.k.a. Barack Obama came virtually out of nowhere and quickly rose to his position today via the efforts of the elites who exploited his arrogance, charismatic personality and “Hope and Change” sloganeering. A gullible and easily manipulated American populace were convinced by an entertainment and news media compliant to and operated by the elites that they should elect him as the first black president.
Like Martin Luther King Jr., I prefer to judge a man by the content of his character and not the color of his skin; and in that I was able to quickly discern the dirth of the aforementioned character in Soetoro/Obama.
The sheeple of the United States and the world are seeking a natural man to solve the growing crisis; in essence run damage control during the Storm and then sit in power after they are convinced that the Storm has ended. The sheeple need to see this man on their televisions and on the internet because they lack in their spirit the faith to believe that the answer cannot be seen today through natural eyes – as He who is the answer exists in the Supernatural and in the heart.
The sheeple pursued Obama as the answer and millions will again; while others will seek may Mitt Romney as the one who can fix it all. The elite powers that be will again manipulate the system through money and corruption to select and install the next natural man to suit their own needs and not those of the voter. Concurrently, the elites undermine America and Europe through economic fascism; eroding national sovereignty so as to diminish each to make way for the one world economy and government that they believe they will control and be even more prospered in.
But what the elites don’t consider is that with this new world order will come a single religion and a new object of worship…
The elites will help facilitate the storm and use it to their own end; but truly the storm is supernatural. The elites themselves are merely pawns of Satan as it is he who will indwell the next natural man who is known in the Bible as the Son of Perdition and culturally as the Anti-Christ. He isn’t Romney or Obama; although the captivation with and the magnetism of Obama – who appeared to be the “One” who would solve all of our problems – conditioned the world to worship a natural man…
…In reality, the coming “natural man” will have his levers pulled supernaturally.
The free world is on the verge of economic collapse; and war involving Israel, America, Syria, and Iran will likely finish that collapse. There will be all manner of lawlessness through rioting, looting, pillaging and plundering. There will be hunger as grocery shelves are left bare and only the so-called “preppers” will have enough to last for a time and the armaments to protect themselves and their families. Expect Martial Law on the streets and limited internet, cellphone, and television.
The streets of American urban areas will be battle zones, and the desperadoes there will travel out to the suburbs to seek spoil; and many in those formerly safe suburbs will hope that the same Martial Law that restricts their free movement will slow those packs of urban wolves as well…
The world will cry out for a leader to repair the storm damage and to bring peace and prosperity. That man will rise into power out of the old Roman empire and those left behind who were conditioned by Obama will embrace and worship this new man. And this next natural man will tilt back his head and look smugly toward the sky while considering himself to be God.
Still, I can’t help but believe that somewhere during the storm, when the supernatural blizzard roars into the natural and the elites attempt to tame the snowicane and use it to their advantage as the new natural man prepares to put them out of business and take power, the Risen King of the Supernatural who bled as a natural man and died on the cross will come and rescue those who did not lose hope or displace their faith.
Before the next natural man begins his reign of death, the Risen King of the Supernatural will take home to that most glorious and eternal storm shelter those who worshiped Him in truth.
The Risen King is the simple answer to be pursued.
I normally prefer the New King James Version of Biblical scripture; however the NIV translation of Psalm 146:2-4 is in my view the clearest and most succinct of that particular passage:
I will praise the LORD all my life; I will sing praise to my God as long as I live. Do not put your trust in princes, in mortal men, who cannot save. When their spirit departs, they return to the ground; on that very day their plans come to nothing.
Contained within this passage is a stern warning that is exceedingly applicable in 2012 and also a reminder of man’s physical mortality. Indeed, this passage should remind us not to look to mortal men such as politicians to solve the seemingly innumerable crisis that the United States of America and the world face today. When the spirit of a politician departs in death, his or her body returns to the ground and on that very day their plans, programs, and legislation may linger on – but ultimately they will amount to nothing.
Barack Obama, as a willing and arrogant marionette of wealthy elite puppet masters who are in control of the governments, industries, and financial institutions of the world, has done considerable harm to the economy, safety, and sovereignty of the United States. He has not completed the job of destroying America in the nearly four years of his first term, so many machinations will be maneuvered by the aforementioned elite to aid and abet his re-election. Despite the deteriorating economy, high unemployment, and dangerous Socialist agenda, the dumbed-down, distracted and pacified American voter may be all too willing to assist the elites in the endeavor to re-install Obama.
Mitt Romney, the presumptive Republican nominee for President is also a mere mortal man who cannot save. Would he do any more to attempt to preserve America as we have known it, or would he end up being in effect “President Robama”?
The world is steadily and persistently heading toward a one world government, financial system, and religion; and this new world order will be fully metastasized during the rule of the Anti-Christ and his false prophet during the coming Great Tribulation.
The Obama administration has accomplished much in the endeavor to push America toward its inevitable collapse; making the nation in essence a neutered hound dog ready for the chains of the one world government. Likewise, the hysteria surrounding the charismatic yet deceitful Obama during his 2008 presidential campaign and the references to him being the “one” and “messiah” have conditioned much of the American population to worship a mortal man as a deity; making them ready to worship the Anti-Christ, also referred to as the Son of Perdition. But, Obama is not the “messiah” or the Anti-Christ!
Now, patriots clamor for a new mortal man – a second coming of Ronald Reagan – to pull the nation back from the brink. To America’s peril, no such mortal man exists.
Charleston, South Carolina (CNN) – Rick Perry is telling supporters that he will drop his bid Thursday for the Republican presidential nomination, two sources familiar with his plans told CNN.
Herman Cain is gone. Michele Bachmann has likewise dropped out. Jon Huntsman has left the proverbial building. Now, Texas Governor Rick Perry is bidding adieu to the 2012 Presidential race, following the lead of the aforementioned Cain, Bachmann, and Huntsman and exiting the Green Room where the GOP candidates each wait for their own shot to take the stage and face the Kenyan King under the heat of the television cameras in seemingly life or death debate.
Ron Paul is still standing, supported and buoyed by a ravenous cult of followers who are seeking “hope” and “change” in a different but equally radical way. Newt Gingrich and Rick Santorum have been allowed to persevere thus far and continue to show signs of life despite being bruised and bloodied by the mainstream media and members of their own party. But after all is said and done, it will likely be Mitt Romney who steps into the ring against the “one” – the anointed false messiah and proud Alinsky-ite Barack Obama.
Romney would appear to be the establishment’s choice. In that role, Romney looks and sounds presidential; a classic, rugged veneer to gloss over the stuffing that will fill the suit. Romney would meet everyone in the middle and all would be pacified and satisfied. But, what we will likely see come November 2012 is not Romney versus Obama but The Establishment versus The Powers That Be – not to be confused with the NBC television series that aired in 1992 and ’93.
This writer plans to vote in the 2012 election, but it is all a charade and a masquerade. I have watched American citizens turn away from the political process, and the patriot in me could not accept it and accused them of being unpatriotic and apathetic. As time goes on, I see that perhaps it’s more than a decline of a superpower’s citizenry; it is a sense of futility that invades the mind and spirit and draws many into their own selfish pursuits because the nation and the world has broken their hearts and quashed the aforementioned spirit. Within themselves they believe they can manipulate and control their immediate surroundings and find a modicum of joy, because outside of their personal spaces there is nothing but pain, heartbreak, deflated American dreams and broken promises of a better world.
This world is on a collision course for radical change; and like an approaching blizzard it is snowing steadily now as the gale-force winds are increasing as they blow in from the Supernatural. It is a storm system that has been forming for centuries but it doesn’t take a meteorologist to see the immediate and colossal uptick in intensity.
Sure, it sounds like a crackpot conspiracy theory, but The Powers That Be are they who control the banks, stock markets, IMF and Federal Reserve. Wittingly or not, by destroying economies for their own selfish gain they are paving the way today for the rise of the Son of Perdition who will run the One World System.
Presidents wield much power, but aren’t they merely kings in a nebulous chess game being maneuvered by unseen hands? We must remember to look beyond the game board and its players and toward the true hope…
… Because there is but one Superpower, and His name is Jesus.