“I thought they’d never leave, bro,” says Jesus as he takes a swig of wine from a Nalgene water bottle.

“They were certainly persistent, my dude,” I say as I take a seat on the couch beside him. “Hey pass the Cheetos would ya?”

He tosses the bag of the orange mana from heaven into my lap.

“So who were they? Why were they looking for you?” I ask. “I’ve never had those types give me the third-degree like that before.”

“Oh my dad likes to keep tabs on me,” he replies. “He wants to be sure I’m being productive down here, you know, not wasting my time drinking wine and eating Cheetos,” he says with a wink.

“Come on, man,” I reply. “Be serious.”

“I am, I am,” he says showing his palms for mercy. “Look, it’s really nothing. I just—I don’t like to talk about it. Now can we drop it and just chill, dude?”

“Yeah, ok,” I say. “I get it. My family stuff is weird too. Just know that if you want to talk I’m here for—“

“Ah crap!” He interrupts. “Get down. Now!”

He dives across the couch and covers my body with his just as a bomb goes off in the kitchen.

“What the fuck?” I scream.

“Language!” he yells back. “They found me. We gotta go. Now. Go get your go-bag,” he says as he digs under my couch and pulls out a fully loaded backpack.

“Go-bag?” I reply, “what the hell? Who keeps a go-bag?”

“Someone who’s prepared,” he says as he lifts me to my feet. He roots around under the couch some more and pulls out a flack jacket. He puts the flack jacket on me and tightens the straps snug like a dad would secure a life jacket on a little kid.

“What the hell is happening?” I ask again.

“Would you watch your mouth?” he replies. “There’s no time to explain. We gotta get the heck outta—“

I hear a slam in the kitchen. The back door’s been kicked in. Gun fire erupts and the living room is filled with flying feathers as down pillows explode and the couch is torn to shreds. Thankfully, Jesus knocks me to the ground before I explode like the pillows.

“Crawl!” He commands.

I crawl army style toward the front door. As I approach the entry way I hear a hard knock against the door.

“Shoot,” says Jesus, “they’re trying to bust down the door. Hold on.”

Jesus grabs his Nalgene of wine and readies himself in a crouch before the entry way.

SLAM

SLAM

SLAM

After the third slam the door flies open, three men in white shirts and black ties—the same who had come and inquired after Jesus—burst in with guns drawn.

Jesus unscrews the lid to his Nalgene and throws it onto their pristine white shirts.

“Yeah, that’ll teach them,” I think to myself.

The men scream in agony. Their skin hisses and burns, it melts and begins to slough off onto the tile with a sickening splat.

“What the hell?” I say again.

“Holy water,” says Jesus matter of factly. “Works every time. Let’s go,” he says as he waves me on.

We exit the house and break into a dead sprint. Jesus is quick, nimble on his feet, his gear flies freely in the wind. I sneak a glance at his face and I notice he’s…smiling? He looks like he’s having the time of his life.

We get to the street and I hear a salvo of explosions erupt behind us.

“Don’t look back!” he commands. “Just keep running.”

I hear bullets whizz by my head, I try to shimmy myself downward into my flack jacket—I wish he’d have given me a helmet. Soon the bullets subside and we get about three blocks away. Jesus pauses and looks behind us.

“It’s ok,” he says. He’s notably not out of breath in the slightest. “We can take a break. They’re not following.”

“What in God’s name was that all about?” I ask again.

“Oh, that? Like I said, my dad likes to keep tabs on me,” he says. “You know, wants to make sure I’m staying sharp for the war ahead.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask. “I could have died! And my house! Why did you have a go-bag in my house? Oh and my couch—“

I am interrupted by a deafening explosion, much larger and louder than the original explosion that kicked off this nightmare. I turn around to see a mushroom cloud rising from my house. Or rather, what used to be my house.

“Jesus Christ!” I scream.

“Yes?”

“They blew up my house. What the hell, Jesus? You let them blow up my house for…for a god damn test?”

“You’re really a potty-mouth today, dude. And don’t worry about the house,” he says waving me off. “Take it from me, you can’t take it with you. Now let’s get to moving. You don’t want to be caught out in the open for this next part.”

“Next part?” I ask not wanting the answer.

“Yeah, the angels are going to blot out the sky with their arrows,” he says. “It’s actually pretty bad ass.”

“Lovely.”

r/InMyLife42Archive

"No man, he's not here." I reply

They look at me quizzically. "But God is everywhere."

"Oh yeah," I mumble. "Sure, he's here like that, but not, like . . . physically. I mean I don't even know why you're here. I barely know the guy."

The taller one looks at his friend, who brightens, "But you do know that He is your Lord and Savior, right?"

I resolutely do not look at Jesus, even though I can't avoid seeing him twitch in my peripheral vision.

I'm not a good actor, and I'm having a hard time coming up with lines. "I don't know, I really believe more in democracy than all that lords and serf stuff. I'm not into feudalism, even allegorically."

The taller one tries again, "Well, may we have a moment of your time? We'd like to share with you His message of salvation."

I shake my head, "No, I don't think so. He can tell me Himself if I see him."

There's a smacking sound as Jesus slaps his own forehead and I can't avoid glancing sideways to see him glaring at me, and gesturing for me to close the door.

I push the knob, but I don't want to be rude, "I hope you find your friend," I say as the door clicks shut.

I throw the deadbolt, and look at Jesus. "Those guys were persistent."

He scrubs his beard, "You have no idea."

"What do they want anyway?" I ask.

He waves his hand, "Don't worry about it. Hey, race me again on Rainbow Road . . ."

"Have you found our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?" the smartly dressed young missionary said to the man at the door.

The tall, gray-eyed man shot a glance to his right, then looked back at the missionaries. Without a word, he stood aside, and gestured for the two young men to come inside. He directed them to one of two old but comfortable looking couches on either side of a coffee table, then sat down across from them, his hands folded in his lap.

Then he just sat there, saying nothing.

The missionaries looked at each other. The first missionary cleared his throat. "So, I'm Micah, and this is Stephen."

The man nodded.

"We'd...we'd like to tell you about...um...about the Lord." Stephen added.

The man made a gesture that seemed to invite them to proceed.

"Well...so...uh..." Micah began, awkwardly, as the man continued to stare. "Jesus--"

The man glanced at the corner of the room again, then held up a hand.

"Wait." the man said sharply, bringing the young missionary up short.

He stared at a point on the wall next the front door for a few moments, occasionally nodding, then turned back to his guests.

"He says you need to work on your technique," the man said flatly.

"He...?" Stephen said, looking from the man to the empty corner.

"Jesus Christ," the man said, gesturing to the corner.

"Um, you're...you're saying Jesus is here?" Micah asked, hesitantly.

"Obviously." the man replied. "For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them." He gestured to the missionaries in turn, and then to himself. "One, two, three."

"But--" Stephen began.

"But what? But that's just a metaphor? But it doesn't really mean that?" the man asked, calmly. "Does it not? What if it means exactly what it says? That right now, He is present here. That in this moment, the eyes of the everlasting Logos, the seven-horned and seven-eyed Lamb that lives and was dead, are resting upon you, beholding not only what you say and do, but what you think, what you feel, and all that you have ever done or ever will do."

The shadows in the room seemed to grow long and deep as the man spoke, as though cast by an impossibly bright light. "How do you bear up under the gaze of Eternity? What will you do? Fall to your knees, like Moses? Run and hide yourself, like Adam in the Garden? Will you be burned to ash? Turned into a pillar of salt?"

Moments later, both young missionaries burst out of the man's front door at a run. He appeared in the doorway a moment later, and watched their retreat.

"Good," he said, after a moment. "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom."

Two men in smooth black suits stood at the doorway, Bibles in hand. "We come in the name of God," the taller one said.

I wanted to welcome them as I normally did, but I heard a deep "shhhh!" from behind me. Not wanting to give Jesus away, and not wanting to stare silently at the men, I whispered a simple "hello"

"Good sir, you seem rather nice this morning," the shorter one said, motioning towards my suit. "Say, do you happen to know God?"

"I do," I whispered back.

"Ahem, there's no reason to be quiet, the taller one said."

"Tell them we're not interested," Jesus whispered behind me.

But, why? I thought, flabbergasted. We almost never turned anyone away. Yet, I was not one to disobey a direct command from the Lord.

"We're not interested," I spoke loudly.

"We?" the taller one said. "Who else is there?"

"Shut the door," Jesus whispered in a hurried tone.

I did as commanded, hearing a loud bang as it closed.

"Good work, Saint Peter," Jesus said. I turned to him. He saw my facial expression and explained at once. "They've been peddling a God who only remotely resembles me for over a hundred and fifty years. They've led millions astray and their religion has caused misery en-masse."

"But I thought we forgave everyone?" I asked.

"We do. And we will, once they've spent some time being reminded of the pain they've caused."

I looked through the peephole of the door and saw their feet being pulled down by the Hand of Satan.

r/StoriesToThinkAbout

"Have you found our lord and savior, Jesus Christ?" The man in a crisp white polo said as he held up a bible. He looked ready to use it like a weapon. "No, I haven't. I know you have everyone looking since he went missing, but I've not seen even a glimpse of the man." I said, making sure he knew I didn't care. I had to be extra careful, because Jesus was right behind the door. "Are you sure? If you could, please start looking, at least when you go out for groceries or something." Polo Man was looking a bit frustrated. I let out an exasperated sigh and said, "No thanks." I then slammed the door in his face. With the facade I was putting on, nobody would ever think I was harboring Him in my apartment. "Thanks for that." Jesus wiped sweat from his brow. "He was a bit more persistent than the last few." I told Him, "but he wasn't too hard to get rid of."

"Well then, back to the TV it is!" Jesus exclaimed as he brandished the remote in my face.

"We're gonna watch The Chosen, I assume?"

"Of course, I wanna know that they have everything about me right. I don't want them to spread the wrong message, y'know."

"I forgot to ask this, but; why did you leave in the first place?"

"They needed a break, and I did too. Simple as that."

"Cool."

this is my second time doing a prompt, hopefully it's halfway decent.

It’s not easy, to be rude and slam a door shut. Especially when the man is so kindly and persistent, all but inviting himself into your apartment and attempting to teach you about the gospel.

You were beyond familiar, though , thanks to the roommate who was subletting the apartment. “Look, dude,” you sighed, turning to head up the hallway. “I’m tired of sending them off.”

“None of them are an actual angel,” Jesus’ voice meant the world to millions, maybe billions, and yet? Here you were, rolling your eyes in complete exasperation. “I’m not able to leave until one collects me again.”

“That feels pretty pointless to me,” you’d heard the story fifty times in the year since your moved in. The rent was so obnoxiously cheap to be in downtown and for a man who never left the apartment, Jesus had become a fantastic chef. “Like, can’t you just talk to God or something and do what you want?”

“He doesn’t listen to my prayers over someone else’s,” Jesus rolled his eyes this time. “Says I can’t expect miracles every time I come up short on freelance. Bad enough he lets me skirt paying taxes.”

“You’ve had a fucking millennia, dude,” You flopped onto his bed, uncaring if it was disrespectful. “You can’t be hurting for cash that bad.”

Jesus shook his head fondly before turning back to his computer. “Thanks for handling it. If my memory serves, it should be like another years before I get called to duty. So, no point in finishing your degree. May as well just fuck off,” He flinched as if his father could hear him — they both knew he could.

“Well, I can’t suddenly alert everyone to your impending second coming, two thousand years after it happened,” Your tone was dry but you still rummaged behind the pillowcase for the edibles Jesus kept on hand. “No, I’ll keep my studies up to date, thank you.”

“I’m putting in a good word for you,” Jesus promised as he glanced back then reached his hand over. You dropped one of the sugary treats in and reached for your water bottle before passing that to him as well. Promptly filled with the glistening, old world wine he always said would never come back due to global warming and pollution- well, there were worse ways to rent in LA.

"Yes, I caught him myself," I said as I threw the door open. The Son of God looked at me with a fear and despair I wouldn't have expected of a deity.

Half the cadre advanced through the door and surrounded the carpenter. The other half remained outside as He was bound. They had another task. Hammers clanked as men struggled to set the rigging. Wherever He was found; that's where the work had to be done. The Son might manage to take flight if we delayed.

I wondered how many times it had happened. I knew it had to be done; the scriptures said as much. The nails; the crown; the spear. I'd seen photos in school of the last time, back in '62. It'd been decades since He last came.

It was the proudest day of my life. He had to cleanse our sins, and this was the way.

“Who?” I ask, causing the three people in front of me to freeze up.

“Wh-what do you mean?” One of them, whom I took to be some sort of leader, despite all pf them being dressed in bear identical religious attire, asked.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” For some reason, the confusion on my face seems to stun them into silence.

“You don’t know… who Jesus is?” The one in the backs asks, the shock in his tone making his words seem as if they left without his permission. Just why were these guys so high-strung?

“Sorry, I don’t go out that much these days. Is he like an actor, or an athlete or something?”

“N-no. He’s the son of God. He died for our seems and guided us towards the righteous path in life.” The last one answered, his voice tinged with the barest hint of frustration. It seems ai accidentally hit a sore spot for some reason. By the way, all of these guys’ voices are really similar for some reason, what was up with that?

“Oh, really?” I said. “He sounds like a pretty cool guy, I would love to meet him. Is he around here or something?”

Hearing this, their faces shined with a silver of hope, as if someone had finally shown them the light at the end of a very long tunnel. I just couldn’t get these people at all.

“Yes, yes!” Their leader excitedly said, “Of course he is. He is everywhere around us, in every house and in every heart.”

“What? So this guy just breaks into people’s houses?” I ask, concerned.

“NOOO!” they all shout in perfect unison.

“He’s not actually, physically there. It’s more like, his spirit is.”

“Ooooh, I think I get it now.”

“Y-you do?”

“Yeah!” I answer. “Jesus is a ghost that haunts people, and you guys are like, door-to-door exorcists, offering you services.”

It seems I didn’t get it after all, since their faces dribbled down into a particular brand of despair I haven’t the human figure was capable of communicating.

“Look, you three seem like nice guys, but you really gotta tidy you act some more.” I sternly scold them. Sometimes people needed a bit of tough love to be able to show off what they’re capable of. “You just aren’t doing a good job at communicating what your whole deal is about. Nobody is going to hire your services, at this rate.”

Seeing I was only making them more miserable, I tried to sweeten my tone a bit. “Hey, cheer up. You’re only just getting started! It’s a big world out there, I’m sure you’re going to find your footing somewhere. Good luck going forward!” I waved them goodbye.

“Wai-“

One of them tried to say something, but the slammed door drowned out whatever he had to say.

Going back to the living room, I am greeted by a tall, olive-skinned man with long luscious hair and the slight beginning of a beard, currently giving me the side-eye. I promptly ignore it, lounging myself on the couch and grabbing the nearby wine glass from the coffee table.

“You really should stop messing around with my followers, you know!” Even when chastising me, his voice was serene and pleasant, like the sound of gently falling water. I find myself getting more relaxed just hearing it.

“I can’t help it, it’s just too funny to se their reactions.” I admit without an ounce of shame, earning a slight sigh in response.

“You’re not going to go to Heaven like that, you know.” Oh, it seems he brought out the big guns. There’s not really anything I can say to that, so I immediately backtracked.

“Sorry, sorry, don’t get like that now. You have to admit though, they can get a bit annoying sometimes.”

That earned a tired laugh out of my current housemate. “I really commend them for their strong fate, and of course, I love them dearly, but I admit they can get a bit too ‘extreme’ sometimes. At least they mellowed out in the last century or so.” He picked up his own glass, grabbing the nearby water bottle. As he began pouring, the glass was filled with the sweet ruby-like liquid I so enjoyed. I tried not to think about how I was technically drinking his blood. “Sometimes I wonder if I could have done something better, you know? Steer them towards a better path?”

“Hey, don’t sweat it. It’s not your fault, really.” I assured him. “Some people just get like that sometimes, they get so into their hobby they become obsessed and it takes over their whole personality. It’s just the effect that a para social relationship can have on some. You can’t really change that, but you know? At least they’re not as bad as idol fans.”

“Thank Father for that!” He replied raising his glass towards me, with an unceremonious toast, I dig into that heavenly nectar, making sure to savor every second of it.

“About your Father.” I changed the subject. “I don’t want to you to get the wrong idea pr anything, you’re a great guest, but I was just wondering how long was it until you can come back to the High Place?”

Jesus’s expression became briefly lost in thought as he swirled around the wine in his hand, before taking a sip himself.

“I can’t say for sure. Could be a couple of days, could be a couple of months. It’s really hectic around there right now. You said you don’t want to hear about the complexity of the situation up there, so…”

“And I still don’t.” That kind of high concept stuff sounded to bothersome for me too care, so I just kind of refused to think about it. I mean, I was pretty sure the people I just spoke to back there weren’t quite human, but I’m not one to fuss about stuff like that. ‘Live in the moment’ that’s what my father always used to say.

“Once again, I’m sorry for imposing on y-“

“Stop worrying about it” I brought my hand forward to cut him off. “As long as you kept spoiling me with this wine, you’re free to stay here until the Final Judgment in my book.”

“Thank you!” He said, caught halfway between amusement and genuine gratitude. “Now, you said you had a TV show you wanted to show me?”

“Sure do.” I say as I grab the remote with my free hand. “You’re gonna love this, I promise.” I assured him as I searched ‘Saint Young Men’ and hit play.

On instinct due to my history of running into people like them. And seeing the shush as a signal to turn them away. I shout "hail satan" and slam the door. Annoyed I look to him and he gives me a apologetic look.

"This is the third time this week" I say annoyed as we have a seat in the living room.

"I know. I never thought it turned to this though. I can sense selfish desires from them. It breaks my heart" he says.

"Welcome to the modern era. Where some wear their faith on their sleeves whereas some where it on their wallets" i say pouring us some wine.

I stutter a reply back "Um, I , uh, never heard of him". They are shocked by this and ask if they can come in. I look back behind the door and Jesus is still shaking his head. "Now isn't a good time" I reply, "maybe later". They are persistent and hand me pamphlets which I take simply to move this along to the point they leave; but they won't leave. The one on the right starts quoting scripture at me like I'm back in Vacation Bible School and I'm 11 years old and caught stealing communion wine and this is my penance. 1 Timothy 6.8-9. Proverbs 11.28. Luke 12.15.

Fucking hell, were these people antiwork subreddit mods or something? I keep nodding and say thanks but that I need to go. I start to close the door when the one on the left puts out his hand and grabs the door. "Sir, I don't think you understand. We need know if you have found our lord and savior, Jesus Christ". I stare back "I heard you the first time. I heard his bible verses. I can't help you. I'm not that religious. Take care". However, the one on the left doesn't remove his hand "That's not what I asked you". I push the door harder and he removes his hand and the door slams shut.

I shoot Jesus a look of "What the fuck was that about?" and he just stands there. The two guys at the door turn around and look at each other. They nod at each other when the one that was on the left grabs something out of his jacket and with a flick, produces a telescopic baton. "He's here" he says in a low voice. "Let them know".

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I roll my eyes as my gaze returns to the man at the door. "No sir," I say in an irritated tone, "now if you would be so kind as to leave me in peace, I would be oh so grateful" as the door was just about to close, the man pushes it back in. I staggered backwards catching a glimpse of Jesus curse under his breath.

A cold gust of wind brought me back to my senses as I kicked the man in his crotch. Glaring down at the ghostly, pale man, who is doubled over, in front of me. "This is your last warning sir," I growled, "get the hell off my property." and with that the man cursed and crawled to his feet scurrying away.

"Hey thanks, I really owe you one." Jesus said. This was not my first time ever seeing the man, but his features were surely something to admire. His hair was long and lush. A beautiful, rich, dark brown, mane with a beard that matched. His skin a tawny brown. "No problem," I sighed as I finally closed my door,"now time for a well earned nap." Jesus just rolled his eyes as he took my remote and watched tv. I on the other hand went straight to my room and passed out.

After a barrage of knocking and several persistent buzzer prods, I relented and opened the apartment door.

“Yes! What?!”

“Good afternoon Sir, how are you on this blessed day?”

Crammed into the hallway were a smiling cluster of figures in what could only be described as funeral garb. The men wore dark suits and dark ties, the women dark crepe and shawls, all of which clashed bizarrely with their beaming smiles.

I felt my anger slacken into bewilderment and fumbled for a response, “Yeah – I’m good, thanks. Uh, how are you?”

“Marvelous. Just marvelous. Aren’t we everybody?” A chorus of vigorous nodding. Then a pronounced pause. They continued to beam. I forced a polite smile in response. No one offered an explanation.

“So. How can I help you?”

“Help us? No, no, we're here to help you Mr Jones”

“How do you know my—?”.

He waggled a stack of envelopes. “Hope you don’t mind. We thought we’d take the liberty of picking them up for you on our way in.”

“Right. Thanks.”

I scrutinized my well-mannered interlocutor. He seemed pleasant enough really: clean cut, friendly, immaculately polite, so much so he had still not unclasped his hands from behind his back.

“Anywho. I am brother Simon and this here is our humble little congregation,” he continued. “We come here today from The Church of the Weeping Wound. Do you know us? No? Well in that case, we have Liza, Charles, Jonathan —” he glanced back at the throng and thought better than to name them all. “And that fellow there,” he gestured to a titan of a man lurking by the complex’s gate, “is Peter.” Peter glowered in acknowledgement.

“Do you have a couple of minutes?”

“Not really, I’m actually quite — ”

“Oh it won’t take long,” he swept onwards. “Now do pardon my intrusiveness here. But we’re all eager to know. Have you found our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.”

“Yes. We’re all Methodists thanks. Is that all?”

“No, excuse me if I wasn’t clear just now.” The syrupy sweetness of his drawl hardened into something grave. “Have you found him?”

I glanced behind the door. Finger pressed against his lips, eyes white and wide. He stared at me in a silent, urgent plea.

“You see, we’ve had some reports, and well, we’re under the impression that someone here has likely found him by now.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

His eyes narrowed. The congregation straightened into alertness. In the corner of my vision, I saw the man behind the door press himself back into the corner. Several seconds passed. Then, Brother Simon began to nod solemnly. His drawl returned, “No, no. My mistake. A fine Methodist like yourself, of course you've found the way already."

“Is that all?”

He nodded and turned over his shoulder.“Peter,” he called out tenderly to the giant at the end of the corridor.

“Yes, Father.”

“Guard the gate.”

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