Abyss

By Rollin Miller

This is a work of Christian fiction; a written fantasia if you will, set in the future during the time of the Millennial Kingdom on earth. During this period of one thousand years, Satan is chained and imprisoned in the great abyss, until the day comes when he will be loosed but for a short time.
Our hero is a man known only by the moniker of “scribe” who has been given the task by God to enter into the abyss and write Satan's story. This is an assignment which the scribe willingly accepts, but he does so with a little trepidation as well as the lingering question as to why he would have been chosen by God for such as task.
The scribe is a mortal man, having survived the treacherous days of the great tribulation, living in the old city of Jerusalem, awaiting his yet to be received glorious body. He is joined by other characters in the story, primarily the Old Testament saint Enoch and an angel by the name of Paga.
The unfolding story is a clash of words, the chaos of madness and the glory of God.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312283510

Book preview

Abyss

ABYSS

_________

ROLLIN MILLER

Copyright 2014, Rollin Miller.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or other, without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination  or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual person, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Scripture is from the King James Version which is in the public domain. A Wonderful Savior, words by Fanny J. Crosby, in the public domain. Joy to the World, words by Isaac Watts, in the public domain.

ISBN: 978-1-312-28351-0

Introduction

This book is a work of Christian fiction; a written fantasia if you will, set in the future during the time of the Millennial Kingdom on earth. During this period of one thousand years, Satan is chained and imprisoned in the great abyss, until the day comes when he will be loosed but for a short time.

Having the desire to fictionally interact with the devil and to delve into his wiles and madness, I chose the venue of the abyss and the interview format as a platform from which to work. This has allowed me as an author the greatest flexibility and latitude to explore many of the ideas that I considered over the years.

The unfolding story is a clash of words, the chaos of madness and the glory of God. As the scribe so aptly puts it: I will attempt to draw from his tongue the poison which is defined by his nature, and paint the picture that rightly defines who and what he is. I will write the biography of Lucifer, so that he is properly revealed and that God may be glorified.

Some of the fascinations in the story have no direct basis in Scripture, but it can be said that Scripture does allow for the possibility for them. Other aspects of the story I hold to be biblically sound and truthful.

I trust that as you read the story, you will see the truth of God's Word and his Son Jesus Christ—the only name under heaven, given amongst men whereby we must be saved.

Thank you for reading and I hope that you enjoy it.

Rollin K. Miller

So Speak now dragon!

"So speak now dragon! Declare to the world the works of thy hands. Tell us the tragic story of the world in the days of my father, Jared and on through Noah. Tell us of your master plan to not only prevent the coming of the Messiah, Jesus the Christ, but also to deal a terrible blow against God by destroying so many lives.

"Tell us devil, the unimaginable—the unthinkable—the inconceivable—the unbelievable—tell us!"

CHAPTER 1

And I saw an angel come down from heaven, having the key of the bottomless pit and a great chain in his hand.

And he laid hold on the dragon, that old serpent, which is the Devil, and Satan, and bound him a thousand years,

And cast him into the bottomless pit, and shut him up, and set a seal upon him, that he should deceive the nations no more, till the thousand years should be fulfilled: and after that he must be loosed a little season.

Revelation 20:1-3

After long and careful consideration, I remain as perplexed as I was when I first learned of my new assignment. I hope you understand that I do not question God’s wisdom though I readily admit that I am extremely curious as to his reasons for choosing me to conduct this interview with the great fallen one. Although known by many titles and names throughout the ages he is most commonly known as Satan, or by his original, heavenly name Lucifer, son of the morning.

Doubtless there are countless other saints who carry more weighted credentials than I. For I have never conducted an interview, whether it be for a person or any other creature, and my writing skills are rather limited, except for my days as a boy, constantly scribbling adventure stories, illustrated with pencil sketches of airplanes.

And it is without question that other men and women were better disciples of Christ and more faithful servants of God, while I—it shames me to admit, made the choice to turn my back on God and run away from him for so many years. It is only by God's grace and mercy that he never gave up his pursuit of me.

I took the letter in hand one more time and stared at the words which were by now burned into my mind. I wasn't looking for any new information or seeking confirmation, for everything had been made perfectly clear. No, it was nothing like that at all. I just looked at the letter's words for the sheer awe of them.

I gently ran my fingers over the ink of the letters, breathlessly realizing that every stroke of the pen was made by the hand of God himself. I felt amazement over the very idea that God would do this—for who am I that the Lord would be mindful of me?

I struggled to keep my hands from shaking as I read his words yet again—"it is my desire that you would do this for me." I clutched the letter close to my chest and bowed my head knowing that I would do exactly what the Lord has asked me to do.

Would I have chosen myself for such an assignment? I can answer that question with a resounding no! In fact, given more time for thought on the matter, it would be quite simple to compile an extensive list of reasons as to why I would be a most terrible candidate for this particular task.

Why would God choose me? Any answer that I could provide would be wanting, and therefore it is a question best left to God himself. Though there is a biblical principle which has merit in my case. For God reaches into the pot of humanity and pulls out the weak and the foolish among us. We are the ones that God chooses to use in order to confound the wise and make foolish the strong, that he and he alone may receive the glory which is due only to him. In that sense, I am a most proper choice, and I give praise and thanks to God for it.

With that in mind, I will put away my thoughts and questions and go at once. I will, with the grace of God, travel to the dark realm of the abyss, where I shall find chained and hidden away in its recesses the great dragon. There he waits, biding his time, vainly wrestling against the chains which bind him.

I am not a brave man by any stretch of the imagination. You might think that since I walked the earth during the days of the great tribulation and survived its judgments by God's grace that I would be ready for anything. While I have witnessed more tragedy than a man should ever have to endure, the thought of facing the devil was more than a little unnerving.

Jesus. The letter slipped unnoticed from my hand, seesawing in the air before settling on the floor. Jesus. My knees began to tremble and it felt as if they could buckle at any moment. I slipped to the floor with my hands clasped together. Squeezing my eyes shut, the tears flowed freely down my face as his name resonated in my mind and spoke to my soul.

How marvelous is the name of Jesus—to be able to see him, to hear his voice and touch his hand. How majestic the Lord is, sitting upon the throne of David for a thousand years—fulfilling a long held covenant with the people of promise—Israel.

When the Lord speaks, hearts are lifted and all eyes are drawn to him. His voice is as the sound of rushing waters—his words framed the foundation of the world itself. Jesus—son of God, son of man, prince of peace, the Great I AM.

His are the words of strength, hope, and of promise. They convey his Father's love and grace to all that believe and of that which is exceedingly, abundantly above anything and everything they could ask or think.

The Lord speaks of the inheritance of the saints; incorruptible and undefiled, reserved in heaven, which fades not away. He also speaks of the inheritance of the lost; where the worm does not die and the fire is not quenched. He speaks of light and of darkness, of blessing and of judgment.

He speaks as no other has ever spoken.

I took a deep breath knowing that my preparations were complete and my time was at hand. I reached down to the ground and picked up the precious letter. Folding it carefully, I slipped it into my satchel which was on the table.

I wouldn't be long before I was standing in the presence of the great deceiver and my pulse began to accelerate. Looking down, I saw that my hands were again trembling and felt pressure weighing upon my chest. I wished that I could say what I was feeling was only a healthy respect for Satan's power and abilities, but I knew it wasn't true.

Gripping one hand with the other, I squeezed them tightly together while I closed my eyes, but trying to calm myself down wasn't working too well. In silent prayer, I asked the Lord for the strength I would need.

It was doubtful there was anything in the devil's nature which would accept failure or defeat. I fully expected that he has remained as fiercely defiant as ever. However, there will come a day when Lucifer's defiance will be broken. For no creature, not even the powerful angel Lucifer will escape the promise of God that at the name of Jesus, every knee shall bow, and every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.

My assignment is simple in its scope, yet deeply profound in its importance as I will be taking on the task of writing his story—the biography of Lucifer.

This biography is not meant to be simply a historical narrative of his wicked career, but a story with the purpose of lifting the veil of misunderstanding from the eyes of those who yet remain under the spell of his deception. I pray that my work will be sufficient to this cause, and that people will see him for what he truly is.

I am hoping during the course of our conversations to explore his origin, his motivation, his plans and tactics. I want to know why he abandoned his heavenly position. Why did he turn against God? I also want to know what he thinks the course of his future is.

I will attempt to draw from his tongue the poison which is defined by his nature, and paint the picture that rightly defines who and what he is. I will write the biography of Lucifer, so that he is properly revealed and that God may be glorified.

I am thankful that God is ever watchful, overseeing every word spoken, and each sentence recorded with pen and ink. I have been given great latitude in my approach to the interview and I intend to press Satan for everything he is willing to provide and what God will allow to be revealed.

With my satchel strap slung over my shoulder, my course is set, and my direction is clear. I am to interview the most vile, insidious and powerful creature that has ever existed. He is Lucifer, the great dragon, that old serpent called the devil or Satan, the deceiver of the world.

CHAPTER 2

The ancient city of Jerusalem was reborn with the advent of the millennial reign of Jesus Christ. With Jehovah Himself on the throne, the waters flowed and the flowers bloomed as never before. The aridness of the air and of the soil gave way under the great fountain of God's joyful tears as the Father looked upon his son, Jesus, in whom he was well pleased.

It was early in the morning, well before sunrise when I left my quarters for the quiet and nearly empty streets of Jerusalem. I walked through the area of the old city formerly known as the Christian quarter keeping a watchful eye for my destination. I was told that the door that I was looking for was unmistakable and I would immediately know it when I saw it.

It would be a distinctive stone door of carnelian gems, framed in bands of gilded iron. There I would find a small cross shaped window through which the occupants could look upon the faces of any visitors.

I walked as quickly as I could, anxious to begin my assignment, yet taking care to avoid drawing undo attention to myself or making contact with any person or animal of the city which might cause me to be late. When contact proved inevitable, I would strive to restrict any conversations to a simple but polite greeting.

It shouldn't be much further as the Damascus gate was just ahead.

As I walked under an old stone archway a dog barked from a window above, causing me to jump and startling some nesting doves from their home in a deep crevice of the city wall. They burst from their resting place, swirling frantically in a tight spinning ball before splintering and diving under the archway and enveloping me in wings and feathers.

I reared back and covered my face, ducking and rolling to my left then to my right. Blindly, I groped for the rough surface of the wall but found emptiness where my fingers thought the stone to be. After several air laps around my head the birds finally took off into the morning sky while I staggered, trying to stand upright while taking inordinately large zig zag steps. 

Excuse me friend, a man said, but that's my foot.

I am terribly sorry, I said, regaining focus and balance. I didn't mean to— I stood there staring in disbelief at the man that I had just stepped on.

Emil! I shouted. How are you? I haven't seen you in quite sometime.

Emil stood from the stoop he was sitting on, and we clasped each other warmly.

It is good to see you my friend. I trust all is well.

It is Emil, thank you, I replied. I am sorry. The birds—they—uh—I didn't see you sitting there. In fact, I didn't see much of anything

It is no matter, Emil chuckled. It seems the doves interrupted whatever quest you are on.

That is true, I replied, brushing feathers from my hair. A quest which I must return to as quickly as possible.

A shame. It has been far too long. We have some catching up to do don't we?

That we do Emil, considering that I haven't seen you since before the Lord's glorious appearing. Much has certainly changed since then hasn't it?

Like night and day, Emil said, waving his hand. I am sorry that you must rush off, but knowing you my friend, whatever it is that you are doing must be of great importance.

Thank you for understanding, I said gripping his hand in mine. With a handshake and a wave, I continued on my mission darting down the narrow path; turning with the flow of the street, ducking under low hanging baskets, colorful blankets hanging in the fresh air and more stone archways.

Though it was still early, a few people had ventured out into the breaking morning carrying on quiet conversations while drinking strong espresso. The smell of coffee begged me to stop, but after another turn to my right I saw what I was looking for.

With the door in sight, my pace quickened even more, and the few people ahead of me apparently sensed my urgency and stepped out of the way. As I approached, I saw that the door was raised above the street with three old limestone steps leading up to it. I took them in one.

I stood nervously before the great red stone door, running my hand over its irregular surface which was cold, as was the gilded iron which framed it. The carnelian gems themselves were smooth and highly reflective of the early light—blood red in color with deep vein imperfections of black and gray.  The placement of the cross window may have been just about right for a man of average height, but for me, a bit of assistance was required as I stood on my tiptoes with one eye peering inside.

It was a cavernous space, filled with desks and tables adorned with scattered scrolls and stacks of books with old tattered bindings. Many of the books were open, but most were heaped in skewed piles of varying height. On the tables closest to the door I could see dingy yellowed parchments, unrolled and flattened, kept that way by the strategic placement of ink bottles, paper weights and candle sticks.

The walls were garnished with clusters of scenic paintings and photographs of what looked to be the holy city and the people who lived there. The room was fairly dark, dimly lit by candle burning chandeliers and sconces attached to the walls and chalk white columns arrayed throughout the room.

With my face pressed against the little window, I reached down with my hand, searching for the doorknob but found nothing that even closely resembled one. Stepping back from the door, I looked for any type of latch or pull or even a button to push, but there was nothing.

May I help you sir?

I looked back up and saw a wrinkled yet fair skinned face filling the cross. I have an appointment, I replied. "My name is—"

The face disappeared, followed by the snap of a latch and a slow creaking windup as the door opened. We were expecting you, the man said. Please come in.

My earlier peering had in no way adequately prepared me for what I found once I stepped inside. With a deep and satisfying breath I gazed in wonder, taking in all of the musty smells which accompany old leather, ancient parchment and Indian ink, as well as the stains of oils which saturated the wood furniture.

I stepped carefully on the lustrous marbled floor tiles noting their ornate beauty— embellished with bone colored swirls and streaks of gray and speckled with a hint of green that glimmered when the light hit it just so. The apparent plainness of the stone columns gave way under closer scrutiny, revealing the secrets of their delicate surface weaving, carved by a fine chisel and mallet in a master stone artists hand. The tops of the columns were crowned with gold leaf capitals, shaped and curled like the petals of a flower.

The walls adjoined the ceiling under the avalanche of a jewel embedded cornice of snow white marble. High above, the ceiling told a grand story in stone relief of the people of Israel sweeping through history from their Egyptian captivity, deliverance at the Red Sea, wanderings in the desert and their eventual entrance into the land of promise.

Framed artistry of paint, charcoal and ink as well as photographic mosaics covered the walls. Each painting portrayed some event in God's unfolding revelation to man. Each etching of ink, every sketch of charcoal, and all the photographs displayed the faces of God's saints.

But it was the tapestries which really caught my attention. Six massive tapestries colorfully woven to depict events in the life of Jesus. The first showed his birth in Bethlehem's manger followed by another which gave remembrance to his sacrifice on the cross in this very city.

A third tapestry recorded his burial in the tomb with Roman guards standing watch nearby. It was followed by another depicting his glorious resurrection. The last two showed the Lord's ascension into heaven and his sitting on his throne.

Would you please come this way, the wrinkled but fair skinned man said, gesturing with his hand.

I followed him out of the main room, through a set of tall and heavy wooden double doors and down a long and narrow hallway, its walls painted in scenic murals. The mural on my left showed a scene in the garden of Eden with Adam, Eve and the serpent. On my right, the story continued with Adam and Eve banished from the garden and a cherub wielding a flaming sword standing at the gate to prevent any access to the tree of life.

At the end of the hall, we pushed through a second set of double doors, just as massive as the first. They opened into a rather small, dimly lit room, having but one lone candlestick flickering on a narrow table set against the wall.

You are to remain here, the man said.

Will someone be coming to take me where I need to go? I asked.

You are to remain here, he repeated with a bow, stepping back into the hallway and pulling the doors closed.

I walked over and laid my satchel next to the candle. Through the dimness I looked around for more of the busyness of art and parchments, but there was none to be seen. There were no stacks of books, neither were there any columns or marbled floors. This room seemed tucked away and forgotten, its walls barren and the floor uninviting.

Other than the table, the only other piece of furniture was a nicely embroidered wingback chair, which was placed close to the flickering candle. The color of its material was a burgundy or perhaps some flavor of purple, though difficult to tell in the existing light. Its appearance seemed worn with a few of the stitchings unraveled and frayed, but still quite lovely.

I glanced over both of my shoulders then turned my attention back to the chair thinking that a little sit wouldn't hurt anything. I pressed upon the seat cushion a few times with my hand and it responded with good support. The chair certainly appeared to be comfortable.

Of course, the proof is in the sitting.

I backed up to the chair and lowered myself slowly.

Oh my, that is quite nice!

I sank comfortably into the depth of the soft cushion, feeling the chair's wings wrap snuggly around my shoulders and I let out a sigh. Rarely in my life had I encountered a chair as comfortable as this and I felt a wave of temptation come upon me to put my head back and close my eyes, even if it were for only a few minutes.

But as tempting as that idea was, I knew there were things I had to do, so I put aside the notion of a little nap and looked around the room, my eyes beginning to adjust to the low light. There was nothing obvious that I could see.

I rubbed my forehead, wondering what I was supposed to do. It didn't seem to make any sense, for the room remained just as empty and the walls just as bare as when I first walked in, but I felt confident that I was exactly where I needed to be.

The bareness of the walls was equally matched by the quiet stillness of the air, for there was nothing to be heard beyond the sounds of my own anxious breathing and my heart pounding in my ears. I followed the path of the walls yet again, looking for anything that might reveal itself. But there was simply nothing to be seen other than—uh—oh my, what was that?

I swallowed deeply and pressed down in my chest, forcing my breathing to a slow crawl. My eyes widened in surprise then narrowed to peering slits as I focused on the wall in front of me, attempting to channel all of my brain's capacity into my senses of sight and sound.

After a few moments, I closed my eyes while releasing the pressure—trying to breath normally, all the while feeling rather foolish. Did I actually see something, or was it just the work of my overactive imagination? It certainly could have been my imagination, but—what if I actually saw something—oh I don't know, something