Blind Mercy: No One Survives Without It

By Phil Quinton

Blind Mercy is a story about today as told by those living in the year 2160, by the Watchman of the village to their children. He has the children for a time each month to tell them stories of the past, teaching them history as well as scriptural principles. This story is about a man who lived in our time, circa. 1949-20--. It details his life f

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Vine Press
• Release date: Dec 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9781951886356

Phil Quinton

I have two great loves in my life: my Redeemer, first, and my wife. We are now retired and live in Idaho. I am a veteran, having served in the Seabees as an equipment operator. My wife and I are living a full life, filled with our children, who live in the area, and our grandchildren. Our Father has blessed us with nine grandchildren, and that to us is love beyond measure. Being challenged with physical issues, most from side effects of Agent Orange, I choose to focus on my Lord, my wife, my writing, and His blessings every day that I have left.

Book preview

Copyright © 2019 by Phil Quinton.

ISBN Softcover 978-1-951886-34-9

Ebook 978-1-951886-35-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Printed in the United States of America.

Book Vine Press

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contents

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

chapter seven

chapter eight

chapter nine

chapter ten

chapter eleven

chapter twelve

chapter thirteen

chapter fourteen

chapter fifteen

chapter sixteen

chapter seventeen

chapter eighteen

chapter one

The stars were struggling valiantly to keep their light shining inn the night sky against the coming dawn. Unfortunately, they couldn’t stand against the forces of nature that caused the darkness to release its hold on the earth. It was the perfect example of the eternal struggle that had plagued this planet for numerous millennia’s in a most simple form. Light over darkness, the greater over the lesser, or, if you want, good over evil. From creations first moments until now, this battle had gone on day after day. Only the players have changed. And for too long they had failed to notice this, the simplest of lessons. All but one, that is.

It was born with the rising sun and it picked up speed on its downward journey, destroying the fragile growth that was desperately clinging to an outcropping of rock on the face of the mountain. Its final destination was in sight now, just at the threshold of the mountain range that surrounded the desert wasteland. The walled village had withstood every other attempt at its destruction and had endured them all, those made by man and by this one, and today it would be no different from all the other attempts. This enemy, like all the others, just had to continue to try. Call it the nature of the beast.

When the last boulder had been cleared, the last ditch crossed, it burst out onto the flatlands with the object of its intent lying before it. The two or three scrawny scrub bushes did little to slow it down. Across the flatland it came, picking up bits of sand as its way towards the walled in village. High on the wall stood a solitary figure who turned to face the coming onslaught after hearing the distant roar. After all, it was his job to face any manner of threat that presented itself to the village

When it hit the bottom of the wall, it was deflected upwards, back into the ever-brightening sky where it had been born. The only damage the wind had done, other than the vegetation it had destroyed, was to deposit the sand it had picked up into the eyes and face of the man peering over the wall. It was his fault, he didn’t need to look out over the cornice to see what was coming, especially since this happened almost every morning, just like clockwork. At least that is how he thought about it.

Oh man, I’ve got to stop doing that. If I get any more sand in my eyes, they will be able to name this desert after me, said the man, chuckling to himself as he wiped the sand and bits of brush out of his eyes with a towel. He sighed deeply as he looked out over the vastness of the desert, noticing that once again there wasn’t a trace of rain in the sky. In fact, there weren’t even any clouds. He was saddened by the bleakness he saw, sad because there was next to no life out there. Throwing the towel down on the bench he resigned himself to the fact that today would be like all the rest. Hot and dry, mixed in with hotter and drier.

One last glance at the foothills for movement and satisfying himself that there was nothing to be concerned with, he looked down into the sleeping village that was in the process of waking up to the new day. Smoke from the evening fires hung low over the huts casting an eerie fog over everything, but the early morning breeze would soon clear it out to make room for the new day, and new fires. A dog barked as if only to let people know it was time for it to eat, cats stretched and purred, and the newborns began to cry for their morning feedings. Life was in the throes of birth, just like the new dawn.

He began to detect the smells of food being prepared in the huts below. Coffee was boiling, biscuits were baking, last night’s stews and soups were being re-heated over the fire pits, the aromas told him as they drifted up to his position on the wall. He liked the smells of the spices the best. They always brought out the best in any food, even leftovers. He enjoyed garlic and hot peppers the most, and his mother usually put in a large amount of both if she knew that he would be at supper. As he looked around the village, he thought that he was the only one that could smell everything that was cooking. Every smell out of the village came up to where he stood, and as with all things, nothing got past him, nothing.

Soon he began to hear the villagers calling out to one another, singing out their morning greetings to one another. The sounds of children waking, giggling, laughing as their parents tugged them out of their warm, snug beds with words of love, good mornings and for many, time to get up. There was another day full of playing, learning, and chores to be done, although not in any specific order. But these children did them all with equal enthusiasm. A wide smile lit up the sun-dried face of the young man. How different things are today, he thought. Children don’t mind doing whatever work their parents have for them, and some of them even ask if there is anything else they could do to help. He thought about the stories of the old days that children couldn’t have cared less for their chores or even their parents. Not now, because the world finally came to know what peace is and how to live in it.

He shook himself out of his thoughts, or rather his stomach did when it started to growl. He gathered up his few belongings and readied himself for the long haul down off the wall to the village center. He had to deliver his report to the elders before he could go to his parent’s hut for a bite to eat. Even though he was one of the elders, he was the only one that was called the Watchman. There were Watchmen in the other villages, but this village had only the one. It was a position that that the people respected tremendously, and they all took turns making sure that their Watchman had plenty to eat. One family had taken on the responsibility of making sure that he always had a new outer robe whenever he needed one, and on the cold wintery nights, he was more than grateful for their gift. He put the robe over his shoulders and headed down the long ladder to the village floor far below.

This generation of people were nothing like those of the lost generation. The people of this tine took being accountable very seriously, and to these people being accountable to each other as well as to themselves was considered a way of life. There was no fear of it nor was there any mocking of it, like there had been before. These people had learned from their past, not like those who had died in it. Life was definitely much harder now than before, one still had to be watchful. He shook the thoughts out of his mind and tried to put together his report, the one he had to deliver to the elders. Not much to report other than a few animals hunting for their dinner and some awesome shooting stars. One could get bored doing this, but his need to remain watchful was there. He wanted to ensure that none of the blood of the villagers would end up on his hands.

He was young for a Watchman. Only when you looked at him, he didn’t give the appearance of someone that young. The constant exposure to the elements had hardened the lines that crisscrossed his brow. His hair was pulled back and held in place with a piece of his mother’s sewing thread. It was long, but with the length it did help keep his neck warm on those long frosty winter nights. As was said, he was young for the position he held, but people knew that God looked for faithfulness first, not age when He looked for His Watchmen. His father had been one, and it was when he retired due to injuries received protecting the village that the young man had risen up and took his place on the wall, and he took being a Watchman very serious. And it was because of his dedication, trustworthiness, and tireless attention to the littlest detail that the villagers trusted him with their lives.

He yawned and stretched his long legs out as far as they could go, cracking his back to relieve some of the cramps from the long night. Having delivered his report one of the elders asked him what story he was going to tell the children this time. I thought that I would tell them the story about how our adversary tries to control us by using his demons. This story has a central Strongman and the spirits he uses in order to control and dictate one man’s life, and I have decided to tell it from the demon’s point of view. I believe that our children need to know that this still happens and that they need to be mindful of it. It may be a hard story to tell, but how can it be any harder than our lives today. The people of that generation had everything handed to them. They had houses with running water, electricity, indoor plumbing, and all the comforts of life. They had it all. Yet look what happened to them. Our lives now are harder than the subject of this story and I believe that it will help our children to become more discerning and watchful themselves, as they should be, as we all should be. I will be careful not to be too descriptive and only cover what needs to be said. You know the story; I have told it to you before. I think that now is the time for our children to hear it. The elders nodded in agreement and said that it was all right to tell it as long as he was mindful to not get too imaginative. They prayed for him and then he left.

When he reached the top of the wall, he walked along the edge to the far northern corner where his shack had been built. It hung out over the wall, built so that it overlooked the entire village. From here he could practically see the entire outside area, with the exception of the river access. There were other people that were assigned to protect their main water source, but he could see the plains out from the wall well enough to give a warning if needed. It was his duty to walk the entire wall, ensuring that there was no one attempting to do something that shouldn’t be done, like get in. As was said, he took his job seriously and on any given night would make at least 40 trips around the entire village, observing everything inside and out, and in all the time he had been on the wall, not one individual had made it into the village that didn’t belong there in the first place.

His home away from home was nothing special. There was a bed, hardly used of course, a small table that served as both dinner table and writing desk. On it were some of his books and writing materials, along with one faded old picture. It was of his great-grandfather. It was the only picture he had since there was no way of making them now. All that knowledge died when the last of the evil ones had almost destroyed their world. On the table with the books and tablets, there was a pile of left-over food from the night before. His parents had sent some up to him the last afternoon and he managed to eat most of it. The left-overs would make a nice meal for the guests he usually had. He hoped that the children would be bringing up some food that he knew some of the villagers had set aside for him. He loved fresh fruit and vegetables the most and he was hoping that someone had put in a fresh loaf of bread with lots of butter and honey, his favorite.

He looked at the water skin to see how much was left in it. That was probably the one thing he disliked the most, carrying water up the over two hundred steps it took to get to his perch. He had brought some up last night before dark and hoped that it would last until after he got done with today’s portion of the story. He supplied the water to the kid’s when they came up and some of them drank a lot. In the back of his mind, he was hoping that some nice soul would bring up a skin full, but he didn’t expect them to. Sure would be nice though, he thought.

The people of the village all respected him; in fact, they loved their Watchman and trusted him completely. Even though he was dusty and at times really dirty, ragged from the exposure to the sun and elements, they didn’t mind. None of them cared about the fact that his clothes were often threadbare and tattered, again from overexposure to the elements, sun, cold, wind, rain, snow. They would just smile at him and then someone would offer a new pair of pants or shirt. In turn, he loved the people he cared for, not because he had to but because he did really love them. There wasn’t one person in the village who at one time or another had made the long trip up the ladder to visit with him, besides bringing food, clothes, bits of news, water, or just the company. They would spend time walking the wall with him and enjoying the view. It was a spectacular view from there and the children especially loved coming up to him when it was his turn to tutor them.

The elderly couldn’t make the trip so he would visit during the day when he wasn’t needed on the wall. They would share with him their books, ancient writings and scrolls that had been saved during the dark times, along with their love. He would sit with them for hours listening to the stories they had, savoring every moment, filing away the tales in order to tell them again to another generation. All the people of the village respected the elders. These people knew how to take care of each other and the fruit of that was knowledge. People knew where the knowledge came from and didn’t want to leave without it being shared.

As was said, he was young for a Watchman. Then again, there was no age limit for anyone when the Father wants to do something. All He needs is an obedient heart and someone willing to say yes to the call. As was written in the ancient books, many were called but few choose to be chosen. It takes a willing attitude and an ability to submit to whatever has to be done to walk in the shoes of a Watchman. And it was his character and integrity that endeared this Watchman to the village. And it had spread beyond just the village. In fact, it had spread throughout the region, to other villages that he would visit from time to time. He was a much-loved man and for that he had always been grateful.

He took a drink from the skin as he began preparing for another long, hot day. While he was straightening up his hut his thoughts went to the story he was going to tell to the children. His gift of storytelling was legendary. Villages throughout the territory knew of this clever young man with a talent for tales. Most would travel for miles just to hear one of his narratives. Most of his stories were of the past, of the world that had been lost. It had only been three generations that had passed until this time. That is how close all of them had been to the destruction that had swept through the fallen people of the planet. It had been a time of decadence, a time of selfish ambitions, a time of absolute confusion. The area surrounding the village showed the scars of that time, scars demonstrated by the bleakness of the mountains and desert terrain that was the landscape they viewed each day. What had once been a prosperous nation full of people living in huge cities was now a thinly populated country with people banded together in walled villages similar to the Watchman’s home. Those not living in these small communities wandered the wasteland as raiders, stealing for their survival.

The children that were coming up to him today were of all ages and sizes. They varied in sizes from those who needed help climbing the steps to those about ready to take their places among the adults of the village. And all of them were eager to learn. Most of the Watchman’s stories were actually lessons that they all needed that would help them as adults. The stories were similar to history lessons, only without books and without homework. Most of them were about people and their lives and how the Lord had taken care of the circumstances of those lives. The kids loved the stories as much as they too loved their Watchman. They were grateful that he’d take the time to share with them and to teach them. He never made any of them feel like they were insignificant or of little importance. In fact, he went out of his way to make each one feel like they were his own brothers and sisters and they responded back with the same attitude.

The children of this time were a lot different than those who had endured the devastation that had come upon their world and had left them with the wastelands they called home. These people took the time to train up their children in the way that they should go, according to Scriptures. Teaching about morality and integrity were foremost in their daily lessons and no one mocked it as the lost generation had. They took the Word for what it is, the Father’s instruction handbook for right living. They knew that if their children were taught that which is right, then when they were adults and had children of their own, they would not depart from those teachings. The children of this age would never forget what had happened to those of the lost generation, lost due to the fact that they didn’t take to heart the lessons their parents should have taught them.

And school here in this village was a lot different than what it had been in the days gone by. These children would go with the shepherds to learn how to care for the flocks, and in doing so would also learn how to take care of one another. They learned as they lived. The main lesson they learned was that no one individual was more important than another, that each depended on the other, as it should have always been. When a lamb or goat was sick, the children cared for it, nurturing it back to health. They would even take it home with them to keep it warm and dry on the cold nights in their own beds. And the parents didn’t mind, they were proud. They too had done the same thing when they were young.

The women of village taught them the art of cooking and sewing. And this the boys learned as well as the girls. There was not a person in the village that did not know how to cook or sew their own clothes. Some of the boys didn’t care for it too much, but those complaints were usually kept silent. They also learned how to build huts and also how to build and tend fires, both the ones for individual huts as well as the one on the center of the village. The fire in the center of the village was always going, not just for warmth on cold nights when meetings were held, but also for protection. They could use the coals as weapons if they launched them from the walls at the raiders. The village fire was also the place where children would learn their own history, they history of the village. The elders would spend hours talking of the past and sharing their life experiences with everyone, and as they listened, they learned.

Since he finished up sooner than he thought, he decided to go back down the wall and visit his parents for a bit. On the way down, he made a quick survey of the inner wall. This wall had been an idea of the Watchman and his father, and it was this wall that made their village different than the others. This wall was covered with short, sharp quills that stuck up all over it making climbing it almost impossible. Next to the quills were sharp points of metal that acted like miniature spears that could cut a hand to shreds. Anyone that made it through the outer wall and its defenses, they would have to then contend with the next wall full of sharp, pointy object, not to mention the armed men that would be waiting behind it. Up to this time, not one person had made it past the outer wall. All who had tried had died. That did sadden the villagers, but they were kept safe.

Once at the bottom, he made his way quickly to his parent’s hut. His mother had promised him a care package that morning that he had forgotten, and he that he remembered it, he was eager to get it. In his opinion, his mother was the best bread maker in the village, or in the entire region. His mother just shrugged off his praise, yet inside one could see her glow. He skirted the corral that housed the flocks that belonged to the village and walked up the lane only to see his mother coming towards him carrying a large basket full of goodies that he was hoping for. Mom, I was coming to pick that up. You shouldn’t have lugged it all this way. She just smiled as he grabbed the basket from her arms and she could see him smelling what was in it. She put her arm around him and gratefully accepted his peck on her cheek. Come on, your father has the materials you have been begging us to get for weeks. It took some doing, but I think that he did get all that you wanted. And besides that, he’s anxious to see you. You don’t come down often enough and I’ve started praying that you’ll come down and join us for our evening meal. She snuggled closer to him as they made their way to her home.

He smiled and enjoy the walk. Her hut was located against the back wall of the village. It was modest in size, in fact most of the huts in the village were about the same size with the exception of the meeting hall. That was large enough to fit everyone in the village and it was used for praise gatherings and resolving issues that may arise. When they arrived at the hut, his father was sitting at the table eating his breakfast. The Watchman went up to his father and they embraced each other. He sat down at the table and a steaming bowl of oatmeal appeared before him as did a plate of his mother’s biscuits. She also placed a large bowl of honey and the butter container next to it and when she did all he could do was smile. He started to gulp down his food as was his custom. His eating fast had developed on the wall. He wanted nothing to keep him from doing his job and sometimes it was necessary to eat quickly and continue his tours around the wall. It was a habit that was difficult to break. But in this case, the food was hot, delicious and plentiful, especially the biscuits and butter.

While he was eating, his father set a book down in his lap. The surprise of it caused him to choke on a mouthful of food. Then he stopped coughing, he opened it as if it were treasure, because to him it was. This was something he had heard about for years but had never seen. His father had told him that he thought it had been destroyed during the time of the destruction, but that in actuality, it had been found in another village on one of their foraging trips. As he turned the pages, he found the exact thing his father had been telling him about. It was the story he had for the children this morning. He knew the story by heart, but now he could show the children facts that he had forgotten about. And he knew the children would love to see a book such as this. It chronicled the lives of several Watchman and it demonstrated how people of their time kept records like they did in the past. Books were not as common now as they were and most were destroyed in the past. There were a few, but not many.

His mother began to fuss that he wasn’t eating and the food was getting cold. He put the book on top of his mother’s basket after wrapping it in a towel for protection. His father added some writing materials and several blank scrolls. He knew how much his son loved to write. As the Watchman returned to his food, he noticed that his bowl had been re-filled and there were several more biscuits added to the plate. He started to complain that it was too much food and he’d never be able to finish it, but the look his mother gave him told him that his complaint wasn’t going to fly with her. He finished off the oatmeal and one more of the biscuits and asked his mother if he could take the rest of the bread with him. To that she agreed and he wrapped the remaining biscuits up in a towel. He then leaned back and patted his full stomach. His mother came to him, brushing the hair out of his eyes and said, If you would come down more often you could get more meals like this one, hot and fresh. Look at you, nothing but skin and bones; you don’t eat enough to keep your strength up. And you know how much I love to cook for you and your father.

He nodded at her ongoing complaint, hugged both of them, and with a ‘love you’, he grabbed his basket and headed back to his wall. On the way, he suddenly had a twinge of guilt as his eyes spied some dried food his mother had slipped into the basket while he was eating. He knew that they were saving that for the winter and he didn’t like for his family to be short of food for the long, hard winters they had. He also knew no amount of arguing would change her mind, so he just thanked his Father and asked Him to bless them for it and extend their supplies to last through the upcoming winter. This was not a wealthy village, but they usually had enough to go around for everyone during the long cold winter. These people would share all that they had and enjoy doing it. This way there was no lack for anyone. As he made his way to the ladder, he again asked the Heavenly Father to bless his parents.

The basket he was carrying made him think of the village and its lack of wealth. They were located in a barren, desolate area. There were areas of vegetation, enough to feed their flocks as there was also fields that had been cleared to plant wheat and corn. The harvests were usually poor as the land hungered for nutrients. But they made do and knew that the Lord would take care of the rest. They did have an artisan well that was carefully hidden in the village square. In fact, the village had been built around it. To water their flocks and their fields they had to draw it up, put it into containers and take it to where it was needed. They didn’t get too much rain, but between the rain, the river, and the well, it was enough. They also used the manure to enrich the soil as best they could. Every little thing helped and this village was surviving, sometimes barely, but surviving. And for that they gave all the glory to God.

On some evenings one or more of his siblings would make the trip up the wall to share some food with him. It was never very much, but he didn’t eat that much anyway. He was just happy to share the time with them. They didn’t happen often, but whenever they did, he’d enjoy it to the fullest. They would talk about most anything and everything, but usually the conversation focused on their parents. The Watchman, since he spent most of his time on the wall, wasn’t around his parents as much as the others were and he depended on them to keep him in the know about how they were doing. He knew his parents wouldn’t bother him with their troubles, but he still wanted to know that things were ok. His parents were all alone in their hut with all their children gone, but it was still nice to see them and catch up on how they were doing.

And whenever he had a meal on the wall, he always saved some for the other mouths he had to feed, and there were plenty of them. Various animals would come to his hut in the hope of a handout. Birds, squirrels, mice, and even an occasional lizard would fill the seats in his hut, their eyes pleading, their mouths open in the hopes of a morsel being offered. And some of them would resort to stealing if he wasn’t watching close enough. Even that would happen under a smile because since he didn’t get much company, anything was better than nothing, even if they stole from him. None of the beggars went away without something, and sometimes they would stay for a head scratch or in the case of the lizard, a belly rub. The hut on the wall not only provided for the Watchman but it also acted as a small zoo whenever it was mealtime.

When he reached the ladder leading up to the outer wall, he could hear the children playing in the distance. They too would soon make the long journey up the ladder for their lesson. This was his time to have them and he was grateful for it. He would love to have them more often but since they had a lot to learn their time was all accounted for. It did take all of them to help raise them up with the knowledge to survive and there wasn’t an adult in the village that wanted to let the children down. Even though it took away some of the time he would use to catch up on his sleep; he didn’t mind. He had grown used to a few hours’ sleep a day so the time with the children didn’t bother him. Actually, he loved it.

He’d give most of his lessons in story form. They’d be warnings, cautions, directions, encouragement, and at times, corrections. Most of his stories spoke of how to go through life walking in the right direction, and always with their Heavenly Father. The story he had for them this week would cover most of the above. He knew that the story was a hard one, but there was hope in it despite all the hardships. This would be a story of choices. Unfortunately for the main character in the story, most of the choices were the wrong ones. But it seemed that those wrong choices were the only way some people could actually learn. He just hoped the children would understand and, in the end, make the right decisions themselves.

He had just put his basket down in the shack when he heard the first of about twenty children scrambling over the top of the ladder and coming down the walk to his hut. With one voice they all shouted their greetings and ran into the waiting arms of their Watchman. All got their customary hugs and kisses. From the youngest, who was barely five to the oldest, they were free with their display of affection. After all, they knew that the Apostle Paul did tell them to greet one another with a holy kiss. And that they took as literal. Once all that was done, they took their seats and patiently waited for the Watchman to begin.

The youngest looked up at him with her big brown eyes and showed unconditional love and trust and asked, What are you going to tell us about today? You aren’t going to make us watch the sand some more, are you? He laughed and said no, they didn’t have to watch sand today. Kids today were so brutally honest. He loved it. He bent over and picked her up and asked, ‘What would you like to hear today?"

Please, please, a story. One about somebody and what they did for a living, or something like that. That would be nice, better than watching the sand some more. He looked around at the rest of the children, his eyes asking them the same question. They too said ‘story’ and he could see that they were ready. He sat the little one down on his stool which made her feel important and got him a huge smile. He picked up the water skin and passed it around so they could all get a drink. The little girl was the last one to get a drink and after putting the stopper back in place, looked up at him and asked, Well, do we get a story? He smiled back at her and nodded his head.

He asked them if they had all finished their morning chores, making their beds, gathering firewood for their parents then asking permission to come up the wall. For them, going to the wall even though it was their week to be taught by the Watchman, they still had to ask for permission to do it. The top of the wall was the most guarded place in the village, so it wasn’t just another play area. The children knew this, and the only play time they would ever get up there would be the time that the Watchman gave to them, and that wasn’t often simply because he didn’t want any of them to slip and take a fall. It was a long way down and the sudden stop could be a problem for any of them.

They all said yes. All of the teachers in the village had taught them that there are priorities in life and to be sure that they kept them. Even the five-year-old had things she had to do, and the Watchman was sure that she did the best she could do. The one thing the children didn’t know was that the Watchman was in touch with their parents to know how the children were doing at home. He believed that none of them would outright lie, but it was to ensure that what was important for them was being taken care of. These children were being taught how to live the way their Heavenly Father instructed them to live and they were being blessed because of that. There was no backtalk or disrespect. All these children understood that all were under authority, even the elders, and that everyone needed to understand that.

So, what do you want to hear? Another story of great battles, or shall we talk about how to start a garden, or tending the flocks? I know, how about a story about the two who are getting married this weekend? Everyone started talking at once and he held up his hand for them to stop. I was only kidding with you. I have a story that I think you might really enjoy. It is one of a man that lived during the time of the lost generation, the last before the Great Destruction. How does that sound?, he asked. He could see that they were all anxious for something like that. This told them that the story would be a true one and that was the type they liked the best. And like always, they hoped that something good would happen for the people in the story.

He motioned for the oldest to come forward and stand next to him. He asked him to watch the foothills while he told the story, but that he also had to listen while he watched. The boy smiled from ear to ear. The Watchman had been watching this one for years now and he was sure that he would make a fine watchman someday. He had the look and one night while in prayer for the boy the Father had shown him that what was needed was for him to train him without letting him know why. He positioned himself on the wall facing out, his demeanor firm for the task and his eyes constantly moved over the vastness of the desert that surrounded them. The Watchman saw this and was confident they were all in good hands.

Today’s story is about someone my family actually knew of. It happened a long time ago. His life was a difficult one, but I am not going to get ahead of myself. Let’s get started, shall we? With a final glance over the wastelands around them and a wink at the boy sitting next to him on the wall, he started…

chapter two

It was a cool night in the city. It was late December, and most of the homes in the neighborhood had multi-colored lights outlining their homes, along with snowmen made from plastic lining their driveways. Some had reindeer pulling sleights, angels floating in trees, and candy canes in their windows. All but the last house on the block, just before the wash. It was dark and foreboding. Some light escaped from the small lamp that was lit in the living room. Even with the stars twinkling their lights and moon causing shadows to reach deep into the surrounding homes, there was a sense of danger, fear, and terror.

There was a noise out on the driveway. The tired old car had made it home one more time. The occupant fought his way out of the car, as it was the habit for the driver’s side door to stick. He cursed it, slammed it shut and headed for the front door. His condition was always the same. Drunk. It was his way of not having to deal with the pressures of his soon to be larger family. The very fact that his wife had gotten pregnant was almost more than he could handle, but that would be getting worse soon enough since her delivery date was only a week away. She had survived the beatings he had given her during the length of her pregnancy, along with enduring his badgering whenever she spent any money on items the newborn would need.

And for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why he was so possessive of his money. Most of what she spent she had made as a teller of one of the banks in town. His job was well paying at the time, and they had very few household bills to speak of. It was a time of pay as you go, not charge needless things on credit cards. She knew that most of his pay went to the liquor he poured into himself on a daily basis. She knew that he didn’t want any money spent on foolish things and he felt that the food and clothing he brought into the house was good enough. Unfortunately, he came from a long line of alcoholics, and it was obvious he had no intention of breaking that line. In fact, it looked as if he was trying to get it to new and unreachable heights.

And so were those he brought in with him, although he could neither see or hear them. They had been there for so long that most of them felt as if this man was going to live eternity. Some of them, those in higher ranking positions had been there for generations, and were anxious to continue their service and their ranking with this new-born, unless it didn’t make it. Tonight, the Strongman, the one that controlled all that happened to this human, was going to exert all his strength and authority and attempt to elevate himself even higher in the spiritual realm. He knew some of the future events in this child’s life and it was his task to see to it that it was not fulfilled. If he pulled this off, not only would his stature rise in the master’s eyes, he would be able to mock those who for generations had been mocking him.

All right, listen up, all of you. I want the unborn destroyed tonight. It is getting close to the day when it is supposed to be born and that I do not want to have happen. I don’t care how you do it, I just want it done. He looked at the legions surrounding him. None would look directly at him. Some out of fear, but most out of disgust. He was of medium height, relatively well built, his black wings folded neatly behind him acting as a shield, his claws, both the ones on his hands as well as his feet, were long and deadly. He drooled constantly, and the hateful sounds that came from his throat tended to frighten most of those that were vying for his position. And the smell, it hung around him like the smell of death, thick and nasty. There had been many that hadn’t responded as fast as he wanted and they felt the sting of his claws raking the rotted flesh off their backs. And the notches on his sword reminded most of those with him just how many he had sent back to the pit for failure. He was, to say the least, imposing.

All strongmen were created in the same manner. The human adversary, Ha Satan, Lucifer, could not create life as it is since only the Heavenly Father could create the soul, but he did create after his kind. Evil, complete evil. To make a strongman, the humans must voice hate at an object of their creation, as the man had done to his yet unborn son. When the adversary heard this, he reached into his very soul, the one blackened by pride and then filled with hate when he was removed from his heavenly position. He would pull one single cell from that soul and from that he would create a being that answered only to him, or any national prince he was assigned to work under. It would contain all the hate, poison and loathing his master had for the human race as well as the Heavenly realm.

The lesser spirits referred to this one as the Strongman. They too had names, but that is not important now. Some had names that fit their actions such as hate, fear, revenge, lust, these being the more common names. Then there were the ones that caused greater damage but were harder to recognize. They went by names such as deceit, abortion, worthlessness, failure, and so on. They there are the ones that caused total destruction, like murder, suicide and perversion. Thought all the spirits wanted to get in on the action tonight, abortion, fear, and murder would get the lions share. But they would also get the bulk of the blame if the little episode the Strongman had planned for the woman and child failed.

The rest of the demons hung back, twisting their hands in anticipation of the night’s festivities. They too were drooling, wiping it on the backs of the ones in front of them. They hissed suggestions to their human host, prodding him into a greater rage as he stumbled over the flowerpot sitting next to the garage. They had whipped him into a frenzy tonight, as per their orders. And now they were hoping to see blood fly. Rage and anger had a death grip on the man’s psyche and were twisting it for all they were worth. Alcohol, rather the spirit of alcohol, had done his job all too well and was sitting on top of a little Christmas tree in the living room, not wanting to miss the show that he had gotten started just as the man left work for home. The after-work bar visit was his doing.

He stumbled through the front door, falling flat on his face in the middle of the room. His bleary eyes scanned the room, looking for an outlet for his pent-up rage. He found it, sitting on the couch dutifully