Glenda II /Mothman sequel

truth of historical events penetrates to the present in many facets of life's experiences

“They didn’t know what they were doin’, right?” 

     “But will they really?” He asked his friend Jeff two questions out of night's thin air. They were rhetorically addressed and were more his subconscious speaking than his expecting a dialogue.

     Dan pondered for meaning as he stared into the fire. He still expected an answer  in his favor he thought, as he reflected the violence of his own rebellious life.

     “Will they really what?” Asked Jeff. He had been distracted by a scream far off across the opposite side of the canyon. He recalled a high situated cave about a half mile across on the brink of the canyon’s edge. He had considered its exploration, but it would have taken them off their course.

     “Did you hear that?”

     “Hear what? I didn’t hear anything. Dude, ‘smatter, what are you scared of?” “Here, this 'ill calm yer nerves.” He extended his forearm, offering his friend a joint of high grade weed.

     Jeff brushed it aside with expunged annoyance, “Dude really, I heard a scream, sounded like a chick!”

     “Probl’y a wildcat. Y’know how they sound.” “I was askin’ if the dudes that crucified Jesus Christ will be forgiven.”

     “Forgiven by who, Dude?” Jeff asked. He was plagued by the scream. The sound remained in his head, reverberating it’s echo, bouncing on his nerves.

     “Forgiven by God.”

     “Y’ mean, his Father? Yeah. He’s supposed to, that’s what I read anyway. He let his son be killed for us. A sacrificed lamb. But it'll be different the second time around."

     "Whaddaya mean?"

     "When he comes back he won't be a lamb. He'll come back a lion."

     “Dude, I couldn’t do that. F**k, I couldn’t die for someone else. And if I had a son I sure wouldn't sacrifice him for anyone else."

     Jeff stared at Dan for a moment.

     "What 're you staring at?"

     "Your ugly face. And second of all you're not God."

     He paused a moment for effect and then addressed Jeff with the third response to his question. "You mean to tell me you wouldn't take a bullet for me?"

     "No, not really, not consciously anyway, I'd have to be caught up in the moment, like if you were drowning or something. Then, I'd probably throw a line out to you. I wouldn't do prison time for you though, much less die for your crimes."

     "Well, I wouldn't for you either. You'd have to be a pretty hot chick if I did. But then again, if there was nothin' in it for me . . . 

     “He did miracles right in front of them."

     "Who did?"

     "Dude what are we talking about? Jesus Christ did. Quit smokin' weed, you're losing your focus."

     "When’s the last time you saw someone raised from the dead? Jeff asked his friend. “I read he stood in front of a grave and called out a dude who had been dead for three days already. The guy’s name was Lazarus. He walked out wrapped in bandages still. And stunk to high heaven."

     “Yep, and they killed him anyway. Just like they still do . . . John Kennedy, Robert, Martin Luther, . . . the list continues today. Don’t get involved with politics, right?”

     “Here, wrap yer mind around this.” Dan extended his arm out for a second time offering his buddy another chance at an extended high. This time Jeff took it mindlessly. It was instinctive, like breathing. It calmed him in fact, although he occasionally suffered bouts of paranoia. Paranoia was part of daily living for him. It was something he accepted. Just part of life.

     The Government controlled everything now. So much for power of and by the people. Democracy was only for idealists; a dream some professors debated in the world’s grid. He and Dan lived off the grid now. Paranoia had less of a grip on his life living in their mountain hideaways.

     No one could buy or trade any kind of product without a mark. The mark was like a universal bar code but far more advanced than the one used in the seventies for consumer products. It involved sophisticated computers. A chip was embedded in the body. It was part of ordinary life.

     All you had to do was go down to the nearest post office or grocery store and get a number invisibly imprinted on the skin. Just like buying a lottery ticket. Just as personal. Like getting your blood pressure checked. Unless you were in the military or government employ. You were assigned it by default. Slip your arm in a paddled hoop, push a round button, fully automated, just wait for the LED printout.

     Another scream.

     Goddamit Dan, that's a girl's scream!"

     The sound echoed eerily across black canyon walls in its diminishing decibel octaves.

     "And whaddo you want me to do about it?"

     "I dunno. But d****t, my skin's crawlin', she needs help."

     "You wanna take a bullet for her? Sacrifice yourself? It's dark out there and far. There's no way we can help her 'til morning. Even if we wanted to."

     "Yeah, and she'll probably be dead by then if some a*****e is violating her . . . "