The sky was an angry grey, with its lightning fingers caressing the earth menacingly; after letting out a sadistic laugh in the form of thunder. One such finger touched the high steeple of the St. Emmanuel Catholic Church of Myrtle Springs, Texas, knocking out the power. Among the thunder the feeble cries had now turned into a screaming whisper in TJ's ears. A whisper that fueled his rage to a fevered pitch. With a pounding head, he frantically slammed the brass crucifix on the floor, continuously. Years of rage took the form of tears. "The lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me besides the still waters," resounded in his ears. The screaming whispers were now a constant yell as the tears turned crimson.
He stopped slamming the crucifix and looked at his big, bloodstained hands. He looked as they grew smaller and smaller until they became the hands of a child. He saw Noah Walker sprawled on the ground. His hand clasped onto the crucifix around his neck. Blood gushed out from the huge wound in his chest.
" Does the lord take care of all his people?" asked a young Kwame, an eager eyed , pleasant faced, young boy of 5.
"Yes! He does," replied Noah in his soft tone and heartwarming smile.
"Why has he chosen only a few people, has he not made everything?."
"He has! All people are his people, some know it and some don't. It's like you and I; the food we eat, the water we drink, the air we breathe seems to be taking care of our body which we can see, outwardly. Yet, the body is an amalgamation of the organs within too."
"The rebels! The rebels who take so many lives, ransack our villages, mistreat our mothers and sisters, kill our brothers and fathers. Has the lord made them too?"
"The lord has his reasons beyond the comprehension of our petty, human perceptions."
" Will this all be over soon? Will the lord show his mercy here too? Sometimes I am scared of all this war and hate, it makes me sick. When I become big I will spread the word of the lord, so that there is no violence in this world then." Said Kwame, innocently.
"Someday you will, my boy, and the lord and the psalm 23 shall be your strength," he said as he put one arm around the young boy's shoulder, pushing him to the ground as distant sounds of gunshots and cars pierced the prevalent peace. Kwame's mother was running towards them."It's the rebels," she shouted. Her voice laced with utter panic and terror.
Noah Walker, a war veteran, joined the army at a young age during World War Two. He had done his time in NAM as well. As a part of the operation Neptune or D-Day, he thought he had seen it all, however, NAM changed it all. A harrowing experience! Especially the guerilla war tactics. It had been something new for him and all the others with him. Natural beauty torn apart by the ambitions of man, splashed all over with human blood and genuine hatred in the air. It made his stomach churn every time. He retired as a Major. He had seen a lot of bloodshed during his times. Humbled by his expe, he turned to the local church and joined the local clergy in New York. He married his childhood sweetheart and was gifted with a son. Unfortunately, his days of seeing bloodshed were not over. Here at home it was the same as NAM, A guerilla war. However, here, one didn't know the enemy. He lost his wife and son in a mugging incident which pushed him to spread the word of the lord beyond New York, his clergy and his parish. After years of traveling and spreading the word in different places of the world, he finally ended up in Zatchi.
Zatchi was a peaceful village close to the border of Congo in South Africa, situated in the deep waters and inhabited by local villagers, mainly farmers and hunters. Kwame was one of the native villagers.
Zatchi was rich in mineral resources. A beautiful village. To the locals it was a gift of nature, surrounded by lush green hills, Sparkling waterfalls and pristine lakes and ponds. Scattered with a few huts, made mainly of wood and mud: A heaven on earth. Then the greed of man entered the soul of the divine village and it was shattered by man's lust for power and money.
Noah's gut churned again. He looked in the direction of the gunshots. It was the same feeling. He was back in NAM. With the quick reaction and agility of years of war, he pushed Kwame under the bench they had been sitting on and ran towards his mother, who was now almost upon them followed by a volley of gunshots from an automatic. He was just in time to catch her as she breathed her last. The gunshots continued accompanied with shouts of anguish, pain, merriment and mirth.Noah turned towards Kwame, Kwame's eyes were filled with terror, terror mixed with rage and hatred. Sweat poured down his countenance as though he had been standing in a heavy downpour.
Noah knew better as the war cry shattered his eardrums, down till his heart. He ran towards Kwame, who was now running towards him with his war cry resounding over the entire chaos. Noah felt the first pierce his left shoulder, followed by a dull throbbing pain in his chest.
Kwame pushed Noah's, now limp body to one side. His eyes were open and his face was turned towards Kwame. In his outstretched hand he held a bloody crucifix. Kwame looked at the blood stained crucifix with insane rage boiling up within him. He snapped his hand up towards his neck and mercilessly broke the crucifix given to him by Noah. Slowly and terrified he stood up, walked towards Noah, kneeled down next to his lifeless body, opened his other hand and pressed the crucifix into his palm and gently closed it. He straightened himself out, looked down at his blood stained hands and sweat poured down his entire body. Tears of rage turned into tears of realization. TJ was scared to look beyond his blood stained hands. The stench of fresh blood filled TJ's senses again as he slowly and deliberately lowered his hands. With labored breath he looked down. A loud crack of thunder brought him back to reality and TJ's trembles started again.
Trembling, he turned around as the thundering grew louder. A storm had been building up. The evening sky was overcast with a saddening gray. In the growing darkness, TJ walked towards the door of the St. Emmanuel Catholic Church. With trembling hands, he reached for the door knob but stopped, turned around and as if in a trance walked back. He, violently bent down by the now dead Father Patrick, as a pool or blood was beginning to form around him, coloring the floor, a dark red. With sweat pouring from his brow he reached for the burning crucifix that lay beside the parish priest, picked it up and tucked it into his pocket. He then walked out of the church on trembling legs and racing thoughts. Outside the church one storm met another; one within and human, the other without and natural.