Involuntary Reaction

"It's for your own good," his mother said. The men in the rubber green chemsuits hosed him down with a viscuous liquid foam that stung like bees. He struggled and they pushed him to the floor. It hurt a lot. His mother's voice over the loud speaker said, "Stop resisting. The demons will not like this."

"The list of demands is not that long but it must be obeyed completely and for all eternity without one mistake, do you understand?" she shouted over the loud speaker. The foam, he noticed, was only to hold the small insects suspended and stinging. The bees were moving like drugged cattle, stinging when touched. And they touched his skin.

He didn't blame the bees. That's what they did. He blamed the men in the rubber suits and his mother. They hosed him off with water and dried him roughly. Mother came in. "There, you look much better. Do you feel better?"

"The were stinging me," he said.

"You have a lot of cuts," she said, smiling in an oil puddle of makeup and sugar sick smile. "Of course they stung you. Now, at least you look more human." The demons laughed. She's made fun of him again.

"Now," she said, "Doctor Hammerfall will open your mind up and tear out what we don't like and make you sit still. You will take these medications." She handed him a few beetles and one wasp. "You have to take them Michael, you have to. You'll get better, no promise." The bugs squirmed in his hands and down with throat with the can of oil the gave him to drink. The wasp stung his throat.

"Good job, Mike," a voice said.

"I've got a lot of pressure on my right now," Mike said.

"I know," Mike said. "The walls here are loaded with cameras and it's not an illusion. The demons will know all about this. I can handle this on my own, just let me out. I want to live my life."

"Michael," Dr. Hammerhead said, "We need to run some extensive and painful experiments on your stomach by using bullet drugs to dig out through your abdomen for a while. It will hurt for months, but after a while, you'll stop caring about the pain and next thing you know, razooom, you're free from the silly made up voices."

"Punch him," a silly voice said. Michael did not.

"This is the best way to make the demons leave is to get your mother off your back by shooting holes in your stomach with these bullet drugs. No more voices." Dr. Meathammer said.

"How do I know you're not a voice?" Michael asked. He knew Dr. Footsal wasn't a voice. He tested him.

"Because I can kill you without using your hands," the Doctor Suit answered.

"This fifty foot wall of bugs is no illusion. Bugs like cameras and cameras in bees," Michael said.

"Whatever, slick," Doc Meade said. "Pop those pills forever and you get better, dig?"

Michael knew then, Dr. Mangler was a demon. He planned his escape

The Offering

Counting back from twenty into the desert, but the air, not quite dry enough, and the spray of green across the plain. He smelled the ocean and a close fire of cedar. The boy lay tied on a stack of wood.



His expectations had been shattered. An ax leaned on a tree. The hill sloped down from him. He looked up at the blue sky. This strange moment in time bore little similarity to its literary account. Elements connected the two. The boy, the fire, the hill, the knife all marked the narrative, but this land and the land of the legend differed.

He understood the mind of the man and he looked for more wood, His son, now tied down, had gathered most of the share he rested upon. The boy, the boy, he thought. My only boy. He gathered wood.

At a few hours after midday, he completed the easy part of his task. A Being had spoke to him. This Being told him to slaughter his son as a sacrifice to Him. The covenant demanded absolute obedience. He had no choice, he agreed to withhold nothing.

The demand for his son as a sacrifice shocked him. He dared not question. El Shaddai aksed no question and accepted no question. The child, if the covenant were to be sealed, must die. He sharpened a small scythe, lifting it out of its pole. He said the blessing as the Being had taught. He stood and walked to the pile of wood.

They boy was quiet and calm. 'Father," he said, "If I die for The Lord, I benefit from your sin of murder. This is not what God intends." The father touched the blade to the exposed stomach of his son.

"Then, son," the father replied, "God wills my to be cursed and damned for murder, as Cain."
He paused. "You are my only work of good in this world. It makes little sense to me, but I do as the Lord commands,"

He raised the knife over his son'y belly. His sone never flinched. A moment in time stretched out and he saw a man dying a horrible death somehwre on a hill in the noonday darknes. The knife began to come down.

"Abraham! Abraham!" A divine voice shouted. The death blow never landed.

The phone wrang. Ben, shaking his head clear, answered it.

"What's the haps?" a familiar voice said.

"Nothing," Bend said, "Just a little meditation..."