Showing posts with label Stephen Faulkner. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stephen Faulkner. Show all posts

Wednesday, 15 February 2023

The War of the Jesi by Stephen Faulkner, new wine

 When Jesus first appeared in New York City no one paid him any attention. When he appeared in Cairo, it came about with the same result. However, when he simultaneously appeared in Chicago, London, Madrid, Beijing, Los Angeles, Buenos Aires, Melbourne and Miami, people began to take notice and ask questions.  The questions weren’t enough, though, especially since only one man had the answers – and he wasn’t raising his voice in the din to admit to anything.  Also, the questions did not come soon enough.

It became evident very quickly that the Jesus delusion was not isolated to one person in this locale and another person in another city. It swiftly became epidemic in proportion, then pandemic in scope.  Once the disease (for that was what it was assumed to be) had run its course and there were no more new cases reported, the total number of cases quantified at nearly seventy five percent of all human males.  With counseling and drugs the cure rate only reached eighty percent of those afflicted.  It may sound oddly disparaging to say that “only” eighty percent were cured of their delusions. Bear in mind, though, that this still left something more than half a billion Jesuses roaming the Earth, preaching peace and love of one’s fellow man. Most of them were satisfied to conduct their ministering to their local neighborhoods. Still others saw it as their destiny to preach to a wider audience. As they travelled, their message of love and peace was one that drew followers of a more nonviolent bent.

The ones who went in for televangelism, however, were the ones who began to foment the real trouble. Each of them demanded fealty to their cause since each one swore that he was the one, true and only Jesus and that all the others were mere charlatans, pretenders and the worst sort of con men preying on the souls of the gullible. None of these Jesuses – later laughingly dubbed the “Jesi” (pronounced Jeese-eye) by the press – would back down from their individual insistence that each, alone, was the real Jesus. A continual campaign of words was conducted across the radio stations, television channels and internet websites on all the continents of Earth.  Soon terrorist tactics were being employed: letter bombs and viral pathogens were sent through the mails to varied radio and television stations and website offices. The Chicago Jesus was forced to travel with an entourage that included a small private police force; the Paris, Madrid, Rio de Janeiro and Beijing Jesi soon followed suit with their own traveling support staff.  Threats were made and kept, assassinations were soon the event of choice among the Jesi. The ranks began to thin. Half a billion soon became a mere fifty million Jesi, all still arguing and fighting what they called “the good fight.”

And then, several Jesi in South America formed a coalition and they were soon successful in recruiting the Jesi from the rest of that continent to their cause. Word got out and the European, North American and Asian Jesi each formed their own coalitions. Arms were consolidated and new weapons were purchased on the black market.

The Australian Jesi, minding their own business on their isolated mini-continent, didn’t stand a chance.

 ***

            In the midst of the worst of the many battles, nuclear and conventional, that have become known as the Jesi Wars, there appeared man in long flowing robes of the sort worn in the historical period known as Biblical. He came riding a cloud out of the heavens and was mistaken, at first, for an incoming ballistic missile and was summarily fired upon. The anti-ballistic missiles thus used simply vanished before they could get within a kilometer of their intended target. Radio, television and internet communications soon carried the news that all battles among the feuding Jesi throughout the world had been brought to a mysteriously sudden halt.

            Once the man in the flowing robes had landed and his cloud had dissipated he surveyed the battlefield and its accoutrement of weaponry, artillery, ordnance and the usual uniform costumery of war.  Then did his countenance take on an enraged mien and, in a voice that would vie with the thunder of the heavens for its sheer basso volume, Jesus shouted:

            “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!!”

About the author 

Stephen Faulkner is a native New Yorker, transplanted with his wife, Joyce, to Atlanta, Georgia. They are now both retired and living in Central Florida. Steve has published Aliana in Paradise in 2018 and Lunar Effects in 2020. Speculations (short stories), was released in 2022. Order them at Amzaon.com.

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Saturday, 17 December 2022

Saturday Sample: Speculations by Stephen Faulkner

 

Preface

All the best stories ever written have begun in the author’s mind with a simple question that starts with the phrase, “What if…?” This is particularly true about speculative fiction, that catch-all genre that includes the varied realms of science fiction, fantasy and horror. 

It is a simple phrase and it would seem to be the impetus for only simple stories. Add other elements to the story – or even additional what-ifs – and a simple tale expands in complexity and interest for the reader with near exponential vitality while retaining the simplicity of the question that gave the story its original purpose. 

What if…?  

What if ancient aliens left immense guideposts for humans to find in order to aid them in their quest for knowledge as they move into the space age?  Such is the question posited by Arthur C. Clarke in his short story, The Sentinel which was later the inspiration for the motion picture, 2001: A Space Odyssey and the subsequent novel of the same title.

What if, on a planet that is caught in a continuous winter, there were a race of humans who could change their sex from male to female and back to male in response to the sexual opportunity of the moment?  This question is answered in Ursula K. LeGuin’s novel, The Left Hand of Darkness.

What if robots could think and feel much as human beings do? Such is the simple query put by Isaac Asimov in such novels as Caves of Steel, The Naked Sun and Robots of Dawn as well as in the stories collected in I, Robot.

Ask yourself this; what if a being from another planet came to Earth with the power to intuit the meaning of nearly every aspect of humanity. Here you have the basis for Robert Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land.

What if a dinosaur were to be transported to the modern era and become a private detective?  Eric Garcia’s series of novels begun in 2001 with Anonymous Rex attempts to answer this very whimsical question.

 What if…? It is a simple phrase that can engender stories as varied and expansive as the collective imagination of the entire human race. Such stories can be poignant, frightening, awe inspiring, humorous or sad. They all are speculative in nature and speculation always begins with that one simple phrase.

 What if…? 

 

 

Sunday, 10 October 2021

Testimony

 

by Stephen Faulkner

red wine spritzer over crushed ice

                                                                                              

As I walk through the door and it slaps shut behind me there is not a sound to be heard in

the room but a deep, stentorian voice. Right away, no waiting, the pronouncement of guilt is made:  Suicide.

I am allowed to make a plea on my own behalf and I do: Not guilty.

I request to stand ground in my own defense. An unusual request, says the voice. I say that I realize this but that is my request. Answer?

A pause and then: Granted. Are you prepared?

Yes, I say. I am.

Stand for examination, says the voice. I stand, testimony at ready.

The light in the small room, this waiting chamber, dims and the voice, heard in the mind, as if only a thought: State your case, then.

A pause as I gather my thoughts, the memories still so fresh…. Gethsemane, the garden, lost in prayers, the beseeching, pleading, belaboring, sobbing -- all for naught. It is all there before the eye of the mind and spirit. The unseen rival on his way to the market, seller of my

flesh, my blood, the one with whom I had just broken bread, who I trusted…to do as he had done. Testimony in hindsight of those chances not taken to escape, to flee, to hide when I knew that I could, yes I could have, you see, the power was at my disposal. I was an exceptional man, a divine man though I thought myself normal in most respects. But to use them, though, those powers over others in that special time, that only time, would have been to abdicate and lose everything. Life, then, would have lost all meaning and I would have been dead, then, anyway. I would have been dead even though living if I had chanced to run, to hide and outwit my fate. The choice had already been made, you see, at another level, not by me. Not my will, but thine, oh Lord, my heavenly Father. There were no more chances to take, choices to be made, no other possibilities to pursue but to allow…the inevitable.

So, instead of death in life I chose it to be on that day, that day when the dying would be done and done only once. Instead, then…I cried. Powerless, bewildered, prayerful, I allowed myself that final human emotion of sheer terror at the thought of what was to come to assail me, sweep over me and be done, once and for all.

Chances, possibilities, all abandoned at once, then, the power I had once held dispersed in fear. The force that had held them away while I spoke that last time with the One was broken and they entered the garden. I was kissed (Hadn’t I loved him enough? What malice had he dreamed up and attributed to me that I might have done to him?) And I was taken.

It was then that it truly began and was totally out of my hands, out of my power to control. A pause. Testimony concluded.

 

 But, why…? begins the voice in the room, but it does not continue. Another pause elapses.

The door ahead of me swings open to the blinding light – blinding to the eyes, to the physical senses of the living, but not to the spirit. Through the light I see the path and the way. I see home over the low rise there, just as I had left it. This, then, is the verdict and result, all in one.

I would be afraid to go in there, says a new voice behind me. Bedraggled, listless, a puppet driven by sensation, perception and mind, he had walked in without my hearing his coming. Intent on the light from the door, my true direction, I had not been aware of his entering behind me. I would be afraid, he says again. I am so afraid of the dark.

Do I know you? I ask. But of course, Brother, of course I do. Thirty silver pieces and you were rid of me, weren’t you?

Rid of myself is more like it, says he. But I knew what I was doing. It seemed a good deal to make at the time. And later? He pauses, taking a shuddering breath. The halter made a strong rope, a taut noose for my neck. I died quickly.

He points to the door through which I shall pass and shakes his tousled head. You go through there with such joy. Not I. I shall be terrified. It is so dark and cold through there. I can feel it already.

I follow his gaze to the open door, to the light pouring through as from a beacon, and the light dims to black as his eyes become my own. Devils, unseen dangers and tortures lurking in the undulant shadows, at every turn, all paths of molten clay, rich with pain, yes. That is what he sees.

I turn to him and smile toward this man who is quaking in his tracks, knowing his turn to be next at the bench. Nothing to fear, I say.

Huh! He gives a death’s head laugh. Not for you!

Nor for you, friend, for I shall be with you.

With me…Master? He uses the old title he had for me in life, but hesitantly. You?

Take my hand, Judas. Where I go, thou shalt be with me.

And so, hand in hand like children we step forward through the door. Fear and joy, light and dark, warm and cold, love and hate – all. We enter.

Life, again, for my beloved Brother and me.

About the author

Stephen Faulkner is a writer who enjoys taking the world apart and putting it back together in strange and entertaining ways. His work has appeared in Aphelion Webzine, Sanitarium Magazine, Fictive Dream and The Literary Hatchet. He has published two novels, Aliana in Paradise and Lunar Effects, both available through Amazon.com.