CHAPTER 1: GENESIS
First off, let me start out by saying God is real. I know because I've seen him. That sounds crazy. I know, but if you think that's hard to believe you're going to love this next part. The world is coming to an end and I might be your last hope.
That was a terrible introduction. I understand that but if there was a way to say it without sounding like I've completely lost my mind, trust me, I would have taken that route. I know what you're thinking, "not another Jesus freak." Lord knows, you've had your fill of the crazy campus preacher guy with the sign that says coughing in public is a deadly sin, or the fire and brimstone money swindling preacher that gives deals on salvation like he's selling it on eBay. These Jesus freaks can be annoying, I know, but let's be honest, it's not like you're not used to liars, scam artists, hypocrites, and perverts in the secular world. Case and point, listen to the bible thumping, sweater wearing, dress to the ankle Christian girl with the sweet disposition, because if you don't I might be your last hope.
All of you people who are calling me ignorant and judgmental, I'm not surprised. Go ahead, disregard what I'm saying, close the book, and go on with your life. Trust me, you'll live to regret it. I'm not someone you want to depend on.
Those of you who think that this whole good versus evil thing is a hoax and the idiots on their knees praying are weak. Do what thou wilt. Live your life ignoring God, catering to your own earthly desires and believing everything you're taught by the establishment. But if just a hint of what I'm saying tugs at your mind and heart, heed my words and listen to my story.
My name is Timothy Eli.
I am ten years old and I hate most things. No seriously, I do. I'm sorry if that's not what you expected. But to be totally honest, I can't say I've lived long enough to know if it's normal or not.
I know what you're thinking. Why? What could cause a ten year old child to feel this way?
Chill. I'm not lying in graveyards or listening to rock songs backwards. I'm just frustrated. I'm frustrated with the fact that I'm ten years old with no money. I'm frustrated that I have to go to school to learn about things that I don't care about. I'm frustrated that I have to go to bed at nine o'clock when all the good shows don't come on until nine-thirty. I'm frustrated that people always tell me what to do; at home it's my dad, at school it's my teacher, at practice it's my coach. I feel like a prisoner in a work release program and I hate it.
It seems like the older I get the more I realize my restrictions. To be honest, those things never mattered to me before.
I never cared about anything outside of my small little world. I was a religious person or at least as religious as a kid could be. I read the bible about as much as the English almanac and relied on my father and pastor to tie-up the loose ends. I remembered a verse or two but when you're ten, books without pictures don't exactly send you jumping for joy. But all was well, my dad always told me to believe Jesus died for my sins, take him as my lord and savior and I would be okay. Pretty easy exchange for me, guy dies, takes unspeakable punishment and endures the pain and sin of the world and all I have to do is believe it. That was my kind of deal. It required little effort from me and that was the way I liked it. I figured I'd live a long life, marry, have 1 or 2 kids; twins, maybe a girl and a boy, adopt a British Bulldog, die and go to heaven. But God had other plans and those plans required more effort than I could have ever imagined.
It all started on a sunny, Friday morning. I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling thinking about the day ahead me. I sighed and stretched as the cross that lay at the foot of my bed caught my attention. I took a second for prayer because, considering what day it was, I was going to need it. It was homecoming at Angel Haven High and, being the little brother of the town superstar, I was dreading the eventful agenda that accompanied that title.