Resurrection

Chapter 38 : The Maker is my Strength

"I guess so." She replied.

"Can you touch the edge?" I asked.

She let her finger slide over the tip and one side of the serated edge.

"It's also quite sharp." She commented.

I felt like a magician at this point, talking to his lovely assistant Sharon before performing his act.

"Would you please stab me?"

"What?!"

A number of gasps escaped the mouths of the gobsmacked.

"Please stab me in the hands, right in the middle, where Jesus had been nailed to the cross."

"I'm not going to do that."

"Please trust me. It will be alright. The angel told me to have faith and I'm asking you for the same."

"I can't do it!" she cried.

"Please, I would do it myself but I need someone else to do it. These people need to believe."

She stood there for a moment and tried to fathom what I was asking her to do. At this point, a confident voice boomed across the room.

"I'll do it!" to my complete and utter lack of surprise, Ned agreed to do the deed.

The bell tolls for thee Ned, it tolls for thee you smug, sanctimonious prick.

He could possibly be first on my shit-list although this action would play right into my hands.

This became quite literal as he very quickly seized the blade off Beverley and plunged it into my left hand. I remained calm as I politely told him, pretending to wince just a little.

"Now the other hand." I commanded.

He stabbed it again into my right hand, letting the knife go through. In each of my modified appendages, the blood was starting to gush out on onto the church floor. In unison, each of the horrified members of my captive congregation issued the usual cries of alarm and astonishment. As Ned pulled the knife out, Beverley grabbed it off him for fear he was going to start stabbing me everywhere in an animalistic frenzy. I pushed the hands together, feigning some measure of pain and in a prayer like stance as I humbly collapsed to the floor. The onlookers could see that I was prostrate, kneeling in prayer with bloodied hands that were spewing forth the blood of my antichrist, dripping on the floor quicker than the outpouring of sacramental wine. I kneeled there for a moment and just before people contemplated ringing the paramedics, I rose up. I allowed each arm to raise up in unison, I was caressing the universe with my blood-soaked hands. I turned the palms of my hands outwards to face the audience.

"I still say it's a trick" exclaimed Ned.

I glared at him, letting the burning embers of my eyes bear into his skull. I spoke coldly but very succinctly and yet soft enough for only Ned and Beverley to hear.

"Careful Ned. You don't want to be making accusations when I know what you do in the dark. Maybe I should let your dearest wife know about your grinder account or maybe she should know about your secret rendezvous'. Where else do you go on these precious fishing trips?"

His eyes went white with terror and he promptly shut his mouth.

"Sorry, I believe you too." He said loudly after a long and awkward silence.

He scurried back to his pew.

In this moment, to the captive onlookers it would appear in only a manner of seconds. In nanoseconds and life at the cellular level it was a lengthy process to use my genetic power to start recoding the cells in the middle of my palm to spread outwards and pump out the necessary lymphocytes to start repairing all the damaged tissue. At the surface level it was only a matter of seconds before my hands started to miraculously heal over.

I addressed the audience very simply, speaking only slightly above a whisper: "Revelation."

Beverley yelled out "It's a miracle!"

Miracles were incredibly rare and the looks on the faces of these rubes was absolutely breathtaking. In the midst of their astonishment, their eyes reflected a spark of the divine and the relief of hope.

"Brothers and sisters, I'm sure you understand now that I am here. I am the way, the truth and the light."

And the lies, and the dark.

Beverley walked towards me and clutched my hand tightly in hers.

"We were lost and in these dark times, much like Brian, we needed a new Prophet to lead the way. Please look towards our new Father Abraham."

I knew I could count on Beverley.

Now I needed some more trusted allies to continue my crusade.

We few, we happy few were all assailed by hope as this squad of glorified Orangutans would follow me into the next apocalyptic renaissance.

I turned again to address the crowd, shouting gleefully "All glory to the maker!"

They almost mechanically replied. "All glory to the maker."

Tears of resplendent joy dripped down my face before I beamed a grin that would linger on their scorched souls well after this service had ended.