The pied piper

By Anonymous

Leaves covered the ground like a great amber blanket. The day, now, was clear and crisp but tremendously windy, so that your coat was whipped against your body with such force that you were pushed about, backwards or sideways, when you stepped outside. Garbage cans tumbled down suburb streets. Day by day, the moon chased the sun more quickly out of the sky. A whisper of the summer’s previous heat returned each noon, a mere memory of beach bonfires and campfire s’mores. Autumn weather was funny that way. It went cold-warm-cold throughout the day, as if it were making up its mind on which season it wanted to be—summer, or winter.

Florence Vera was dressing for work and thinking that it wouldn’t be too difficult for fall weather to just be cold so that it would be much easier to decide how to dress in the morning…when she looked up, and all of a sudden, she stopped going on about how much she liked fleece.

A great shadow descended from the sky. 

No, descended was the wrong word. It appeared, a fantastic magic trick, a bit of sleight of hand, 30,000 feet up in the air. One moment it wasn’t there, and the next moment it was, swallowing the sun. Its faint silhouette sat just above the layer of smog that permeated the sky, and it seemed like it could just reach down and graze the tops of buildings. One thing was for certain: it was large. A thousand miles wide, a thousand miles deep. It was so grand, so vast, that it dared block the sun like a heavenly lampshade; and it seemed that way, divine, not belonging to this realm. The most curious thing was, Florence noted (with a generous amount of fear and a pinch of satisfaction), was that it became immediately cold. Dead-of-winter cold. So cold that the Hudson River froze immediately, that the dew froze on the morning grass, that snow began to delicately trickle from the now-dark sky. It stayed like this for some time, so while people were afraid of the suspicious monolith in the clouds, it didn’t harm them, and they couldn’t just stop everything because it was cold, could they? Florence certainly couldn’t.

That is, until the shadow spoke. 

“This is the Messiah,” it said plainly. It had a smooth, calming voice with a rhythmic cadence. 

“This is the Second Advent. I take it it is the year 2052, and I have returned.” And suddenly, a beam of light shot from the shadow, cut through the darkness like a hot knife, and somehow seemed to land weightily on the ground. Florence thought it looked nothing like the old Renaissance paintings. There were no cheerful cherubs fluttering about, tooting their long trumpets, announcing His return, the sky hadn’t cracked open as had been foretold, it wasn’t a warm summer day that Christ had chosen to return; in fact, Florence called it “cold as Hell.” But still, it was magnificent. The snow swirled reverently around the beam of light. And ever so slowly, a man appeared. First the feet peeked through, sandaled but clean; then the body, dressed in a holy white robe; then the shoulders; then His face. He had dark skin, curly short hair and beard, and plain features—nothing at all like the flowing-bearded, pale-skinned depiction of the Messiah. He floated slowly downwards in his ray of sunshine, untouched by the howling storm as it raged around him. When He touched the barren, cracked dirt beneath Him, grass sprung up in waves. Animals gathered at His feet and looked up patiently—pigeons, rats, and other feral city creatures became tame in His presence. Passerbys stared, entranced by the Man from Space.  

He smiled, shyly, and lifted His palms to the group. There, in the center of each, was a scar of crucifixion, a sign that Christ had once beaten death. The crowd gasped. It was Him!

“Put your finger here,” Jesus said. “See my hands…Stop doubting and believe” (John 20:27).

☆☆☆

“Mommy, won’t you please let me get it?” 

A girl clutched her Jesus plushie (A limited time offering!) with white knuckles, looking up at her mother pleadingly. It was the Savior Tour, the Messiah’s worldwide stadium crawl that he had started to spread the word that He had come again. Florence was in line at the merchandise stand, watching bemusedly as a little girl argued for an Official Jesus Plushie, Available Only at The Savior Tour.

Suspicion about the whole operation lingered faintly in Florence’s consciousness. She had felt obligated to go since she had wanted to see it all for herself, and (so they said) the people at the shows were never seen again, taken to Heaven to lounge around paradise for the rest of eternity. But sold-out stadiums across the world? Merch stands? The Savior Tour, out of all names, from a man who believed Pride was the root of evil? It didn’t seem right. Unease followed Florence, a predator that stalked her in the great veldt. Florence found her seat.

“Can you believe it?” One man said to her. “Jesus? Just imagine, people have been waiting for this moment for millennia, and here we are, about to experience it. It’s…it’s incredible, really, don’t you think?” Florence nodded. A small audience eavesdropped around them.

“I always denied religion. It seemed like I was a servant to it, with all its talk of faith and the otherworldly and its tradition. My mother almost had to drag me in chains when I was a boy to Christmas service. ‘Logic!’ is what I said. ‘I’m a logical man. I need to see it to believe it.’ And denying how God could let anything bad happen, why there was hunger, why there was disease, why He let Man commit these horrible atrocities to their brothers, to enslave each other, to kill each other, to torture each other…I was so foolish! To think that now, it’s Jesus, it’s really Him who will be taking that stage in just a few moments…no tricks, no nothing, it’s really Him. I mean, I’m just about ready to follow him anywhere, and I haven’t even seen him yet!” The man laughed emptily.

All the lights suddenly shut off with a clap. A nervous whisper spread through the rows. People shuffled about in the darkness, confused. A minute passed. Two. Five.

Suddenly, Christ burst triumphantly onto stage in a blast of music! The crowd roared its deafening approval!

A single spotlight was on Him, and His image was plastered, larger-than-life, two-hundred feet tall, on the JumboTron. A classy suit had replaced his traditional garb. He jogged about the stage, hands outstretched towards the sky, pretending to bask in the moment. He reached His right hand towards the sky, and the stars seemed to swirl, a show for the Messiah! The moon winked at Him, the people adored Him, He was the son of God in His victorious return! Not the winter storms dared rage! He ruled the world, everlasting.

“Let us bow our heads in prayer!” He boomed. Christ required no microphone to project His voice to the very rafters of the stadium. Thousands of heads bowed, thousands of hands clasped.

“Lord, Father, let us celebrate today in triumph at the world of your creation. Let us spread your message. Let us prove your existence. Let us prove your strength. Amen.”

“Amen,” the crowd echoed.

“Now,” He said, with a flair of dramatics like a circus ringmaster, “Let there be light!” And the stars obeyed, shining down from the heavens in a great spectacle, illuminating the stadium in a firefly dance. Ooh! Aah! 

“There is a very special person in the crowd right now, who has overcome great adversity, great challenges just to be here tonight. I’d like to thank her simply for existing, because I love her as I love each and every one of you. Sandra Simons, why won’t you have the courage to stand up at this moment, and receive a round of applause that will rival all of history’s great ovations? Sandra Simons, where are you tonight?”

A woman stood up, thin and fragile like a house of cards. She wore a bandana over her eyes. 

“Sandra Simons, come up to the stage.”

Slowly, the woman stepped tentatively with her frail being, looking like a newborn creature. Her hair, neatly arranged, was blasted about. She looked as if she would crumble to the ground at any moment. But in a stance of defiance and determination, Sandra Simons lifted her chin proudly and, at once, collapsed onto the stage. The stadium thundered with applause.

“Child, come to me. And remove your blindfold.” Her irises were pale and milky, a blank stare hiding unimaginable pain. She was blind.

“Child, how do you feel?”

“I feel…strong.”

“Child. You will have pain no longer. You will see. You will accomplish incredible things. What others took for granted, you will not. You will use your abilities to serve the Lord. You will fly, you will fly! You will fly higher than any other!” He put His hand over her eyes. “Now, my child.”

“You may open your eyes.”

They were strikingly blue, her eyes, bluer and brighter and deeper and more somber than anybody had ever seen. They were gemstones, sapphires shining in the night, and light seemed to refract off her eyes into a million tiny cascades of brilliant blue. Sandra gazed up at the night sky at stars whose sparkle could not match her eyes. Sandra gazed at the people in the crowd, at their glowing faces.

“It’s beautiful. More than I dared to imagine.”

“Very well, my child.” The Messiah looked up at the crowd. “For twenty-three years, Sandra has only seen darkness. But now! Graced by the hand of God! She can see!” A never-ending applause shook the walls.

Sandra was followed by Garrett, who had Stage 4 pancreatic cancer; who was followed by Molly, who had ALS; who was followed by Yinuo, who had Alzheimer’s. In this way, the Messiah continued his show. Miracle after miracle, wonder after wonder, each one better than the last. He turned the doubters into believers, convinced the naysayers, and punished the sinful. As the night came to a close, not a single doubt lingered in a mind that the son of God had really returned. Should a rambunctious individual have heckled the Messiah, he would have been practically torn apart by thousands of angry hands. Even Florence was so devoted that she would have killed a man, if Christ had ordered it. 

“My friends! My children!” The Messiah clasped his hands. “Our time together is, unfortunately, ending. So before we leave, I’d like us all to make some agreements so that we can remember what we learned today. Each statement you agree to now will be completely binding, so closely tied to your identities that it will be impossible to revoke them. You’ll carry them around with you wherever you go, a badge of The Savior Tour. Are you ready? Let’s begin.”

“You will remember the miracles you saw here today!”

“We will remember the miracles we saw here today,” droned the people.

“You will apply tonight’s lessons every day!”

“We will apply tonight’s lessons every day!”

“You will follow the Lord wherever he may go!”

“We will follow the Lord wherever he may go.”

“You are nothing but servants of the Lord!”

“We are nothing but servants of the Lord.”

“You are nothing but servants!” The corners of His mouth pulled up into a faint, sinister smile.

“We are nothing but servants.”

“You are nothing!” He was yelling.

“We are nothing.”

“You are nothing!” He roared to the sky, like a silver wolf on the night of a full moon.

“We are nothing.”

The Messiah snapped his fingers.

☆☆☆

The people found themselves in a vermillion desert, positioned in neat rows like little green plastic army men. A sea of heads extended as far as the eye could see. Three red suns blistered half-way below the horizon, casting a bloody glow on everything below. It was unbearably hot. A strong wind blustered through, swirling rusty sand into angry Dust Devils. If there were garbage cans in this world, they certainly would tumble down suburb streets. Delicate beads of sweat formed on Florence’s nose. She moved to wipe them away, but she couldn’t move her arm. She tried to scream, but her throat was frozen. Florence tried to struggle and squirm, but she was completely paralyzed. Not figuratively, but as if she was suddenly trapped in a hard shell. All around her, she saw eyes racing, searching for meaning in other eyes. Their bodies could not move.

The Messiah appeared in front of them, and they were momentarily soothed. Surely, he knew what was happening!

“I am not Jesus.

They call me the Great Impersonator, and you are now in my world to serve my Lord, who, as I am sure you all recall, you pledged your undying servitude to. It is through Him that I was able to achieve my fantastic illusions, mere manipulations of the mind they were! I told you no lies. It was your stupidity that filled in the gaps of my story. A floating ship in space, and not a single one of you was suspicious, not in the slightest? Humanity is gullible. Trust is double-edged. You cling to whatever you can in your dark world, like lost little puppies. Why, how quickly you clung to this alien, and how quickly you fell! So dense and half-witted you couldn’t recognize I was playing a part! A part was all it took, a mere act! A part! A part! Humanity has fallen to a charlatan!”

The alien threw his head back and laughed.

Silence would have stricken the crowd, even if they were able to scream. Panicked eyes flittered side-to-side as realization dawned. Their bodies were no longer theirs, stolen from them by the Impersonator and his Lord. The people had been hypnotized, trapped in the imposter’s aura, dark magic, empty promises. 

The man grew more deranged. He strutted about the rows, weaving in and out, drunk on his success, muttering “charlatan charlatan charlatan” in frenzied elation. He was no holy being, he was no savior, no saint. He was a showman, a phony. The false Messiah hummed happily to himself as he counted each person—“three-hundred thousand and one, three-hundred thousand and two, three-hundred and three…”

“Come on now! We must be on our way now, or we’ll be late!” Florence felt her leg move robotically forward, a stiff cardboard motion dictated by a mystical remote-control. Around her, she saw thousands do the same. The ringmaster led the group, humming a simple tune.

If Florence could, she would have spat. 

The Messiah; The Savior; The charlatan charlatan charlatan…

Why, he’s nothing but a Pied Piper!