Genesis

Psalm 23
"The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever."

I kneel. Head bowed towards my extended arm, fist to the ground. I am on one knee.

“Rise, brother.”

I stand to my feet. My head remains bowed. I do not look up.

“Why do you hide your face, brother.” He says to me. I still keep my head to the ground. I have never seen the face of our Savior. Nor has anyone.

“Why do you do the same?” I almost repeated. But it was not my place to question the savior. “It is because I am humbled by your presence, Oh Savior.”

“Look at me, child. There os no need to be afraid. I am the blessed protector of my flock, under the influence of God.

I look up at my Savior. He wears a long white robe with a golden cross painted on the front. THe em goes all the way down to the ground, past his feet. He is elegant.

His mask. He wore a mask of stone, carved in the form of an angel’s face. There were black holes in the sockets of the stone mask, but his eyes could never be seen. It was always unnerving to look up at the man, towering over us, looking down through those black sockets. The face behind the face ever unreadable, ever omniscient. He always spoke with a calm that was said to bring peace to those who listened, but I never thought so.

The mask wasn’t attached to his face by any sort of string or bandage as far as I could see, then again I had never gotten so close as to inspect it. It seemed as if it almost floated just in front of his face, concealing his true identity from the world. Back in the early days, when they used to ask him why he covered his face he would reply:

“Why, this is the face of God, our maker. He is our creator, and I am a vessel of His word, his prophet. My face, my words, my identity, are him. As are all of us. For we are the Lord.”?
Never to give us a reason beyond this, the discussion would shift to the word of God, and we would listen to him preach the holiness that is Him, and how we are to follow the rights by Jeremiah, Veatrix, Nigel, the first three prophets to speak his name to the people. Those who were said to had met the creator himself. It is in their image we are to try and mold ourselves.

I am that image. I have become what they called a “Paragon”. It is because of my excellence in following the rights of the three prophets that I have been chosen to undergo the rite. A ritual in which I gather a specific artifact garnered for the betterment of mankind. I will embark on this journey for forty days and forty nights. But first, I must be baptized.

“Come to me, brother, to be baptized in holy water.” He waved a gloved hand over to the pool of water. I walked towards it. It was green and misty, and a slight fog seemed to be rising from it. The only who have ever been baptized in Babylonian waters were those who were given the rite. Of those men and women, none have returned. “Please, remove your robes, brother, so that you may be cleansed of all impurities and protected agains the tribulations of the world.”

I did as told and stripped of my garments, and stepped into the pool. The water was neither hot nor cold, but it gave off a certain aura. It gave me a certain feeling, creeping from my legs eventually to the crown of my head as I stood there naked, awaiting the next part. I looked at my body as I began to notice it too had developed the same glow, my heart began to beat more quickly.

He now placed both of his gloved hands on me; one on my back, and one on my forehead.
“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.” He began to lower me into the water. “I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” After this, I was submerged, even though the water stung my eyes I kept them open for fear of breaking the ritual. After some time I was brought back up. My eyes burned viciously, but I did not dare blink. “May God and the prophets guide you in your rite.” As he said this, he made the motion of a cross reaching from his head to his chest, and then to each shoulder. Then he kissed his fingers and pressed them on my forehead.

It was at this time that I blinked, impulsively. I was immediately nervous that I had broken some unsaid rule. It that was the case, Our Savior was unaffected by it, his mask looking at me soundlessly.

“Thank you, father.” I kneeled and kissed the same gloved hand that had touched my forehead.

“I am not your father, child,” He spoke, looking down at me through those black sockets, his face eerily blank. “I am your Savior.”

Looking good. How much have you wrote so far?

Does your English class not mind stories of people having their arms torn off so they bleed to death?

I'm pretty sure she would allow it, but bear in mind this is not only a woman, but a woman who hasn't played fallout . . . or M rated game for that matter. If I were to do it I'd have to do it gently (not saying she's old cause she's not, but I don't want her to vomit on the inside . . . well maybe a little), and make sure she understood why it was that said persons arm was being dismembered.

And, I only have that written so far, I had like two pages done of it earlier, but I ditched that idea. I'lll be posting fairly rapidly though, six pages are due by Monday.