The Book of Revelation Part II


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The Lord God Almighty and the Iron-Will of Faith return to the Great I Am and the Sacred Feminine after the final judgment is levied.

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  • This is my first short story for Kelsey; a beauty I met at a local dance hall. It is also the first time I wrote about a topic I believe is among the 'missing' books of the bible: The return of the Iron-Will-of-Faith to the Sacred Feminine and the Lord God Almighty to the Great I Am. She apparently loved it. During the ensuing Halloween, she dressed the part of the leading lady, including stab wounds from her death on the Rock of the Ages. I still can't stop loving her to this day.
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The Book of Revelation Part II

  1. 1. The story has been told and retold countless times. Characters may differ from one version to the next. But, somehow the truth continues to hold center stage. The story captures the lust of man’s heart combating the lust of the Almighty’s justice. While we all know whose side we’d like to be on, a convenient lie, more often than not, separates us from the beauty of the heavens and her message. Behold: The Gospel Truth Unchanging. As if shared by the light of one campfire to the next, the story unfolds as follows. The night’s sky was darker than usual. Clouds hung low with penetrating moon light projecting them as lanterns across the valley floor. The horizon viewed from any direction was truncated by range upon range of mountains piercing the silhouette of the star-lit canvas. The still of the night was holding its breath until the dawn’s light brought life resurrected for another day. That tranquility, however, was not destined to last. No, other plans for the day’s first quarter must have been cast by heaven’s cherubs inventing yet another adventure. From a distance, you could hear thunder approaching. At first, the sound carried a low rumble, a rumble uninterrupted — one complete both in symphony and cacophony. It made the shepherds wake to check their flocks for fear wolves would satisfy clamoring appetites. The thunder forced the wind to change direction, causing aspiring blades of grass to sway lush fields in delirious confusion. The same fields ordinarily characterized life. That is, until this night. On this night, those fields would breed death — a death the universe has never before uttered. The night Vengeance proclaimed its taking to satisfy an unsavory pleasure. It had to be. It was written in the heavens, ordained Hammurabian immemorial.
  2. 2. From the vantage of the defending mountain range, the approaching thunder defined a ghastly scene. The cause of the rumble was made clear, even to the deaf and blind. Hooves of horses, thousands upon thousands of horses, beat the ground in one thunderous gallop after another. It served a relentless percussion set to no music whatsoever. The lead rider proved mysterious both to observing shepherds and their flocks. It was clear, even from that distance, the lead rider galloped far ahead of thousands of other riders giving heated pursuit. Focused attention deduced the lead rider was a woman — a beautiful woman with flowing raven hair. Her eyes wore passion’s fire alit by the night sky’s moon. The sleeves of her white robe were hemmed in gold lace. The robe was gathered at her waist by a broad sash, which also appeared to be fashioned from gold. The sash defined her shapely figure. A slightly revealed cleavage displayed breasts assuredly swollen by her ardent purpose. Her face was a determined measure, focused on approaching fields laid before her, fields soon to be consumed by her beast pounding the earth beneath it. She held the horse’s mane in her left hand. Her raised right hand pointed to stars dancing across the darkened sky. In it she held the hilt of a sword. The sword was by no means inconsequential. Her revealed strength would challenge any man’s, lest she would be unable to hold such a weapon aloft for any duration. A committed devotion conjoined the sword’s impending justice with the determination steeled upon her brow.
  3. 3. The sword would surely be recognized as mighty by any warrior. Double-edged, the sword lacked a back. Upon its blade was inscribed a solitary word — a sword written in all capital letters: TRUTH. The sword, raised in her hand, was a brightness cast against the darkness of the day’s first quarter. It harnessed illuminating dispensations wrought by the stars. The inscribed proclamation, however, shone brightest. TRUTH harnessed the moon’s energy, casting its brilliance across the valley, illuminating its namesake. Measured against the traversing night and the steed’s unsurpassed speed, the sword and its message remained unequivocal. The purpose of her ride was evident, even to the uneducated. She intended to carry truth to its manifest destiny. Just as intently, the riders pursuing her intended to stop her. Their chase was plain and obvious. They numbered 666,000. That is, 666,000 horses pursued the lone rider from one end of the valley to the other. The pursuing riders were of no organized army; and they bore no country’s colors. They were neither numbered among the tribes of Israel, nor among the tribes of the Euphrates, for that matter. They carried their ghastly message by the nature of their presence. It was clear to any who witnessed this holocaust on horseback. They were skeletons, only bones that were somehow precariously perched atop saddled steeds. Some had skulls, while others were headless. Some had arms; others bore no plain and obvious means for securing their ride. Legless pursuers also numbered among the ghoulish. And, for a complete accounting, some horses appeared to be harnessed by no rider at all. However, it was plain their reins were held tightly by some force free- floating above their manes.
  4. 4. This was the scene, set hour upon hour, in the chase transcending the day’s first quarter: a ravenous beauty chased by death impending. Behind the riders, clouds of dust filled the valley. The dust ascended higher and higher as the speed of the equestrian legions increased. Perspiration mounted upon her brow and flourished upon her cleavage. Beads of water descended her breasts, culminating protuberances outlined as a pressing matter against her robe. Her swelling passion evidenced a commitment to truth and justice in the fulfillment of her mission. As the shepherds continued to watch the potential calamity unfolding, their nerves were excited by uncertainty: would death pursuing overtake beauty’s life? It was as if the dark- haired one could hear their concern. As she approached the defending range, the obvious objective of her ride, throngs of horse-backed skeletons, or parts thereof, were closing the distance separating. She peered over her right shoulder to learn how soon her fate would be measured. She then searched the horizon as if looking for a particular target. Suddenly, her focus became determined. The shepherd’s eyes carried her gaze as if it were their own. There, in the foothills of the defending range, a large rock was perched, perfectly smooth and nearly round. The shepherds, without threshold knowledge or cognitive understanding, always considered the rock a holy place. She uttered her conclusion, “Alas, the Rock of the Ages!” She turned to witness her pursuers; they were within 100 horse lengths of her. She turned back to the Rock of the Ages, stood in her stirrups and threw the sword toward it with all her might. The sword twirled end over end, creating a blinding light and a disturbing tailwind.
  5. 5. Her aim was accurate. The sword reached the smooth surface of the rock. As if the rock were made malleable, the sword’s blade penetrated deep into the rock’s existence, plunging unto the hilt. Whereupon, an arm immediately reached out of the ground from beneath the rock, grabbed the sword by its hilt and retracted it from the depths of the rock. The arm cast the sword back toward the oncoming throngs of bones yet prosecuting death. Its course of travel was flat, parallel to the ground, a distance of about two cubits above it, to be precise. Its path miraculously circumvented the woman and her steed, as if the Deities of the Night granted her exemption. The sword traversed the length of the fields, from the defending range from whence it had just been released to the opposite range set upon the far horizon. In the course of its travels, the sword mercilessly cut down the ghouls’ horses, slicing them just above their knees, sending them crashing to the valley floor and spilling their blood upon the ground. The riders made only of bones were thereupon tossed helter-skelter upon the fields. As they thudded the unforgiving earth, the force of the calamity turned the bones to dust. Rider after rider met the same fate; thousands upon thousands perished in the first pass of the sword. When the sword reached the opposite range it careened off a granite surface and boomeranged back toward the throngs, slicing life out of more horses, bringing yet another wave of death as bones crushed into dust. The sword continued careening from one range to another; traversing what could now only be described as “The Valley of Death.”
  6. 6. In less time than for a voice to cry out from one range to another, the sword destroyed all 666,000 horses and their riders. The valley floor was made crimson by the horses’ blood; their bodies lay askew, evidence of the mass execution. Mounds of dust gathered the fallen bones now crushed. Upon the final death, the sword disappeared into the rocks of the opposite range. The raven-haired beauty finally reached the Rock of the Ages. She dismounted her steed, and lied upon it. She was exhausted from her ordeal. Her breasts heaved breaths yet to be caught and satisfied. Suddenly, torrid winds arose. The valley raged with the fury of the gods, as the winds swept the spilt blood, dead horses, and the bones turned to dust beyond the horizon; scattering them to the four corners of the earth. As if orchestrated by an unseen maestro, the winds turned their temper to the raven-haired beauty laid upon the Rock of the Ages. It attacked her with a relentless determination, ripping her robe to shreds while leaving no evidence it ever existed. She now lay completely naked upon the rock. Her breasts, still hungering for yet another breath, heaved a petition to the stars to take her completely into the night. The heavens opened in response to her prayer and, amidst the outburst of a supernova enlacing the earth in clouds of smoke and brilliant illumination, the arm of the Lord God Almighty appeared. His hand held the hilt of another sword; its purpose was steeled in the grip of His iron- will. This sword, too, was forged double-edged with no back. Upon it was an inscription: I AM.
  7. 7. The woman surely realized her impending fate. She spread her arms wide as if to receive His embrace by taking Him wholly to her bosom. It was evident to the ordaining cherubs she willingly surrendered her life to serve Him. Without hesitation, the Lord of the Antiquities plunged His Sword through the woman’s womb, penetrating the Rock of the Ages. As she lay dying, a quiet filled the earth and stilled the night sky. Her death released the music of her womb to ascend and fill the universe, redefining beauty among the stars and heavenly bodies in the name of the Risen One: Jesus Christ. She uttered her last words, “Let the beauty placating the hunger of the stars and heavens be for signs, for seasons, and for days and years.” With her death, her dust became eternally married to the Rock of the Ages. The observing shepherds must have thought the night’s devastation finally reached a resolved conclusion. They turned to their tents to capture what sleep remained their privileged counsel. Their hopes for continued quietude, however, were misplaced. The earth began to shake. Contemptuous tremors filled the Valley of Death. The earthquake was so violent the shepherds were unable to remain standing; their flocks vanished into crevices opened in the earth by the power of nature’s war.
  8. 8. The Rock of Ages was not immune to this new hostility. It’s smooth and curvaceous surface exploded and its core cracked open. Through the ensuing clouds of smoke, a woman emerged, shrouded in brilliant light. Her hair was the color of golden sunlight and was tightly wound and held secured to the back of her head. Her face was as radiant as the day’s second quarter and its signature dawning light. Her garment was a black robe, one with gold lace upon its sleeves. The robe was secured around her waist, defining her figure a shapely invitation to the new day arising. Her slightly revealed cleavage evidenced swollen breasts; the sign of truth impending. Her left hand was pointed to the earth. In it, she held the hilt of yet another sword. It was a double-edged sword, and, consequently, had no back. Upon it was inscribed a message, one written in all capital letters: BEHOLD, COMES NOW THE APOSTOLIC CHRIST JESUS. With her first step, the valley attended its morning business. There was only a gentle breeze to acknowledge the gods of wind. Flowers bloomed and birds filled the air. The Valley of Death had been transformed into the Valley of Life. The End © Copyright 2013 David Randall Jenkins
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