Not Zachariah. Patrick.
Away in a manger, no room for a bed…
Christmas Eve gets all the credit, the night of magic before the dawn’s disappointments and delights. Christmas Eve was the special night, the night of wonder and th night when Patrick always had his daughters around him, trying to pick out the one gift they were allowed. The night of Christmas never held any special place in his heart or mind, though this night is one he will never forget.
It must have been after noon, if only barely when Patrick first opened his eyes, first felt the hunger in his stomach and realized that, if only for a brief moment, he was free. Fervently he checked his pockets for a wallet, a dime a watch he could pawn in order to get a decent meal or five. Vauge flashes from before gave him the inclination of what city, or what country he was in- dear God above, Father of all let them speak English here. Picking a direction at random, he began to make his way to the nearest… well. Anything on this semi-abandoned alleyway.
As Patrick walked he spent every other minute waiting for the sensation of Zachariah once again, and every minute he did not think of that- he thought of his family. His wife- always so ready to drop the D word ‘divorce’, did she finally get what she wanted? His daughters, one engaged the others still yet to graduate, were they okay? Were they even alive? Or did, or did in all of this hell on earth, did they die because of it? Because of him? Did they even miss him? His mind wandered to the night before he left, Susanna’s tears, little Rebecca’s confusion his own… his own arrogance at ‘God’s’ plan for him.
”If you’re so sure- then go jump off, go jump off a damn building!”
“That’s just what the devil said! I know what I believe Susanna, please- please Susie”
“No! Don’t you dare, don’t you dare touch me…”
Where they better off without him?
The breakfast ‘Waffle House’ was near empty, as the late-nighters had finally crawled into their respective beds, and the early birds’ alarms had yet to go off. The bell rang as he opened the doorway, drawing the attention of the businesses two clients and waitresses. All two of them. One- a rather large black waitress quickly ushered him to a booth, handing over a coffee and menu. The other?
The Reaper.
Patrick knew who he was, had heard his and Zachariah’s argument’s enough, yelled at him without success enough and begged to God Above to kill him enough to know his (now grim) expression anywhere. What was he supposed to say to this --- creature? Man? Being? Was he to apologize? Ask or beg for forgiveness? Keep up the rouse of his possession? (For there was no better term for it). Thinking fast, Patrick said the first thing that came to mind as Rube came over, likely to claim his ‘turf’ that was this restaurant.
“Spot a man a breakfast tab?”
Christmas Eve gets all the credit, the night of magic before the dawn’s disappointments and delights. Christmas Eve was the special night, the night of wonder and th night when Patrick always had his daughters around him, trying to pick out the one gift they were allowed. The night of Christmas never held any special place in his heart or mind, though this night is one he will never forget.
It must have been after noon, if only barely when Patrick first opened his eyes, first felt the hunger in his stomach and realized that, if only for a brief moment, he was free. Fervently he checked his pockets for a wallet, a dime a watch he could pawn in order to get a decent meal or five. Vauge flashes from before gave him the inclination of what city, or what country he was in- dear God above, Father of all let them speak English here. Picking a direction at random, he began to make his way to the nearest… well. Anything on this semi-abandoned alleyway.
As Patrick walked he spent every other minute waiting for the sensation of Zachariah once again, and every minute he did not think of that- he thought of his family. His wife- always so ready to drop the D word ‘divorce’, did she finally get what she wanted? His daughters, one engaged the others still yet to graduate, were they okay? Were they even alive? Or did, or did in all of this hell on earth, did they die because of it? Because of him? Did they even miss him? His mind wandered to the night before he left, Susanna’s tears, little Rebecca’s confusion his own… his own arrogance at ‘God’s’ plan for him.
”If you’re so sure- then go jump off, go jump off a damn building!”
“That’s just what the devil said! I know what I believe Susanna, please- please Susie”
“No! Don’t you dare, don’t you dare touch me…”
Where they better off without him?
The breakfast ‘Waffle House’ was near empty, as the late-nighters had finally crawled into their respective beds, and the early birds’ alarms had yet to go off. The bell rang as he opened the doorway, drawing the attention of the businesses two clients and waitresses. All two of them. One- a rather large black waitress quickly ushered him to a booth, handing over a coffee and menu. The other?
The Reaper.
Patrick knew who he was, had heard his and Zachariah’s argument’s enough, yelled at him without success enough and begged to God Above to kill him enough to know his (now grim) expression anywhere. What was he supposed to say to this --- creature? Man? Being? Was he to apologize? Ask or beg for forgiveness? Keep up the rouse of his possession? (For there was no better term for it). Thinking fast, Patrick said the first thing that came to mind as Rube came over, likely to claim his ‘turf’ that was this restaurant.
“Spot a man a breakfast tab?”