1. The Hanging Man
I am the hanging man. For two days I’ve hung from this elm.
There’s a rope around my ruined neck. Flies walk on my open eyes.
I am the first one you see from the road. He put me here to
let you know: the angel of God has come to this place. To revel in sin is to
end up like me.
I’ve lived in this town my whole life. Just before I turned
sixteen, I met God in a dream. His body was wrapped in shining gold. His face
was the face of the father I’d never known.
The next day I walked to the wooden church at the top of
the hill. It was Sunday, and the entire town was gathered for mass.
Near the end of the preacher’s sermon my body began to
shake. Moments later I found myself at the front of the church, speaking God’s
words. To this day I don’t remember what He said. All I remember is the feeling
of His voice passing through me, His words flowing from my mouth like cold
water in a creek.
For the next twenty years I stood before my neighbors and
preached my Father’s good word.
Then, on the morning of my thirty-sixth birthday, His voice
suddenly left me. So I tramped through the woods until I found a creek. There I
stepped into the clear water, rested my head on the rocks, and began to pray.
For two days I lay in that creek and let my Father’s water
wash over me, just as his spirit washed over me on that day twenty years ago.
Shivering in the icy water, I heard nothing but the bubbling mumble of the
creek, the rasping breath of the wind. But still I stayed, staring up through
the trees.
On the morning of the third day a column of fire came down
from the sky. Seeing this, I ran back to town and gathered my congregation at
my church. Soon an angel of God arrived at our door. His body was wrapped in
gold. His face glowed with God’s light. In an instant I recognized Him: He was
my Father, the one who had appeared in my dream all those years ago.
Overcome with joy, I opened my arms and let Him inside.
2. The Burning Man
I am the burning man. For hours I’ve sat on this slab of
scorched earth that used to be our church. Here I stare at His brilliant light,
His glittering gold, His beautiful face.
His face is the face of man, woman, and child united as one
spirit under God. He is God’s angel sent down from the sky.
My legs are afire. My fingers are swallowed in flame. But
still I stare at Him. His beautiful face fills my heart with light and love and
peace and divinity. When I try to turn away, the world begins to bend.
Just before sunset he looks down at me. Staring into His
golden eyes, I hear His voice in my head. His voice is the voice of God. With
this voice He tells me to stand up and to fetch a rope and to hang the false
prophet from a tree.
I try to follow His command, but my body doesn’t move. It
roars with pain. It shrivels and shudders within the crackle of the divine
flames. Seeing this, God’s angel walks up to me and touches my shoulder. His
touch is cool, soothing, the touch of a loving father comforting his frightened
child. In an instant the pain of my burning body washes away and I can move
again. Rapturous with joy, I follow my Father’s command. I walk to my house on
trembling, burning legs and grab a length of rope from my barn. Clutching the
rope in my blackened fingers, I stare in awe at the power of God’s will: the
rope does not burn.
Now I return to our destroyed church and wrap the rope
around the false prophet’s neck. Then I drag him to the edge of town and hang
him from a sturdy elm. Moments later God’s angel appears before me and rests
His hand on my head. A deafening peal of thunder cleaves the world in two. A
wall of gold light swallows my body whole. I fall into God’s arms and
everything disappears.
Steve Gergley is a writer
and runner based in Warwick, New York. His fiction has appeared or is
forthcoming in A-Minor, After the Pause, Barren Magazine, Maudlin House,
Pithead Chapel, and others. In addition to writing fiction, he has composed and
recorded five albums of original music. His fiction can be found at: https://stevegergleyauthor.
