I would like to be humied, a male of any profession preferably, named Father Abraham, or Father Abraham Damascus if there's room. Father Abraham is a quiet man used to difficult labors and dangerous situations. He is a tall, wiry black man, bearded with dark eyes, and when he talks his voice is slow and deep. He always has a word of encouragement for his fellows and quotes often from the Good Book he carries with him. He is eager to help in any capacity, though perhaps he has some skill in first aid and medicine... He doesn't smoke or drink and never talks about his past, but the scars on his hands speak of some tragedy he is trying to leave behind. He isn't preachy and doesn't get in people's faces; he knows that when the time comes, others will come to him for spiritual guidance and hope, and he'll be there for them. The Infected don't signify the end of the world to him, but more of a "cleansing" akin to the Great Flood. He strongly believes that the devout will make it through this alive and better for it, and the new world they create will be the World of God as He Intended.
Chances are good he'll die horribly while picking berries or something, but whatever.
Diary of Abraham Damascus, date unknown
I found this book, what all empty of letters and pictures, in a burned down pharmacy out Spokane way. Everything else was ashes and char, cept this book, sitting there and calling to me like the burning bush to Jesus. I'd come hoping for expired soup or maybe some dried cereal (thank Him for all them preservatives, I swear that Captain Crunch tastes like it was growned yesterday!), and instead found a little miracle. So I took it and praised your name.
Weren't no way to write in it, of course. Pens and pencils isn't things a man hordes when he thinks the End is coming. Was 2 months later afore I found myself in a little doublewide outside Tulsa, nursing a sprain and pack mostly empty. I boarded myself in, said my prayer, and scrounged through my bag for the last can of Purina, feeling pretty low and scared and tired. That's when I found it again, this book, clean pages, blue cover, COMPOSITION it said, ha, that made me laugh for some reason. I isn't taken to dark humors, but it occurred to me, what with all the Infected stumbling about half rotted, that DECOMPOSITION might be a better title. Or maybe I was thinking about the human race, dying in its millions, half dead afore the virus and half dead after. I laughed and laughed, Lord, how I laughed. Isn't so funny now, I reckon, and it shames me to admit how much despair I felt that day.
After I'd been all laughed out and the laughing was coming pretty close to crying I tried to lift myself up on my sprained ankle and stumbled. I done crashed through a table full of junk and ended up straight on the floor, nose first in garbage and filth. There was a tear in my eye, Lord, as I tried to right myself up, for it did hurt mightily, and I was feeling something dark. And then, pushing up from the rotten carpet and the piles of dissolving papers and trash, another miracle. Pens. Black ball point. Bic. A whole, sealed, ten pack of them, right there under my left hand. Waiting for me, just as you left them.
So here I is, writing this just like you wanted. I don't know what you want me writing for; you know I isn't so good with letters. It took me months to read your Good Book, and that had pictures and such in it, and Old Saul had been around to help me with it. And you know my hands don't work so good, not with the fine tuning stuff like writing and playing piano (haha, that's a joke, Lord, you know I never played piano!), but the scars won't keep me from putting down your word. I'm in a wagon now, headed for some place they call Ravenmist. Some good men and women are standing up for themselves out there, making a new life in this world, and I'm going to help them. Maybe that's what you want me to write about? The glory of this new kingdom? The toils of your children? Our triumphs and sacrifices? Well, I'll get to writing all about it soon as I arrive.
My companions on this old wagon are mostly scared, but I do my best to comfort them, Lord, tell them it will be alright, and I think maybe that helps. Because I isn't afraid. Not one bit. Not with you by my side.
Author
Topic: Ravenmist [Corrosion | _34.04_] Now Accepting Overseers! (Read 17653 times)