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The Prophet vs Jimmy Richards

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"So you are saying all religions are wrong?"

He smiled like a patient father towards his child at this question.

"No Myra, they are almost all based on the glory that is The Light. However, over the generations and generations that have existed, minor tweaks to the faith have been made. And over the course of centuries, these small changes have stacked up to a point where they pervert the message of the original faith. Hence, why blessed individuals like you and I have been tapped by The Light. We are to stop the corruption from spreading further, and eliminate those that seek to continue its advance."

"But why me? Myra is not very important."

He cupped her face in his hand with a gentle stroke. Smiling softly through his mask, he soothed her.

"You are important for this very reason my dear. You are the first of many to follow me in this task. You will be held up upon high by The Light for your devotion and dedication to this most noble of causes. You are special in that regard."

His words spread like poison in her brain. The dream visions he had sent her over weeks made her mind ready for his words. Over the past hour he had preached to her, and she sat, like a child with wide eyed enchantment, before him. She had succumbed to his voice and to his message. Of course The Prophet knew nothing of his mystical power over her as he only knew that he was doing The Light's work and this young woman sitting before him was embracing the same faith. His words held more power than he could ever imagine to those primed to hear.

"So there will be more?"

"Most defiantly. In fact, the next convert is already known. He just needs my guidance to take his first steps. But that will be my work. You, dear one, have a different task."

"What is Myra's task?"

"Well first, refrain from referring to yourself in the third person. Can you do this? For me and for The Light?"

She was hesitant, yet seeked his approval more than she could fathom. She needed him to be pleased with her.

"Myr.....I...I can try."

"Trying is just the first step to success dear one. Work on it."

He rose and withdrew a picture from a manila folder sitting nearby.

"This man is your first task. Find him and watch him. I want to know where he is and what he does. My last...opponent was very prone to random acts of senseless violence upon his foes, and I want to make sure this mis-guided man is not the same in that accord."

"And if My...I do well, will you be happy?"

He knelt before her again and repeated the same soft smile.

"I am already happy child. But yes, it will make me more so."

For the first time in many long years, Myra Tripp smiled.


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John Savage sat, drunk, at a local dive bar. He couldn't remember his last big match, just the past year of jobbing in house shows. His nuns were gone, his money was always stretched as thin as paper due to his drinking and gambling, and whatever hope he had was fading fast before his eyes. With a sloppy gesture, he signaled the bartender over.

"Another whissskey....."

"Listen pal, you're done."

"You dare cut offff a holy man likes me?"

"Bud, you ain't no holy man. Yer just a drunk that's getting cutting off. Go sleep it off somewhere."

"Sssinner!"

John tried to take a swing at the man who he felt insulted him, but in his current state, the swing was incredibly off its aim, and the momentum just caused the fallen wrestler to fall over on the bar in a loud bang.

"Frankie! Get this drunk out of here!"

John felt large meaty hands grab the back of his clothes and lift him off the bar. In his prime, he could have taken down this biker, but a year of hiding in a bottle drained him of his former glory. With a heave, "Father" John Savage was flung out the back door and into the alley. Light flashed briefly before his eyes as he hit the ground. Struggling to even sit up, made all the more difficult with his inebriation, John moaned in pain.

"And lo the fallen man reaches the bottom of his despair. Darkness is all he see's, its black emptiness clouds his vision. Yet The Prophet comes, to remove the cover pulled over this once righteous man. The Prophet is here to show him The Light."

John looks up with one eye at the man standing before him.

"Are yous God?"

The Prophet kneels before him.

"No John, I am not your "God". "God" has abandoned you here. He ignored your prayers and allowed all pain of the past year to happen. The loss of your girls, your career, and your hope. What kind of being would allow such a devoted servant like you to fall this far?"

John tried to answer, but only tears came. This strange man was right; he had thought the same hard truths countless times lately, both while sober and drunk.

"I tried my bessst. I alwayz did. But he didn't care."

"No John...no he didn't. But what would expect of a false god like that? The true force of the universe has seen your actions and wants to show you the compassion "God" would never give."

The Prophet lifted the broken man's face to his.

"The Light cares about you John. And The Light wants you to take your place by mine in its service. You can be the man you where meant to be."

More venomous words soaked into the drunken mind of "Father" John Savage and, for reasons he could not grasp, they made perfect sense.