Myron vision for a life beyond
| Myron's Afterlife
"Do you believe in something better than this?" Myron screamed into the night air.
He strolled along the outer edges of the field while trying to engage his audience. He could feel the enthusiasm of the subject matter in his heart. He wanted the group to feel the same enthusiasm. He wanted them to know that there was promise for a life after death and that a paradise awaited them if they chose to believe. Past the trials of their time on earth, a blessed eternal life called to them. By his words, he wanted to open the hearts and minds of his listeners. Myron hoped that his euphoria would be contagious.
"Faith is the only ticket required," he assured the crowd.
He paused to let the thought climb into their minds. Myron was a great speaker. He knew how to captivate his audience with drama and affect. He stood quivering in his spot allowing one single tear on his cheek to glisten under the spotlight. He was using the art of animation to engage his subjects, a lesson learned long ago from his father the preacher.
"The work we do here today leads us down the path to our salvation," he called out in a hushed tone. He flattened his palms and pushed into the air for emphasis. As if by magic, a puff of ebony smoke filtered out of his hands. He waited for the "ooh's and aah's" to subside before moving on. He knew the manner of delivery impacted the value of the message perceived. Striving to impart his wisdom on the afterlife, he wanted them all to know that they had a stake in their future. By involving oneself here on earth, one could secure a place in the perpetual garden.
"Do you believe what I am telling you? Will you walk with me down the road to eternal life? I beg of you... to take my hand... as a seeker of light and goodness. Will you let me be the Sheppard of your Grace? Do you want me to enlighten? Will you ask for my help on the path to glory?" Myron shrieked his plea.
His father had always taught him to dress the part of motivated speaker. Myron's silver hair was slicked back over his ears and neatly trimmed. The man had painted his skin with white theater paint. He had dyed his handle-bar moustache and eyebrows black as coal. Arched to perfection were the brows that ended with curly squiggled tails of poignancy. He consistently flashed his one gold tooth that shined brightly in his mouth, as promise of untold rewards. A gray satin cape rested on his shoulders. He wore a black pin stripe suit of impeccable quality with the lapels made of fur. Black rhinestone cowboy boots graced his feet. On his head sat the crown of a king. Eloquence of attire afforded the beguilement of the spectators.
He could hear the crowd calling to him with whispering cries. "Help us, please. Lead us to salvation."
Myron felt justified and righteous. It moved him to tears. Falling to his knees, he folded his hands in prayer. He was overcome by the joy of their acceptance. They had chosen him and his father would have been proud.
"Yes! I will be the leader that you ask of me and I will personally guide each of you on your journey," he called to them. And he knew it was time to greet the crowd. They were begging for his intercession.
"Help us, please,' the audience bawled
He paced his steps slowly moving towards the first member of his congregation. One by one he would grant them audience, offering them the peace they the deserved. Loyalty shall be rewarded with glorious gifts in the afterlife.
"Brandon, you have been a true and trusted follower of mine. A follower of my father's creed. An authoritative advisor and witness to the sermons of his judgment upon me,"
"Please, no! I'm sorry for the pain I caused you, "Brandon begged.
"That is King Myron, to you! I ask you now; will you follow me down the path to a glorious afterlife? Do you reject the previous life? "
Sweat poured down the face of the man staked to railroad tie driven into the soil. Myron opened the golden chalice of his father and poured a portion of the contents onto the man. He believed the leeches would remove the evil of the man's soul prior to death. Pulling from his pocket the crystal goblets of wine and water, remembered and endured from his youth, Myron flashed them in front of his victim. He painted with acid a sign of the cross on the man's forehead. He smiled as Brandon screamed from the burning pain.
"I have blessed you for protection as you enter the pearly gates. What say you, Brother Brandon?"
"Let me go, please I beg of you? No one will know of this!"
"Brother Brandon, I want them all to know the glory of the afterlife! I have gathered my congregation for a purpose. We will walk the road to everlasting life together. Enthralling with entertainment is my motto. And as daddy used to say, practice makes perfect! I needed many souls gathered.
He could hear the screams of the crowd that waited for his intervention. He stood proud and glorified, and then he bowed to his subjects. He lifted the sledge hammer and the gold painted railroad tie lying near Brandon's side. He levitated them with his hands above the earth for all of the spectators to marvel at his greatness.
"Do you reject the rigors of this life, Brother Brandon? Will you follow on the path of evil entrusted to me by my father? I, hereby, intern your soul to the fires of hell. You shall be anointed into the after-life of Satan. Just as my father commanded."
"Please, save me." Brandon wept.
."You are never alone, and you will be rewarded for your suffering here on this earth,"
Myron plunged the stake into the man's heart. Blood spurted from the crevice, with leeches descending on the opening. The bellowing screams of the man echoed in the night. The thunderous ovation of cheering and clapping of his audience resounded in Myron's mind. He stabbed each side of Brandon's neck with metal pegs as his encore. Newly formed fountains of blood erupted and cascaded onto the ground. He then eviscerated the squirming man, leading him to the glory of his afterlife.
The crowd sobbed, for they too, would soon know the glory that had been unveiled to Brandon. Myron took a step toward the next member of his congregation. The man shivered in his fear of what was to come. Staked down like an animal for slaughter, there would be no eluding Myron's afterlife.
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