The Preacher

Suspense Stories | Jan 30, 2013 | 4 min read
272 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
He did not know how he survived. On that day an eternity ago there was the choir and the mass and the believers seeking refuge in the only place that was beyond logic, beyond the bad news on television, beyond the fear and the panic and feeling of impending doom. They came to the church to hear him speak the words of wisdom, to give them hope and a glimmer of salvation. And he was prepared to give it – his voice was strong, his eyes clear – he was clearly having a blast, lost in the holy texts he even didn't notice how much brighter the chamber looked, the shudder of the earth and the silence. It was only when the windows blew in that he snapped back to reality to see his parish swept away, the benches flying and firestorm raging all around him.

He stood mesmerized and shocked and totally unhurt. Everything moved in slow motion and so did he, he slowly descended from the altar, crossed the church walking among the dead – people who had come there for him to save them, people whom he had let down. And still he walked on, the fire touched him not. He went out of the building and the hell was upon earth and the ground was burning and the houses were swept away and the screams of the living were echoed by the silence of the dead. He couldn't blink and his eyes were wide open and he could not see for seeing was believing and he couldn't believe what was going on. And so he walked on through the fire and death and the devastation and into a tunnel that lead down. A tiny part of his mind that was still trying to rationalize had no idea what the place was, had no idea why the priest was still alive or how did he know where to go. That tiny part of his mind screamed and protested and begged to go back and die with everything else but something pushed him on and on and to a large metallic door with green digits burning in darkness. He punched in the code. What code?- the part of his mind screamed? And the huge door opened and he stepped inside and it was dark and the door closed behind him and the lights came on and he was safe and immediately unconscious. He came to hours or days or years later to first question what really happened, then disbelieve what he remembered, then understand that disbelieving was done with, then walk around the place he was in only to discover huge supplies of food and water and plants growing under artificial light and no one else at all. And so his new life started just as the old one was annihilated in that other world where he was the preacher and the savior and the voice of the good.

In his new life his only friends were the plants and the books he found and there were worlds undiscovered that were a wonder to him and he shared that wonder with his friends never once doubting that he was completely and utterly insane and there would come a moment when his brain would simply seize to function and he would be blissfully dead and gone just as he should have. Time passed and he lived on and as his new life moved on he found peace in the silence, wisdom in the simple plant and joy in breathing the air and simply being alive. For many years he lived enclosed in the shell of the military vault that failed to save any military personnel. He had lost the count of the days and years he was there. His hair turned white, his face grew wrinkled and hard. And yet he felt serenity and was, in a way, the happiest person in the world – if there even was such place as world. Then one day it all ended. His peaceful existence was shattered by the roar of the sirens and warnings uttered in pre-recorder female voices. They were screaming about decompression and evacuation and self destruction and giving him a deadline of fifteen minutes to get out or face disciplinary action. Get out? Where to? The images of the burning parish sprang before his eyes and he closed them and they were still there imprinted deep into his brain, into his body that was supposed to die with everyone else but did not. And so walked, taking nothing with him but the clothes he wore and he went out of the door he entered all those years ago and he was outside – in the desert that was his town in the life before. His travels began and he met the people and he talked to them and they recognized him for who he was and he gained their respect and admiration and there were many things he would tell those lost souls of the apocalypse – many things they wanted to and so believed in. The one thing he did not tell them was that he himself no longer believed – his faith was dead just as he was supposed to be dead, just as this world was supposed to be dead…

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