The Man Who Could Not Die: Another Short Story About the End Times

“[A]nd the kings of the earth, and the great men, and the rich men, and the chief captains, and the mighty men, and every bondman, and every free man, hid themselves in the dens and in the rocks of the mountains; and said to the mountains and rocks, Fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb; for the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand?”— The Book of Revelation

The end times were upon him. John O’James knew this, and he could not take it. Earthquakes, famine – both struck the earth with a vengeance, killing millions, including his homosexual lover and his parents. Millions escaped the misery altogether, simply disappearing. People on the streets, on the radio and television – they said all the disappearances were because of the Rapture. He believed it to be true; and where he wanted to be a Christian, to accept Jesus into his heart so that he could at last find favor with God, he couldn’t. He couldn’t because he had done terrible things in the past, things that made him evil, things that made him embarrassed to ever meet God or Jesus or any of the souls that were already saved and enjoying the blessings of heaven. No; he would rather suffer an eternity of hellfire than suffer through that. And he knew now that he deserved it.

So as he tied the rope to the tree branch, as he put the noose around his neck, he thought about all the things he had done, about the men he had loved, about the sinful acts they had committed in the darkness of the bedroom. A small part of him still thought he had done nothing wrong. Who cares if he loved men, if he loved to touch and be touched by them? Who was he hurting? It was HIS life, HIS body.
Obviously, it was that thinking that got him here in the first place. He knew now that all the good he thought he had done for his community – his giving to the poor, his working with disadvantaged children, his donation of a kidney to save a person he didn’t even know – were nothing in the grand scheme of God. The fact that he acted on his lust for men was so evil, so repugnant, it outweighed any good he may have done. He was sure now that the kidney he donated probably made the person sicker. It could have even turned the man gay. And the money he gave to charity must have acted like seeds of rot within the impoverished communities, condemning them further into the pattern of neglect and filth that so trapped them. And the poor children!!! His help probably was no help at all. Instead, he inspired them merely to become smarter criminals.

Part of him thought he shouldn’t go through with his hanging, for all the suffering that mankind was due was suffering he deserved. Ten fold. But he was weak. Un-Godly weak. Thus his crimes. Thus his submission to filthy temptation. Thus God’s rejection. Thus his misery. And how could he face God, knowing He had been watching during every act of sin, watching when he seduced his lovers, watching as he enjoyed pornography, watching as he corrupted everything around him?

So he hung himself. He stepped off the ladder, kicking it over. He dangled and twisted violently. He could feel the rope burying itself deep within his neck, strangling him. He couldn’t breathe. His face turned blue. His eyes were bulging. And he twitched and twitched; but he would not die; and he dangled and dangled -- for hours, and he still would not die. God, God! Please, let me just die. I can’t bear to face you, he prayed. But rather than answer his prayers, the rope broke from the tree.

This made John O’James angry, angry with God. He didn’t care that it was he who had sinned, he who had given in to temptation and offended God. So he rushed to his house, into the tool shed and picked up a hatchet. Without even thinking, not even for a second, he brought it down across his wrist, severing the hand. Blood splashed everywhere and continued to spill from the wound. He lost so much blood, his arms (one handless) and legs turned blue. His face and torso were probably blue, too, but he was too controlled by anger to think to check. When the bleeding stopped he was still alive.

Okay, God, you win. I believe in you so strongly; I am so overcome by the fact you gave your only son to mankind to die for our sins, I am sorry I tried to kill myself. I love you, I love you; I love you more than my lover, more than my parents, more than my favorite shoes, more than fashion in general, really. And he just stood there for awhile, hoping his words reached God, so God would know that he was a good Christian. But in the back of his mind, what he was really hoping was that God would finally let him die. God, of course, did not answer his prayers, for he lived on.

So he again became enraged and ran into the house, into the kitchen, where he went to the knife drawer and pulled out a knife. Really God? By loving men I was so evil a person none of the good I did made any difference? What kind of being are you? He then slit his own throat. He didn’t have any blood left, so he didn’t bleed. Instead, the pain now wracking his body brought him to the ground, where he sat propped against the dishwasher, his face in his hand and nub, crying.

John! John! God called to him. Where wast though when I laid the foundations of the earth? Declare if thou hast understanding. Knowest thou the ordinances of heaven? Canst thou set dominion thereof in earth? Wilt thou condemn me, that thou mayest be righteous?

And suddenly John was filled with happiness. It all made sense to him now. Well, kind of. He had just spoken to God, after all. In any event, he could no longer feel any pain, although he was still missing a hand, and his arms and legs were blue. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore – nothing but his love of God. No longer would sin tempt him. No longer would his love compete with unnatural urges. He was determined, now, to go forth into the world as a good Christian soldier and save as many as he could from eternal hellfire. It did bother him – just a little bit – that he was missing a hand and was a dark shade of blue; but in God’s grand scheme of things, he knew that was neither here nor there, for God was on his side. Now he just had to find the perfect thing to wear…

The End