"And the Lord Said" by W.N. Dayley

Jesus said to God, "Father, Humanity has become complacent and decadent. You endowed them with reason, with the will to decide their own paths in life. In your infinite mercy, you gave them the capacity to believe in your existence or deny you, their Creator, and live lives of sin and immorality."

            And the Lord God replied, "Yes, My Son. Humanity has gone astray. They have forsaken me and the path of righteousness. They have chosen sin over the Word, and believe they do not need My guiding hand to shepherd them through the world as once they did. They have deceived themselves into thinking My patience is infinite." God shifted on his Golden Throne, leaning toward His Only Begotten Son.
            "But it is not. After millennia of their mortal years, My patience has worn thin. I grow tired of their wars and posturing. Of their hubris. Once, when the world was young, I indulged their occasional folly, believing they were simply experiencing the rashness of youth. When their misguided ways continued, I sent them a warning: I flooded the earth, sweeping away the unbelievers and making way for the righteous to repopulate the world, to spread My gospel.
            "And for a time, Humanity flourished in My divine light." God fell silent, dropping his chin into his palm and staring into infinity.
            Jesus gazed past his feet at the world below. Dark clouds were gathering in the atmosphere over three-quarters of its surface. They couldn’t obscure his vision of the population gathered in their meaningless social groupings, though. The clouds became thin as vapor, parting to allow his divine sight to penetrate wherever he wished, to study any segment of the race his father created – his brothers and sisters, the descendants of the same people for whom he once gave his mortal life. The memory of that painful execution still burned within Him: His wrists ached from time to time, and the scar from the spear thrust to His side throbbed whenever He traveled through Italy. Still, he loved the race of Humanity. He loved them despite their faults, despite their pettiness and bigotry. He believed them to be young still and, as with all children, the need for rebellion still burned within them. "Eventually, they will realize that Your Mercy is finite; that they must repent and rejoice in the power of Your love."
            "Bah!" God stood up, upsetting his Divine Throne. It rocked on its back legs but settled after a moment, automatically reorienting itself to its previous position. "Humanity has reached its peak. The sons of Adam will never be able to contain their enthusiasm for their own genius, their own cleverness to be able to accept that they know nothing. I control their destinies! I decide what happens in their puny lives! They owe their existence to me! Me!"
            Thunder ripped across the heavens. Jesus felt the ether ripple beneath his feet and knew that His Father’s wrath was about to be unleashed upon the unsuspecting mortals below.
            "Father, allow me to venture forth among them once again." God turned his face toward his son. Jesus could tell His Father was going to deny his request: his deeply –creased brow, the set of his jaw – and hurried to plead his case before he could be denied. "In their midst, with eyes that see the world as they do, perhaps I can learn what it is they lack, why they are resistant to Your Divinity. Then, if it is within Your power to provide it, Humanity can be brought back into the fold."
            God was shaking as Jesus finished his argument. His shoulders, hunched and taut, continually flexed and relaxed, as if he were spreading wings He no longer possessed. Jesus took a step back, fearing His Father’s wrath. A flash of lightning caught his attention and He looked down in time to see a thick bolt streak through the darkening clouds. It struck the sands of the Sahara and dissipated without causing any damage.
            "If it’s in My power? Son, do you forget with whom you are speaking? I am the Lord God! I am the Creator and the Destroyer, the Benevolent and the Vengeful. I am He Who Giveth and He Who Taketh Away. There is nothing beyond My power!"
            "Forgive me, Father," Jesus spoke quickly in hopes of dispelling a further outburst. "I spoke hastily and chose my words poorly. I did not mean to imply there was anything Your Glory could not accomplish. I only meant to suggest that more research might be necessary. The world has changed since the time of Moses, since Solomon, and David dictated to their subjects."
            "Do not patronize me, Son. I know full well how the world has changed: I have allowed it to change, have I not?"
            "Yes, Sir. You have. I misspoke again. Forgive me"
            "You are forgiven, My Son."
            Jesus clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace back and forth in front of God’s throne. "Humanity is a fickle animal. Like the others beasts of the field that roam the earth, they have base urges, instincts that allow them to survive against incredible odds. Though they have far exceeded the expectations I set for them during my short time among them, I believe there is more potential in them than in any other race you have created." God, deep in thought, nodded absently.
            "The Tem'ora are a highly-cultured and civilized species, who show proper respect and reverence for You and Your Divinity." "The Tem'ora are intellectual babies. They believe in nothing unless it is written down. At least Moses could extrapolate from Ten Commandments. The Tem'ora have received a hundred times that many and still they pray for guidance. They are devoid of imagination."
            "Yes," Jesus admitted, "but You did not endow them with free will."
            "True," God admitted.
            "Humanity, however, is willful, arrogant, stubborn and ungrateful. Despite their faults, they are an interesting species. I do enjoy watching them proceed as though You are actually among them, paying attention to their ceremonies and choosing sides in their conflicts based on who shows the highest level of devotion." Jesus chuckled at the image that popped into his mind: Humans kneeling in prayer for the blessings of God to fall upon them as they maim and murder their fellow humans.
            "I should have left people on Mars," God suddenly added. "The competition would have been good for the Sons of Adam. And the Martians were pious, God-fearing beings. They built all those monuments to me; those faces did not look a thing like Me, but it was the thought that counted.
            "They were interesting. They gained knowledge faster than any of the races I created on Earth. Remember the Saurians -- lumbering beasts that ate too much and thought too little? I finally had to eliminate them: they were destroying the planet."
            "And you cared more for the planet than for the creatures You created?" Jesus could not believe His Father was saying something so callous.
            "Yes, actually," God answered, irritated that His Son would even ask such an obvious question. "I spent six days creating that planet. The Saurians were a whim, a failed experiment, just like the Sons of Adam. Six days to create this beautiful paradise and they ruined it in no time." God sighed, and Jesus watched as a hurricane swept across the surface of the Earth, destroying homes and lives in its wake.
            "If I played by the rules, I could end their tenure on Earth in a month, two at most. Or I can prolong their suffering, make everyone on the planet suffer as Job suffered." Distracted by the devastation, the comment caught Jesus off his guard.
            "Surely You do not want to waste all the time and effort You invested in the Sons of Adam just to destroy them."
            God did not hear the question. "I think I would rather be rid of them sooner, start anew. They have been tainted, the experiment compromised. Lucifer forced My hand in this one."
            As if the mere mention of his name summoned the Adversary, Lucifer appeared at God’s left hand, a blinding nimbus of light surrounding him.
            "You beckoned, Boss?" Lucifer asked.
            "No, I did not." God cringed at the appellation. Ever since the two had become rivals for the souls of Humanity, Lucifer insisted on calling God "Boss" as an off-hand reference to their former relationship. "Since you are here, let Me ask you a question." God leaned forward, hand still resting beneath his bearded chin. "What do you think of the Sons of Adam? Do they deserve to continue to exist?"
            "Yes, Sir," Lucifer responded, an eager glint in his smoky eyes. "An intriguing species, that one. They are so wonderfully complex and sadistically mysterious. But I’ve managed to do fairly well with them inhabiting their little planet down there."
            "Fairly well? The twentieth century alone nearly tripled the size of your congregation!" God exclaimed. "Your followers, as well as some few of those who claimed to believe in My Word, put forth tremendous effort to assure you would get the credit you deserved." God spat out the last few words, his ire rising because of the absurdity of the situation. "I, in My benevolence, created the race of Humanity, beginning with Adam and in My Own Image, and allowed the subsequent generations to proceed as they wished. And what did they do with my leniency? They flocked, in droves, to your banner!"
            God threw his hands into the air, his blinding white robe fluttering about his powerful arms. "There is nothing left for me to do but eliminate the lot of them and. I can create another race in a day or two. I’ll just start over. This time, I will make them in someone else’s image."
            As God contemplated in whose image he could create the second race of Humanity, he had an intriguing thought which had not previously occurred to Him.
            "Son, do you think that Humanity would have fared better if I had not created them in My image? If I had not planted the seed for them to possess the power to determine their own destinies?"
            Jesus thought about His Father’s words for a moment. He stroked his wiry beard, sweeping it forward then back, considering the possibility. Before he could respond, however, Lucifer chimed in with his opinion.
            "Hey, Boss, maybe you can create the next race in my image." Lucifer laughed, amused by his own attempt at wit.
            God looked at his former angel with something akin to incredulity. "Why would I do a thing like that?" he asked.
            "Since the humans are destined to join me in the Pit anyway, why not create one in my image? That way, if you manage to convert a few of them away from me, you’ll feel like you’ve accomplished something." Lucifer looked pleased with his suggestion as he waited for God to mull it over.
            The mere idea of creating a race of beings modeled after the Fallen One, the once-beloved angel of judgment, was appalling to God. But as He was about to dismiss the idea out of hand, Jesus spoke.
            "Father, perhaps Lucifer’s suggestion has merit."
            "What? How could such a sinister plan have any merit whatsoever?" God waved his arms in the air as if attempting to grasp on to something tangible that might make the absurd notion even plausible.
            "If You will indulge me for a moment, I might be able to explain it in terms more appealing to You." Jesus began to pace, stroking his beard as he formulated his scheme into words. "You are disappointed in the manner in which Humanity has developed since Creation. You seek to dispose of the Sons of Adam and begin anew with a race that will heed Your commandments and adhere to Your gospels. Rather than eradicate this species, however, allow us to proceed as Lucifer has suggested," Jesus indicated his wicked half-brother with a sweep of his upturned hand, "and give the Sons of Adam over to his charge.
            "We need not begin again and hope for different results. And I certainly do not wish to be crucified again, no matter how worthy a cause it served." Jesus shivered at the memory of that harrowing experience.
            "What’s the matter, Brother? You didn’t enjoy your little visit to my neighborhood?"
            Jesus shot Lucifer a look of utter disdain, but offered no reply. Instead, he regarded His Father. God’s face showed His skepticism at the proposition Jesus was offering. Squaring his shoulders, Jesus prepared to plead his case further.
            "I . . .," he began. Before he could continue, however, God raised his hand to forestall his continuance.
            "Perhaps there is merit to this wayward angel’s plan." God looked to Lucifer, sizing up the level of intended mischief his former associate was hoping to unleash. "However, I do not agree in total. Instead, I will compromise.
            "I will send a plague to eradicate half the population of Earth. We can work out the details of exactly which Sons and Daughters of Adam will be swept aside. The remainder will continue to inhabit the Earth, outside My Benevolent protection, unless – or until – they repent. At which time, I will welcome them into My Grace and admit them into Heaven."
            Jesus was nodding and smiling as His Father outlined his plan. In His estimation, God would save all but the most irredeemable souls through his plan. Some few would immediately repent and be brought to Grace; others would have to suffer before receiving His Mercy.
            Lucifer seemed pleased with the arrangement as well. Whether he saw the flaw in the plan that would allow Humanity to escape his torments, Jesus could not tell. And it did not matter, in any case: God had spoken.
            Except where Lucifer was concerned.
            "Are we agreed, then?" God asked the Fallen One, obviously thinking along the same lines as Jesus.
            After a brief pause, Lucifer nodded, his wicked sneer clearly showing that he believed he was receiving the better of the bargain. "Agreed. But I get to devise the plague with which Humanity will be infected."
            "Very well," God sighed. "Devise the plague and I shall send it. And in a fortnight, the Earth shall be yours and yours alone."
            Lucifer bowed deeply to his former sovereign. "Thanks, Boss. I knew you still cared." With a wink, Lucifer disappeared.
            "He should pay closer attention to the fine print before making deals," Jesus remarked.
            God smiled and nodded sagely. "I intend to honor My bargain. Only those souls who ask for forgiveness and are redeemed shall find My Grace.
            "Of course," Jesus agreed. In fact, Jesus felt compassion for the Sons and Daughters of Adam; he had once died for their sins, after all. But God’s will was immutable.
            A moment later, Lucifer reappeared, bearing a sack the color of a bruise covered with pale yellow veins which pulsated with pestilence. Composed of a fibrous yet malleable skin, the violence of the disease roiling within caused tiny fissures to appear along its surface. From these fissures, rivulets of the virulent puss escaped. This excreta emitted a leprous, nauseating odor: the smell of suffering. "Here you go, Boss."
            Taking the sack in His hands, God held it out as far away from Himself as possible. He looked vaguely queasy as he regarded the abomination he was about to unleash upon His creation. With the cloying smell assaulting his nostrils, He briefly considered rescinding the deal. Dismissing his qualms, he squared his shoulders, his resolve bolstered by the fact that eventually, the souls of Humanity would return to him anyway.
            Lucifer glanced from God to Jesus, his features set in a rictus grin. With a sudden burst of gleeful laughter, he disappeared again.
            The echoes of that laughter hung in the ether surrounding God and His Son, and a momentary unease settled over them.
            "I really do not like him," Jesus said after a moment.
            God offered His son a guarded smile, understanding completely the tensions that often existed between brothers.
            Without another word, the Almighty sat forward and parted the clouds with a wave of his hands. Onto the Earth he set the plague Lucifer had given him, a plague the likes of which made the ten plagues of Egypt seem like a walk in the park.
            The effects were immediate.
            As the Sons and Daughters of Adam began to die seemingly at random, a great chasm opened in the Earth and Lucifer emerged on a flaming black steed to usher the souls of the wicked into the Pit, smiling his wicked grin as the damned filed past him.
            God sat back and waited for the moaning and wailing of the tormented to rise out of the suffering He had unleashed but to his surprise, He heard nothing.
            Turning his attention to the suffering multitudes, He watched as their loved ones succumbed to disease and famine, murder and despair. He watched as the line of souls streaming into the Pit grew longer and longer with each passing moment.
            And still no souls cried out for his Mercy.
            The image of Lucifer’s sinister grin returned to Him then and he realized His error.
            "What have I done?" God whispered.
            "Father?" Jesus asked. He had been watching in horror as Humanity succumbed to Lucifer’s plague and had not heard the question.
            A rage built up within God then and he bellowed at the Fallen One. "Lucifer, what have you done?!"
            "Nothing, Boss," Lucifer replied from the edge of the Pit. "Merely what we agreed upon."
            God looked closely at the souls who were not affected by the plague, waiting to hear their lamentations, waiting to offer his benevolent blessings upon them. After half of the dead and dying had been ushered toward their eternal fates, Lucifer honored the Almighty with another of his wicked laughs.
            God realized He had been duped.
            Revisiting the terms of the bargain, God realized His error. Only those souls who specifically asked for forgiveness would be spared. Lucifer designed a plague that attacked the central nervous system, preventing it from regulating the electrical impulses that kept the brain functioning: autonomic functions ceased to function, allowing people to die in extremely painful ways.
            Not one resident of Earth was unaffected by Lucifer's plague, however. Every member of the Human race suffered ill effects, most notably the ability to communicate. The vocal chords were ruined, the tissues decayed beyond repair. The centers of the brain that regulated language and cognition were eradicated, leaving the baser instincts intact. Lucifer had returned Humanity to a level less evolved than the Australopithecus; devoid of speech and the ability to process higher concepts such as God and Mercy.
            Jesus turned to God and, seeing the expression etched across His face, understood that Humanity was lost.
            "NO!" God bellowed and a thunder clap broke over the surface of the Earth Pockets of magma erupted, spewing forth white-hot death over the surface of the planet, killing all in its path. The release of so much magma at once destabilized the planet’s tectonic plates: horrendous earthquakes shook the earth, shattering that which the magma did not consume. Tsunamis washed away whole regions, uprooting trees, leveling dwellings and dousing the lava creeping across the land, leaving a smoldering black scar where life had once flourished. The devastation was remarkable.
            And Lucifer continued to usher the souls of Humanity into the Pit, laughing as he witnessed the fall of Humanity and its Almighty God in the one fell swoop.
            God sat on his throne and considered the ruse into which He had fallen. His one-time protégé had surpassed his mentor, duping the Lord with his guile. God could not help but laugh, which He proceeded to do. Great bellowing peals of laughter issued forth from His august presence.
            "I guess it is true: the Devil is in the details."
            Stunned, Jesus could not respond immediately. He stood staring at His Father, incomprehensible, for a long time. Finally, after the initial shock of the truth wore off, he asked, "So how do we get Humanity back? You can get them back, can you not?"
            "No," God answered frankly. "I cannot."
            Jesus stammered for a moment, words failing to form. He shook his head, attempting to clear the cobwebs that had suddenly formed in his thoughts. "So what do we do," he asked in a slight, concerned voice.
            God looked directly at Jesus. "We begin anew."

"You Have to Lose Yourself to Find Yourself" by Jonathan Kirk

It was Talon’s idea to meet Jonah at the clearing in Tranquility Park. Henry was against it. The park was too cold and too far out; so far in fact that, for a moment, he had almost forgotten how to get there. It took Henry some fifteen minutes to find the creek choked with condoms and McDonald’s food wrappers. He followed it to the glen, soft with dew and spotted with mire. Fumbling about the musty pines, he found the place.

It was a simple place, just a clearing with a floor of soft pine needles. The charred skeleton of their last campfire from almost three years ago could still be seen, circled by the flat rocks they had used as seats. When younger, the four friends – Talon, Michael, Jonah, and Henry– had drunk Miller Lites stolen from Talon’s dad. When they could, they’d smoke badly rolled joints of cheap marijuana, bought from the tattooed janitor at their school; then burn crisp apple incense and watch the blood-orange moon hover in the slate sky. Their teenage minds spilled over with questions they were deathly afraid to give voice to.

For years, whenever Henry thought of the clearing, steady warmth would build in his stomach and diffuse through his limbs. It had always been a place of safety and closeness, secure to dream. During his teenage years they often talked of how superb the party kegs and copious sex of university life was to be. When they graduated they wanted to be very different from their pale, narrow-minded, Christian parents. Their circle wanted to be rich, powerful, full of lust, and a desire for self-indulgence. They wanted to drive fancy cars and have television sets too big for one person to move alone. They planned on yearly vacations to St. Thomas with their mistresses, where they’d drink chilled Coronas with lime and remember good times.

It was different being in the clearing three years later. Jonah had killed some of the closeness, Henry thought. It was there that he had told them, quite suddenly, that he would not be going to Virginia Tech with them – and many of their classmates – like originally planned. He told them he would be volunteering for the next two years in New Guinea, Africa, through his mother’s church. Africa. As Henry turned the word over in his mouth it began to seem made up. Henry saw pictures in textbooks and movies, of course, but nothing concrete from there had ever touched his life. Jonah might as well have said he was going to Narnia.

This announcement came just weeks after the short bout of depression Jonah had faced at the death of his dog by stomach cancer. Henry remembered Jonah weeping, scattering the rowdy basset hound’s ashes over a backyard stream. Henry was disturbed to see his fierce and charismatic friend weep so openly, but a part of him also felt privileged that he had been the sole one chosen to witness such an honest event. Still, Henry could not believe that the incident had influenced Jonah to give up university life for a thatched village hut in Africa.

After Jonah broke the news to them, the friends tried to continue their lives just as ever – barhopping, party crashing, whatever – but it was all half-hearted. Jonah didn’t seem into it anymore. As the summer wore on, their paths crossed less and less. Jonah was busy getting his vaccinations and packing survival gear – ponchos, compasses, and MRE’s – while the rest of them struggled to acquire radios, televisions, and refrigerators large enough to hold two six packs at least.

Jonah’s departure came quite suddenly. During the drive to the airport he was uncharacteristically quiet – like a man marching off to war, as Michael put it. The silence disturbed Henry, as Jonah had always been loud and heated. When they finally arrived, Jonah, with a grave look, shook each of their hands. It was the first handshake Henry had ever gotten from someone not his father’s age.

During the first six months of Jonah’s adventure, he had sent letters and phoned Henry every weekend. Mostly he complained about the heat and the lousy food. He said that things were bad and that he wanted to come home, but if he gave up he would never be able to forgive himself. Henry tried to convince him that was stupid, that he was just one man and whatever he did wouldn’t be much, but he wouldn’t listen.

Then when he’d ask Henry how he was doing, he’d always go quiet. After thirty minutes of babies with flies covering their faces, camps of motherless children, and raggedy men with worms coming out of their feet, the humor of Michael getting trashed and fucking a fat chick would dissolve like a puddle of spit on a hot tin roof.

It was near summer of the next year when all communication with Jonah suddenly stopped. The news said that there was regional conflict in Jonah’s area, something concerning religion and poverty. Mass graves were found. Jonah’s mother tried to get information, but was only told that the U.S. government was doing all that it could to help its citizens. Henry was ashamed to admit it, but for the longest time he thought that it was stupidity that had got Jonah into this next bind.

Many weeks later Henry and some friends were at the bar, celebrating the end of finals, when Henry caught a flash of Jonah on the news. It was only for a moment, but he couldn’t mistake that face, dirty and panicked as it was, even in a crowd. They were fleeing from a burning village. In the background armed onlookers stood and did nothing.

A moment later they cut to a short interview with Jonah. He looked rugged, with a beard and ragged half-buttoned safari shirt. Henry would never forget his words. “The things that are going on here are monstrous, and yet nobody seems to be doing anything about it …” He tried to continue, but had to cover his face with his hand to weep. The camera cut away. The bar fell into silence.

Henry remembered how, for such a long time, Jonah had done nothing but talk about how much beer and women he was going to go through at Virginia Tech. “Budweiser and Trojan stock is going to skyrocket,” he’d say.

When Henry asked him why his plans changed, he said that he just couldn’t stand himself as he was anymore. He said that if he went away to college, things would just continue on, same as always. He wanted to appreciate life or something like that. Henry didn’t understand it. All of this because of a dead dog. What could he find in Africa but disease and homesickness?

Henry thought about this as he took a seat on his rock. Talon and Michael arrived not much later.

“So how long did you say Jonah’s been back for?” Michael asked Henry, settling his beefy wrestler body on a rock.

“Three months,” Henry replied flatly.

“Shit,” Michael mumbled.

“What the fuck you think he’s been doing all this time?” Talon asked, stroking the pitiful blonde goatee that he said made him appear artistic. “We’ve made it out to every bar this week and we still haven’t seen him?”

“Maybe he doesn’t like bars anymore,” Henry said.

“Yeah, right,” Michael said. “How the fuck do you think he made it two years out there in the goddamn bush. He had to be getting wasted every night.”

There was a rustling of leaves then, and they all turned expecting to see Jonah coming tramping towards us, but it was only the wind.

“Three fucking months man,” Michael continued his face almost ruby with irritation. “Can you believe that? After all we did for the kid sending him piles of books and all. I must have paid at least a hundred bucks in shipping to send him all those goddamn philosophy books.”

“Ease up,” Talon said. “You know things weren’t good there.”

“They probably evacuated his ass out of there the moment shit went sour,” Michael mumbled his words trailed away as something detached itself from the blackness of the woods. The light from the moon slowly revealed a figure wearing a long black coat, and a scarf was wrapped around its head so that only frozen piercing eyes were visible.

“Hello,” Talon said, somewhat mystified.

The figure took a deep worrisome breath, and then dropped the scarf. Talon gasped a little. Henry and Michael were quiet.

It was as if Jonah had the life sucked out of him. His cheeks were wasted and his skin dark brown. His hair, which people had always remarked upon due to its darkness and thickness, was now just stubble on his head. But the biggest change was his eyes. While they had once looked upon the world with a fierce intensity, now they were akin to glistening fish skin

“Jonah,” Talon finally said.

“Hi,” he said.

And that seemed to bring everyone back to life. Michael’s anger vanished. He and Talon embraced Jonah, and then Jonah turned to Henry, his gaze a cold and brilliant powerful spotlight that left him ill at ease.

“How are you?” Jonah said.

Henry almost could not answer him. All these years wondering and waiting and there he stood. “Fine,” was all Henry could manage to say.

“Good. Fine is good.” And then he turned away from him and he felt relieved. “So what’s the plan tonight?” Jonah said.

“You, my friend,” Michael said, “are getting piss-ass drunk.”

Jonah smiled slightly. “Oh.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t drink anymore,” Michael said.

“It’s been a long time.”

“So, how was it?” Talon asked timidly.

Jonah smiled a little at this, but it was the tired kind of smile an adult gives a child as it does something both exasperating and precious.

When they arrived at the pub they could see that it was already packed. There were too many people hanging around outside, puffing on menthol cigarettes and talking on bright blinking cellular phones.

“We’re going to get drunk as skunks,” Talon said, rubbing his hands together excitedly.

Jonah suddenly stopped. He was watching the crowd uneasily.

“What do you think?” Talon asked.

“It’s nice,” Jonah said, but his voice was flat.

“It’s a great spot,” Henry said, quite suddenly feeling an intense need to defend the place.

“I’m sure it is,” Jonah replied.

Inside there were many faces familiar to Henry and his friends. Some smiled at them and waved their glasses aloft. Christopher, one of their classmates and a fellow future law student, recognized Jonah. He came stumbling over and they could smell the stink of cigarettes and beer on him before he was within five feet of them.

“Jonaaah,” Christopher said, wrapping his arms around him, while Jonah only stood there awkwardly. “How ya been ya sonofabitch?”

“OK,” Jonah mumbled.

“You goddamn sonofabitch.” He was no longer hugging Jonah, but he held his face just inches from Jonah’s. “I saw you on the goddamn news, man. You’re a fucking hero!”

“I’m no hero,” Jonah said.

Impulsively Henry snorted, but Jonah did not notice.

“Hey, bar man!” Christopher yelled. “Get this goddamn hero a goddamn drink!”

“No, please,” Jonah said, squirming his way out of Christopher’s grasp. “It’s OK.”

But Christopher wasn’t paying attention. He went off to get a beer, but ended up distracted, yelling at some random person he had bumped into in the crowd. Everyone turned, looking at the sudden argument, and Jonah took the opportunity to slip away. Henry made to go after him, but then Talon handed him a beer, and when Henry turned back Jonah was gone.

“Fuck him,” Henry mumbled, suddenly feeling his shame give way to antipathy.

Henry made a commitment to himself then that that night would be a good one. He would drink until his fingers were numb, and then he would find a woman to stick it to for the night.

Drinks came one after the other like candy from a dispenser. Despite having a damn good tolerance, Henry was soon thick and clumsy, and Jonah was all but forgotten. Talon was at a table in the corner blabbering about the war in Iraq to a group of very interested looking girls. He was quite the philosopher when his stomach was full of whiskey.

Henry began to feel nauseous. He could have gone to the bathroom but that would have meant waiting in line, the thought of so many drunken idiots jeering at him as he spilled his guts made him shiver. He stumbled outside and around to the back of the building to the area called the “puke pit”. Already there was another person hunched by bushes. A girl stood by him rubbing his back.

Henry barely made it to another empty bush when all the poison he’d spent so much money on came crawling back up his throat. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and saw someone sitting, pale in that moonlight, at the edge of the dirt lot.

“Jonah?” Henry uttered.

The figure sniffled and turned his head. “Yeah.”

“What the fuck ya doin’ out here?” Henry said, more unkindly than intended.

“Enjoying the night,” Jonah said quietly.

“Fuck man. It’s your party.”

“Really?” he said, laughing a little.

Henry clenched. “You know, what the fuck is your problem?”

“I don’t know,” Jonah said.

The sincerity in his voice was too much for Henry. He almost screamed but then he had to vomit again. When he stood fully and took a deep breath, the question that had been spiraling around his head for so many years came spilling out almost against his will.

“Why didn’t you ask me to go with you?” Henry asked. He regretted it the moment the words escaped his lips, but with the damage already done, he continued. “We were best friends for so long. Why didn’t you ask me to go with you?”

Jonah was quiet for so long that Henry began to believe that he was not going to answer, but then finally he said, “Because you wouldn’t have come.”

Henry looked around wildly. Despite the many nights he emptied his stomach in this log, everything seemed very unfamiliar to him. Henry noticed for the first time how the grass was ugly and dying from piss and vomit, and the bushes were only tangled brambles. It seemed so completely careless.

Then another kid came running around the corner to puke and Henry thought how pathetic he looked.

“I’m going to be somebody important,” Henry mumbled.

Jonah said nothing.

“Do you remember Christina’s party?” Henry asked.

“Hardly,” Jonah said.

“Well, I do,” Henry said, tapping his finger against my chest for emphasis. “I do. You had your head in the fucking toilet the entire night. We thought you were gonna die.”

Jonah looked up at Henry patiently.

“I had to take you to the emergency room, Jonah. Like the fucking moron that you were you took too many sleeping pills and drank too much liquor. That was you, Jonah. Always taking things too far. Always walking on the edge.”

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”

Henry took an angry step forward, raised his fist. He trembled. Jonah only stared up at him, his eyes smooth and pale as glass.

“Shit,” Henry mumbled, deflating. “Why aren’t I happy.” All the pomposity and all the ego that had been driving him for so many years vanished. He collapsed to the ground and a small sob escaped his lips. He began to weep. “I’m not selfish,” He cried. “I wanna help people too, but I can’t, you know? I can’t. Every time I try I feel like they’re just gonna take from me and never give back.”

For some time the only sound was Henry’s muffled sobs, and then Jonah began to speak.

“Near the town where I was staying there was a well …” He paused for a long time, and Henry, his cries finished, saw that Jonah was struggling to muster something. “Near the town where I was staying there was a well,” Jonah finally continued. “It was the blood of that place, you know? It was where the people got their water to drink, to cook, to bathe their children. Such a simple thing, just a hole in the ground, really.” He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. “During the heavy part of the fighting they poisoned that well, Henry. I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t believe it. They poisoned the well. They poisoned the well. So many people died; just fell over dead and were left there like garbage. For days afterward I watched men fight over water. Water, Henry. I had a canteen hidden in my sleeping bag. While kids cried for water I kept my canteen hidden.”

The silence that followed was profound.

Then Henry half-sobbed, half-laughed, feeling more ashamed and pitiful then he had ever felt in his whole life. Henry looked at Jonah and saw that his face contained only concern for him and the world entire. How different he was from that crazy kid of their childhood! Looking deeper Henry saw something that he had noticed a very long time ago, but hadn’t really understood then. While Henry and his friends had been drinking so long to forget the suffering of being human, Jonah had just been experimenting with alcohol. He had been the only one brave enough to step away, realizing that there was truly nothing in the smoky pub but a fleeting smile; he knew that there was a world outside that was huge and open to him and his hands, however small, were enough to make a difference.

Henry fell back into the grass and stared at the moon. He felt weightless, insubstantial. “I can change,” he said, quite suddenly. And then he began to repeat that, turning it into a sort of mantra. “I can change, I can change, I can change …” And the moon, pale and brilliant, was witness.