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Messiah of the Institute
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Messiah of the Institute |
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brian madden Member Elite
since 2000-05-06
Posts 4374ireland 
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This is my first real attempt at prose fiction. I guess this is more a draft for a longer short story, that could be fleshed out in places. I would love to here your comments and suggestions. Again this is 100% fictional. =================================================== "I am the Nazarene, the sacred lamb, your Christ" his voice bellowed, his intense gaze looked on all of us. He could have said that he was God and we would have believed him. But He was a wise man, no fool. You don't go around claiming you're God. People start believing and worshipping and then they expect favours for their adoration. I mean nobody is going to worship a God that does not give good fortune and blessings to his people. The day of blind faith is dead. It is all about what you receive out of it. Kindness is a bartering system. At least when you proclaim to be Jesus people are going to somewhat less demanding. I mean Jesus did not save his own ass so why should you expect him to save yours. Sure he turned water into wine but alcohol clouds the mind. It is a fool's pleasure. At least when you claim to be Jesus you can make simpler promises, ones that if you even wanted to you could grant. And the promise was as it always had been since time began deliverance. But it is not the promise it is how you sell the idea. You have to be a showman and Zachary was one of the best I have ever seen. He even had me eating out of his hand at one stage but that was some time again when our faith was strong and our eyes were blind and we ate those empty promises. I almost feel sorry for him but then I remember the extent of his great sin…. It was a hot July evening and we were all seated in the day room listening to the hum of the fans and watching the tv. I forget the program probably some sports thing, which I hate. Anyway, it was about the moment when I was falling asleep that Zachary made his grand entrance. The doctors were carrying him, all tattered and dishevelled, into the nurse's office, his face was somewhat bruised. Even from across the room and over the sterile air of antiseptics I could smell it…alcohol. In a place awash with chemicals it filled the room in seconds. It was a smell from the outside, outside the hospital….it was sweet. Beyond the smell something else drew me to Zach. He had a strong presence. Not like you or me. This was a powerful spirit. He was holy man. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The first time I approached him, he was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, still unsure of his place. We were not his flock at this stage, no we were just patients and he was just a new arrival. I introduced myself but I can't tell you my name for I am shamed of the things I have done, or at that the things I was about to do. I want to remain anonymous. So that I can fade away and erase my past. I did all the talking at first just welcoming him here, telling him that it was nice place once you got used it. Telling him about the gardens which I loved and still miss. I started asking him about himself, like his name and how he got here. He continued to stare ahead at the wall and then in the middle of telling him about myself he broke eye contact with the wall and fixed his eyes on me. He had such an intense stare, one that will haunt me till I die. Those eyes stared right into my soul. He spoke slowly "What I am doing here?" "We," I said 'cos even then I knew he did not belong, "are in a hospital for the reality challenged." It was a term doctor Davis used. He thought the word "mentally ill" enforced negative emotions and responses from us. He stared at me confused "this is a mental home" I added light heartily. With that he exploded into a rage just stood in the middle of the room screaming and shouting really bad words, causing most of the patients to join in. From that moment on I knew that he was destined to be our leader. Even as the aids restrained him I knew that their efforts were in vain. He had spoken to us. " Freedom, let me go, I will break free." He was proclaiming our freedom. When he said, "I will break free" he meant us because we were to be one under his guidance. Zach returned to us, two hours later. At first we thought the doctors had filled him with drugs as he walked past the ward door and into the bedrooms. I sat where I was on my chair in the day room afraid to go and see him in case the doctors started quizzing me and telling me to clear off. When I had the gut feeling it was safe I went to his room and found him on the bed reading. The book was called "the holy bible". Zach read the book from cover to cover devouring every word, studying for his role as our Messiah. Zach slept in the bed next to mine. Old Jones used to sleep there until one of the aids found him in the showers in a pool of his blood. Cut both his wrists so goes the word on the ward. I watched and waited staying close to Zach, talking and getting him fitted in with the rest of the patients on our ward, all the while waiting for him to make his move to show his true intent. I waited in vain, and I became sick of trying to convince the others that Zach was in some way special. I had almost given up but the day of reckoning came and fittingly enough it was in the house of God. We were all herding into the church for weekly dose of the good book when Zach, during the gospel stood up in a Jesus style pose and screamed, just screamed then eyes fixed at the priest started quoting Revelations, spitting out the words so fast I could barely hear them. It filled my heart with awe to watch him preach and denounce the priest and the Jesus as false prophets. He had revealed himself, I rose and followed suit. Slowly the rest of the patients rose out of their seats. The doctors just watched on stunned to see twenty mental patients with their arms stretched out wide. Oh there was pleading from the doctors and threats. For the remainder of mass time Zach held his stance and then just walked into the aisle and returned to the ward and we all followed one by one. His display of defiance had given us hope that some one could save us from this sterile hell. Oh there was commotion and lectures from the head nurse, and we were told not to do such things again. "She will be sorry," Zach muttered when we were finally alone. We all sat round with baited breath. "She can't keep me in here away from the wonders of the outside," he spoke rapidly and we clung to every word. By the end of the night the rules and guidelines of the hospital meant nothing. The security of this safe atmosphere was destroyed we now yearned for the world outside, and Zach perhaps intoxicated by our adoration made his first promise "I shall deliver you to the Promised Land." With those words his faith was sealed he was our Jesus and he knew it. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Our escape is not a matter of much reflection except that I was surprised at how easily a mental patient could escape and almost regretted not having tried it before. After years of good behaviour and peacefulness the doctors had mistaken us harmless, we were just waiting for a leader. Lastly that the escape was bloody, too bloody. Zach believed in doing a good job. No body was killed I think, but still too much violence, not the way of a Messiah. When we finally calmed him down he seemed different no longer the gentle glowing man I once knew. There was darkness in his eyes. We stood on the threshold of civilisation. Twenty patients and their leader. We was our first breath of freedom, now we were free, where to now? It seems that if you are not here you have to be there and we could not go back to the hospital and we could not stay here. Zach started walking along the highway. We all followed quietly. As we walked I reconstructed the events in my head, the process leading to us being free. I like to recollect the past only until now there hasn't been much to recollect. That night before we left Zach had told us his plan to escape and we all knew our roles. He swore us to secrecy on the plan. As the two of us walked to the bedroom he said, "I don't belong here. I am not insane. It is the nurses and the doctors, with their rules." "I wonder if any us in here are, I mean what is crazy?" I spoke gently, I mean the thing about talking to a Messiah is that he knows all so conversations are a bit pointless, him with his infinite wisdom and all. "Tomorrow we escape this place and we will be kings in the Promised Land." We had such nice chats. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I knew when we came to the farmhouse that we had reached a point of no return. It was late and all was quiet. "This is where we will stay for the night," Zach said. "The people inside?" I spoke, as always the voice of reason and logic. "They will accommodate us. " he stared at me coldly as he responded. As he gave his commands to break into the house and imprison the inhabitants I knew that he was pushing his power too far but we were still under his spell. We gained entry by breaking through a window. The elderly couple awoke to find a large mob in their bedroom. They were tied up with two pairs of handcuffs that Zach had stolen from one of the hospital guards. We ate like kings for sure as the couple watched on in terror. Everything was fine. But the virtues of our Messiah were slipped. The outside had changed him. Away from the tranquillity and bliss of the hospital he was becoming all too human he was no longer interesting in guiding us, his great plan it seemed never extended beyond our escape. His interests were to other things like "money, where do you keep your money?" he snarled as he held the knife to the old wife's throat. I must admit I had not pictured it turning out like this. Only when the knife had sliced deep into the old woman's flesh did the old man reveal where the money was hidden. Zach went to hunt for the treasure. "I am sorry. It was not supposed to turn out like this" I said to the old people, who were chained the radiator, but also to the others. I felt so guilty for making the others put their faith in a false God. Among us we agreed that we should atone for our sins and there should be suffering and sacrifice. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The blast of the gun was deafening it filled the room as a thunderous explosion and rang in my ears. "Please, please" begged the old man his eyes flooding with tears, as his wife lay slumped in a pool of blood. "Now where is the rest of the money?" Zach held the small gun to old man's head. I guess he found it somewhere in the house. "That is all there is. Please," the old man sobbed. I covered my ears but the sound of the gun was still as deafening. Zach laid the gun down on the table. "We will have to bury them, then take any valuables" he spoke in a cold monotone voice. The outside had tainted him. We stood there, "Well come on. I command it. Your Messiah commands it." He screamed, this time we did not join in. "No," I answered. I was about to denounce him as a false prophet when the others made the move. Even though we greatly outnumbered him it was quite a struggle and in the end we had to knock him out. He awoke disorientated. "You betrayed me and shall pay," he hissed. "You'll burn is hell," He was distracted by the pounding of the hammer. His head turned, and his face went pale with shock as he watched the nail pierce through his skin and into the plank of wood. He screamed in agony. Suddenly he went silence as his body jerked and vomit poured from his mouth. "I am the Nazarene, the sacred lamb, your Christ" he cried in one last vain attempt to save his skin. His words fell upon deaf ears as he hoisted the cross into a standing position. Upon this cross was the man who told us that he was our saviour, but he was just a man. "You are insane, mad. " he howled. "So the doctors told us," I answered as he watched me from his erect cross. "Maybe we are but so were you. You promised to save us and instead you used us fed upon our weakness and guilt. We followed you because we believed. You offered us hope and then turned your back on us. You are no saviour". Faith is a dangerous thing. If you want to proclaim yourself as Jesus choose your audience well. And never make a promise that you can not at least give the illusion of honouring. < !signature--> ------------------------ "Take nothing but pictures. Leave nothing but footprints. Kill nothing but time". Baltimore Grotto "To be nobody-but-yourself-in a world which is doing its best night and day, to make you everybody else - means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting." E.E Cummings. "Art is a lie which makes us realise the truth." Pablo Picasso "We Irish are too poetical to be poets, we are a nation of brilliant failures" Oscar Wilde ----- [This message has been edited by brian madden (edited 06-17-2000).] |
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
hey Bri, well, this is very well written, very, and strong in both imagery and emotion. for me personally it was a bit hard to read...(forgive my womanly "woosiness")lol i think it conjured up too many Mansion type images for me.. but again that speaks to how well written it is. It just something that I personally have trouble reading. But as always...Im intrigued by the way your minds creates these things, and you always express them well. I know you say prose is not your strong suite but i think you do quite well. later-deep-gator eve  |
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Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187St. Paul, MN |
That was a chilling tale *Shivers* that ending will get to you. I thought some of the language you used was a little too "Slang" like "'cos" but other than that little gripe, I liked this tale, Reminds me of the song "Welcome Home (Sanitarium)" "They keeped me locked up in this cage, can't they see it's why my brain says rage?" Abrahm Simons "Keep on dreamin' boy 'cause when you stop dreaming it's time to die" - Blind Melon |
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Honeybee Member Ascendant
since 1999-12-26
Posts 5372Ontario, CANADA |
Brian, you are the master of all writing, once again I am in awe of your talent. This is a very dark, disturbing piece, very well written, expressed with so many truths. This piece really gives the reader a lot to think about. This is one of the most unique stories that I have read that has incorporated so much into it, it gave me chills. I tell you, Brian, your mind is brilliant. The ending is amazing, and I completely agree with you. Although this story is fictional and is about "mentally ill" patients, I feel that in some sense, this can apply to regular everyday church goers. Before any religious person gets angry with me for saying that comment..let me explain, I am talking about the church goers who become obsessed, fanatical in their belief that they miss the true meaning of "worshiping" God and having faith, where the line between good and evil gets crossed, like it did in your story. This also can apply to those preachers or priests who rant and rave on television, in a very phony way I might add, to give money and so on and so on. I see your hidden meaning in this, and I applaud your skills, my friend! And, it's true, so often people expect those they worship to give them gold and blessings in return, and I believe that faith doesn't work that way. People should love God because they want to and expect nothing in return but His love. I am not religious, but I am spiritual  Take care, Melissa Honeybee [This message has been edited by Melissa Honeybee (edited 06-18-2000).] |
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brian madden Member Elite
since 2000-05-06
Posts 4374ireland |
thanks for your response Janet. I don't really write prose as I tend to be impatient, I just don't have the patient to describe every detail in the scene. Also for me poetry as more freedom. Aw Charles Manson, I must admit I have a certain fascination with killers. I mean how do you justify the ulimate crime to yourself. I once saw a program on Manson, apparently he was not directly involved in the murders but did order his group to do them and another thing that is frightening is the power he had over his group. The one thing he said that will always stick with me is that if he did kill anyone there would be no one left. Anyway thanks for reading and responsing honestly. Abrahm, thanks for your response. By using slang i was trying to add to the character, in a way I kept thinking of McMurphy from one flew over the cuckoo's nest. I see your point. also I was probably too lazy to type the whole word. Melissa, I am totally blushing at your response. thank you but your words are causing my ego to grow into a huge..well..ego. I was once a catholic, and clung to religion, until I hit my teenage years. I was caught in conflict with myself and God. In the end I won and after awhile i left the church. I tend to look at things very intensely. I turned to spiritualism because it was the one thing I had always believed I just pushed it to the front. The religious fantics scare me in way they have a lot in common with the nazis. Anyway, I guess I made my point about religion in the story. In the end I think religion should be primarily that there IS A GOD A LOVING GOD AND LOVE THY NEIGHBOUR AS THY SELF and thy neighbour is everyone. I think this is the one truth that religious fantics, ironically, forget when they are damning us all to hell. thanks very much for all your wonderful responses. ------------------------ "WE IRISH ARE TOO POETIC TO BE POETS, WE ARE A NATION OF BRILLIANT FAILURES." Oscar Wilde. |
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