A moment of beauty in Something Awful?
When this cold world work up and saw the light, this is how it happened.
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Within the next twenty-five years humanity will develop a gun that speaks like the crack of nearby lightning from a clear sky, that can tell good men from bad and, whose bullets enter the hearts of all who stand before the gun's might, filling them with the word of God.
Those shot with the gun will not fall, but will stand where they are hit and undergo an incredible transformation. The mud and stained rags will fall from their skin, and they will be renewed by a holy light that will shine from within them, healing the wound the bullet has left in their flesh, but leaving the bullet, transformed into a small, hot point of pure compassion, within them.
These men and women and children will then begin to walk across the land, not eating or sleeping or drinking, spreading the light and love of God. All who see the light shining from within them will kneel with tears falling from their closed eyes, robbed of words by the beauty of the shot ones.
The light will bathe everything with the brightness of ten suns, but it will not blind those who see it, nor burn their skin. The light's touch will be as soft as a spring zephyr, kissing their closed eyelids and catching their falling tears. The tears will spiral together in the sky, running along invisible lines until they form a glittering net that will envelope the earth and the sky. Astronauts will see the net from space, and it will look like liquid filigree of silver springing from a hundred million points across the surface of the earth and coalescing into a vast coccoon.
Although the light will not hurt the people who perceive it, it will slay the death in them, the death that resides in all life. Where the light falls living things will return to the state they new in Eden, neither killing nor dying, but living in graceful equilibrium, observing in their many particular ways the miracle of existence. As American forces fire their weapons at different points aross the surface of the planet they will create hiroshimas and nagasakis of bliss, radiant nuclear groundbursts of idyllic contentment.
Shielded by specially designed visors, American troops and American people will not see the light. In fact they will seem to walk and fight in a world of demons. They will shoot to kill imagined terrors, unleashing greater and greater love on their enemies, until the world has become one garden of delight for others, and an uninterrupted hell for Americans.
When God descends to rule and revel in the new garden the Americans will retreat to a blackened dome in the middle of Kansas. Seeing God as a leathery, blood-soaked Satan they will fire again and again, launching heavier and heavier weapons, until at least they hurl their final Mother of All Bombs against him.
God will catch the bomb, and slice it in half, and take up residence by the dome, looking out across the land and the sea with infinite satisfaction, sparing barely a thought for the Americans trapped inside the hemispherical hell of their own making.
He will sit on his giant camp stool, warming his hands by thought alone. In the mornings he will greet the sun, at night the stars. One cut half of the MOAB will be his washpot, and over the dome he will cast his shoe.
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Within the next twenty-five years humanity will develop a gun that speaks like the crack of nearby lightning from a clear sky, that can tell good men from bad and, whose bullets enter the hearts of all who stand before the gun's might, filling them with the word of God.
Those shot with the gun will not fall, but will stand where they are hit and undergo an incredible transformation. The mud and stained rags will fall from their skin, and they will be renewed by a holy light that will shine from within them, healing the wound the bullet has left in their flesh, but leaving the bullet, transformed into a small, hot point of pure compassion, within them.
These men and women and children will then begin to walk across the land, not eating or sleeping or drinking, spreading the light and love of God. All who see the light shining from within them will kneel with tears falling from their closed eyes, robbed of words by the beauty of the shot ones.
The light will bathe everything with the brightness of ten suns, but it will not blind those who see it, nor burn their skin. The light's touch will be as soft as a spring zephyr, kissing their closed eyelids and catching their falling tears. The tears will spiral together in the sky, running along invisible lines until they form a glittering net that will envelope the earth and the sky. Astronauts will see the net from space, and it will look like liquid filigree of silver springing from a hundred million points across the surface of the earth and coalescing into a vast coccoon.
Although the light will not hurt the people who perceive it, it will slay the death in them, the death that resides in all life. Where the light falls living things will return to the state they new in Eden, neither killing nor dying, but living in graceful equilibrium, observing in their many particular ways the miracle of existence. As American forces fire their weapons at different points aross the surface of the planet they will create hiroshimas and nagasakis of bliss, radiant nuclear groundbursts of idyllic contentment.
Shielded by specially designed visors, American troops and American people will not see the light. In fact they will seem to walk and fight in a world of demons. They will shoot to kill imagined terrors, unleashing greater and greater love on their enemies, until the world has become one garden of delight for others, and an uninterrupted hell for Americans.
When God descends to rule and revel in the new garden the Americans will retreat to a blackened dome in the middle of Kansas. Seeing God as a leathery, blood-soaked Satan they will fire again and again, launching heavier and heavier weapons, until at least they hurl their final Mother of All Bombs against him.
God will catch the bomb, and slice it in half, and take up residence by the dome, looking out across the land and the sea with infinite satisfaction, sparing barely a thought for the Americans trapped inside the hemispherical hell of their own making.
He will sit on his giant camp stool, warming his hands by thought alone. In the mornings he will greet the sun, at night the stars. One cut half of the MOAB will be his washpot, and over the dome he will cast his shoe.