09/26/2023
Category "War & Peace" (Short Stories in english)
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Dreams Nightmares Jesus LGBTQ Horror

Andre M. Pietroschek

Only A Dream, Jesus! (Nightmarish Faith-Fiction)

Only A Dream, Jesus!

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Disclaimer: “I’m part of the Precariat; hands off my small change!” - No warranties! Read at your own risk, or skip it.

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Picture Note: The picture was made to reflect the mindset of causing controversy. I always respected the free choice of confession that our government allowed for all people, although I bitch about that being costly AF!
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License note: The German original runs under a Creative Commons license; however, I have yet to sign one for translation rights or my works in other languages.

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The story begins:

On a moonless night, the air was thick with darkness and wind, while the city erupted in flames. The cacophony of battle echoed through the streets, punctuated by the heart-wrenching cries of the fallen. Amidst this chaos, the mundane continued; family cars passed by, and helicopters buzzed overhead, almost surreal against the grim backdrop.

Two friends, like countless others, raced through the night. Jaycee, a trans person of fierce resolve, and Effro Brough, the epitome of ennui, found themselves gripped by a palpable sense of panic and danger.

Their harrowing journey had been punctuated by the horrors they had witnessed—three rapes, riots, and an estimated fifteen bloody murders in just the last ten minutes. Injustice loomed heavy, but like everyone else, their perceptions were limited to the immediate.

“Let’s head to the army barracks, or the nearest police station, or just get out of this city!” Jaycee shouted, urgency lacing every word.

Effro, momentarily stunned, faltered in his stride.

“No! We must go to the church,” he insisted, his tone fierce yet solemn.

“They won’t spare churches either; the synagogue and mosque are already ablaze!” Jaycee countered, his heart pounding.

Effro was momentarily shaken by Jaycee's words, almost stopping in his tracks.

“Have you forgotten, who we’re up against? Bullets, blades, and batons won’t deter these monsters!” he implored.

Visions of nightmarish assailants flooded Jaycee’s mind, figures that loomed like phantoms, more than mere delusions. They were not just drugged psychopaths or masked soldiers; they were the embodiment of terror.

“We will fight back. NOW!” Jaycee declared, a warrior’s resolve igniting within.

With fierce determination, Jaycee charged at a nearby phantom, executing a brutal body-check that sent the creature sprawling away from its intended victim.

The victim, a woman, looked at Jaycee with wide eyes filled with disbelief.

“Let me die; run to the church!” she spat, blood mingling with her words.

Jaycee hesitated, struck dumb by her plea. But before he could respond, the phantom lunged again, forcing Jaycee to retaliate with a flurry of punches that landed with brutal precision.

“Jaycee, we need to reach the church. Fighting demons won’t save anyone!” Effro urged, pulling at Jaycee’s shoulder.

The thought of abandoning those suffering gnawed at Jaycee’s conscience.

“I can’t just stand by and watch them suffer!” he shouted, anguish spilling into his voice.

“They know. Stop blaming yourself. To the church, quickly!” Effro snapped, his own stress palpable.

As they cautiously jogged just two streets further, the church finally came into view—a besieged sanctuary amidst chaos.

“Are you still convinced that your faith will shield us?” Jaycee asked, doubt creeping in.

Effro nearly froze at the question, a storm of emotions crossing his face.

“Ask that of your father!” he muttered, frustration lacing his tone.

Others around them began to move toward the church as well, but so did the first wave of phantoms.

Jaycee and Effro dashed toward the church’s entrance, glancing back anxiously at the civilians. Precious seconds slipped away as the shadows closed in.

Losing patience, Effro shoved Jaycee through the church door.

Inside, there was nothing sanctified; shattered windows, blood-soaked floors, and a handful of brave souls stood defiantly against the onslaught. Makeshift barricades were hastily assembled beneath the shadow of a Christian cross.

Jaycee couldn’t fathom why everyone seemed more intent on defending the church than on repelling the attackers.

The phantoms surged forward, more ferocious than any filmic monster.

“To the crucifix!” Effro shouted again.

Jaycee stepped back, then two steps forward, instinctively drawn to protect and defend rather than retreat. Warriors often grappled with such dilemmas.

“Move to that cross, or we’ll be slaughtered like helpless cattle!” Effro yelled, desperation etched in his features.

The fire in Effro’s eyes mirrored his unwavering concern for Jaycee. It was clear he believed Jaycee was making a grave error.

Jaycee took three swift strides toward the altar, where the crucifix loomed high above. But when screams echoed once more, he turned back, torn.

Before he could leap into battle, Effro seized him, pushing him toward the altar with a force born of pain and urgency.

“I will not abandon a friend in need!” Jaycee declared fiercely.

“Neither will I, but your father, whether you like it or not, is sadly right about this,” Effro gasped, struggling against his own agony.

Inevitably, Effro succumbed to his suffering. At that moment, Jaycee felt an unfamiliar power surge behind him, a force he hadn’t sensed in ages. He was about to turn toward it when the phantoms surged again, demanding his focus.

“Friends, brothers in arms, I CANNOT accompany you any further,” Effro recited, his voice heavy with resignation.

Jaycee felt a gentle pull, something beyond the realm of understanding, compelling him to surrender to it. The fire, the toxic smoke, even the phantoms lost their significance. Yet, Effro remained—his friend left behind, alongside the brave souls who stood against the tide.

“Father!” Jaycee cried out, a righteous fury igniting within him as he witnessed the triumph of injustice.

Yes, in that moment, Jaycee cried out for Father. Perhaps we all would have, choosing to invoke the divine in our darkest hour.

The end

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Only read this add-on if you wish to delve deeper into the story:

In this dream turned fiction, Jaycee, embodying the essence of Jesus Christ, remains oblivious to the past, unaware that he cannot simply rescue friends from the depths of despair. Effro, condemned and estranged from the divine, fully grasps the gravity of their situation, his disbelief evident when Jaycee questions the protective power of faith. The cross stands as a symbol of imminent divine presence, a sanctuary for Jaycee but a reminder of rejection for Effro. Despite his own suffering, Effro strives to save his friend, even as Jaycee, still amnesiac, chooses to trust his instincts in a bold challenge to divine authority.

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If you are easily offended, this prayer is NOT for you. Proceed at your own risk!

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A prayer for the lost souls?

Almighty God, known for Your boundless mercy: I beseech You to grant me the resources and strength to uplift those forlorn souls, who might find solace in my stories transformed into short films, reminiscent of #Alter and #Screamfest.

Allow me to bear the burdens of luxury, indulging in excess and fleeting pleasures, so that others may cleanse their spirits, even as they toil in underpaid jobs and austere lives… Amen.

(As I penned this prayer, I felt a twinge of heresy, revealing the very human flaws we all harbor: selfishness and a disregard for true justice. A note from the author.)

While not exactly a masterpiece of writing, this story was inspired by one of the few religious-touch
dreams I ever had in my so far 54 years on Earth. The exclusion of Caucasians is not too blatantly
obvious, but I did consider it, as an Afro-American buddy had wished for such `consideration´.

Like 2 of my poems, and one other story, this story has a cost-free video about it:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LsxFSmocHZ0

Also, AI voice narration of this story: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vXCn-tJ6HtMAuthors comment

All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Andre M. Pietroschek.
Published on e-Stories.org on 09/26/2023.