The Coffin

How the person who developed the Ministry adopted the "coffin" as a symbol, and who inspired it.

 

 

I.

It was always the plaguing question, the constant echo that seemed to roll off of everyone’s tongue.
 

The sound and tone of the very question: surprise and disbelief always caused a dull throbbing to occur at the back of his mind. It grew with every gesture they gave and every word they said after it. His body had adjusted to the situation and had already adapted an automatic reply.

The reoccurring déjà vu caused an inferno in the back of his mind, exploding with such a violent motion his body would sink deeper into the numbing state. The numbing state had indeed come with a benefit, coating his mind in realization which let him ignore the screaming inferno.

The realization had been a simple one and had always gnawed at the back of his mind, but had simply come to his vision only moments ago. He, like many others, had been ignorant, bathing within their pride of knowledge to ever realize the truth of humanity. Yet now, ignorant to the man next to him, the realization formed within his mind and hit him like the very Flood did to this land

The silence of the awkward moment was broken off once again as the man spoke, repeating the annoying question which caused the throbbing to increase. The saint looked at him, the look of pleading glowing in his eyes as the man repeated the question: “Where you headed?”

The saint was not a man of cycles or habits, and had tried to stray from the same answer to the same question, yet an unhealthy habit of actually answering had stuck to the back of his mind. The man, still ignorant to the saint’s annoyance and pain had begun to ask again, but had been interrupted.

“The city and its tower,” the saint had replied, using the same words from the other times. The very answer created a deeper groove within his mind, which this habit had rested in. He had been oblivious to the parasite action until the realization had struck him.

The same reaction had occurred within the man’s eyes: surprise and disbelief, and they had begun to eye the saint with a hunger, a hunger that craved more answers. The man spoke again, his movements slowing as he began to pay more attention to the saint than the corn he had been shaving.

“So… it’s like some spiritual journey, or something? You going to face God, get approval, praise the Man?”

The saint eyed him oddly, the look of annoyance mixed with pity flickered in his eyes and the man went back to shaving the corn. The holy man was going to talk, going to tell the man that his conclusion had been wrong and trying to drag the man out of the habit of humans, the realization which the saint had come to.

“Golly… that seems like a lot,” the kernels of the corn fell into the bucket, the smooth metal moving in liquid movements. “I don’t think I’d be able to handle that, you’re a brave man.”

A compliment made out of sheer fear had been common these days, praising the one before you so he’d fancy himself and pay no mind as you stole from his pocket. The saint had given up on any intelligent conversation with this man and stared into the distance, his eyes clouded with thoughts of what could beyond the mountains.
 

A textured, orange glow fell upon the mountains, creating large shadows that hugged at the odd rocks that lie on their sides. Pink and white wisps of cloud dotted the sky and circled one another, curling and snuggling with the tower that broke through their precious fluff.

The mountains were jagged and unappealing compared to the beautiful scenery and large orb of light glowing behind it. Halos of light streamed through the clouds and splashed onto the sloppy land. Areas still remained wet from the Flood, some still flooded and turned to a marsh because of it.

The saint had been ignoring the man, but soon found that he had been talking to himself for some time.

He was mumbling to himself about something before looking up at the saint. “It looks real holy over there, there’s a city there?

The holy man had felt like blurting the realization from his mouth, yet bit his tongue, bringing pain to the intelligent being which screamed from the inferno. “A big one,” his words were slow and the man looked at him, wide eyed. His mouth opened slightly, saliva glistening on his lips.

“That God man live there?” The man licked his lips, saliva moving onto his chin and the saint’s eyes narrowed. He was suddenly confused about the conversation. The man, with his metal tool in hand, pointed to the sky, light reflecting in his eyes.

The saint turned, looking into the sky, his vision becoming slightly clear as he focused on the appearing stars in the darkening sky. A small halo of light was distant, yet still could be seen from this distance. It sat there, within the sky, hiding between the blinking stars.

The saint could not answer the question, for he had not even noticed the odd object in the sky. He turned to the man once more, eyeing the piece of metal in his hands before looking to the distance. The awkward silence had given the saint a chance to think about that realization once more—every moment simply proved that it was true.

The throbbing in the man’s skull had become a pattern, an annoying pattern that stuck within his mind and that he had gotten used to. The feeling had been so normal that the throbbing flash of pain had been new to him, but then realization had struck and he had forgotten all about the simple pain.

The saint hadn’t realized it, but he had been walking forward and away from the food stand, yet the man had called out to him once more, causing him to stop. “Wot you doing?”

“Walking,” came the bitter reply. The saint could not help it, it seemed that the mocking and irritated t one had flowed naturally from his lips.

“It dangerous out there, crazy things out there. Crazy monsters, lot of crows… you go crazy.” The man’s eyes were wide, luminous and finally the saint came to the conclusion, and realization, of: humans had some depths to them, all of them did, that fact just laid so far deep into them that fear had filled the cracks above it.

It had been wrong, in his time, to judge your own species as if they were animals. It had been a common rule to respect your neighbor and his wife, it had been common to help them in need and not judge them unless unspoken rules had been broken. They, from there, would either be punished by Nimrod himself or burned at the stake. Yet they had never openly judged each other, but the saint wanted to tell someone.

He had the sudden urge to speak to someone, to tell them he did not like the human race. He did not like the spineless insects they had turned into, bringing shame upon their maker and slaughtering his very world. The unspoken rules of time and respect had been unspoken, and had always been there, as a young boy he had scolded the other children for not obeying them.

Yet that inferno in the back of his mind, the constant cry of wanting to break free from the boring routine, had always been there. It had always been fear that had blocked his mouth from speaking of anything from his mind, yet all of that fear had drained from him. The inferno in the back of his skull had grown, drying any liquefied feelings.

He had said good bye to the man, ignoring any calls from him that warned him not to go any deeper. His stomach was full and his mind was clear, his sight on the mountains before him. The desert had become wet from the Flood, so water was not to be a problem. With his boots wet, mind liquefied and weaponless hands, the saint travelled deeper in to the desert.

Soon the orange glow from the sky had vanished, leaving him in starlit darkness. His mind wandered through thoughts, thinking of what had been and what could have been. He looked to the sky once more, locating the ring and eyeing it.

He had known the “God man” the food dealer had been referring to, yet his whereabouts a mystery, only Babylon would know that.

II.

Needles lined the saint’s mouth as stupidity had coated his mind, pain exploded into his face and left him grinding his teeth, a deep growl sounding from his throat.

He threw the piece of dried up cactus to the side, where it had hit a rock and exploded, sending needles flying. Those that had resided in his mouth had been the ones he had bitten into earlier; the ones in his arm had been from the mistake of throwing the decayed plant.

He sat upon a rock, which was surrounded by thick, sand infested water. A small creature with a shell kept its head hidden and away from him, the lone shell simply sitting in the water. He leaned on his leg, his elbow digging into the cloth covered flesh of his leg and his glove burning his face.

He licked at the trickling blood which fell from the wounds in his lips. The lip had become slightly larger, bulging now and making him feel conscious about himself. Sweat slicked his body and his sensed had multiplied, his mind seeing how bad he really smelt.

There had not been a breeze for days, the desert’s water had dried up and the little bit that surrounded him had become disgusting. Small rocks and pebbles lined his teeth and tongue from the act of beginning to drink it.

Huffs of disbelief left his mouth and he silently shook his head, just beginning to think what they would have said back at home. “I told you your boy was a slow one, the color of his eyes shows you been with your sister.”

“You’re being a bit less mindful, aren’t you? Those words are to be kept within your mind, not spewing out of your mouth where we can all know what you did last night.”

“Less mindful,” then a scoff and the crossing of arms would occur before a sheep would call out in the distance. The bells would toll and all would hurry along, heading to church, his father within the crowds as well.

Mother would have stayed to tend to his wounds, telling him to be careful and not so daring. He had to be mindful and not show such “oddities” within the community. The creature, by now, had shown its head and swam through the water, before heading on.

Needle after needle was thrown in the water as he carefully plucked them out of his face, wincing with each pull. He had never been pleasant or even kind to the physical form that had held his soul for so long, his skin showed extra signs of aging, which was odd around his age.

The sun had began to rise again, the purple blue sky beginning to vanish, the stars blinking out and the halo in the sky was turning around the Earth once more. The desert would soon become a havenless void, heat baking the ground and everything around, on it or even near it. The mountains were close; within a few miles he would soon be climbing the dusty rocks.

The tower was still there, sitting in its heavenly glory, reaching to the heavens, yet still uncompleted. Clouds danced around it, marking its greatness and caressing it in dramatic strokes. Details could not be seen over here yet the saint could only imagine the beauty.

The saint’s eyes roamed up the side of the mountains, before looking back at the ground. The creature was long gone and he began to roll up his sleeves, sighing before standing up. He headed into the mountain side, climbing every so often, slipping, and scraping his hands. The saint continued on, ignoring the sweat that slid into his eyes.

He brushed his hair aside, moving the headband on his head up, before looking to the side. With one hand dug into the side of the mountain, nails bending back and dust kicking into his face, and the other on his headband, he looked at the tower.

The tower stood firm and tall, clouds swirling around it, creating a large shadow upon the other side of the mountain. The saint gripped his headband, feeling the liquid dripping off the metal piece which lay against his forehead. His face was then pulled back into a shape of emotion, his eyes clouding and bangs falling into his face once more.

His lips quivered, fingers trembling. The saint’s eyes closed, the cool feeling refreshing to his burning lids. Perspiration dripped down his face, sliding into the dirt and onto his clothes. His nails began to ache from holding in one place. He let go of his band, placed his hand onto the cliff and lifted himself up, sitting atop a near by rock.

He sat there, sunlight pouring onto him, head in hand. His headband felt hot against his flesh and his hands cried out for freedom, but he ignored them. He closed his eyes once more, beginning to soon feel dizzy from the sickness in his stomach. A bird cried out in the distance, the wings fluttering and he looked back up at the tower.

The glory it once had still rained upon it and gave it such a meaningful look, he felt intimidated. A crow, or maybe some sort of flying animal, called out in the distance. He rested his hands in his head and looked down at the mountain, realizing he had come a long way. With a sigh, he turned away, looking back at the tower, drifting into darkness.

III

Water splashed against his skin, causing a sharp gasp to fill his lungs, his eyes growing as wide as saucer plates. He sat up, his bones popping audibly. Water droplets made their way down his back and into his pants as he looked up. The saint was instantly blinded by the sunshine and threw up a hand to block it.

A shadowed figure stood before him, looming over him. The creature’s shadow covered him in moments, causing him to drop his hand and slide back. Pain shot through his arm and sent his mind into a dizzying state. The world spun before him, a blur of colors and logic swirling before him. Stars exploded behind his eye lids and faint noises worked at the back of his mind.

The small cry of a female could be heard. The cry grew louder, small bits of pieces of words could be heard through the slurred version he had tried to comprehend. The world spun before him and he leaned on his hands, his elbows bending. He glanced up one more, the sun was now blocked fully and his eyes squinted.

To his fortunate surprise, a short woman stood before him, looking harmless and innocent. She had a pout on her face and an empty bucket in her hand. The saint suddenly tasted metal within his mouth and his tongue worked: saliva and blood dripping over his teeth. He rubbed his jaw and leaned back on one hand, glaring up at her.

“You’re a priest, right?” she asked, looking over his clothing. The saint’s eye twitched from being called a priest and then looked at the crosses upon his clothing. He glanced back at her, an annoyed look within his eyes.

“I don’t screw little boys, sorry.”

Her eyes went wide and she dropped the bucket. “You ought not talk like that! You’re wearing the holy uniform, how dare you slur the religious man!” she placed her hands on her hips and bent down to his level. “I could have you arrested for that!”

She huffed and turned, her dress blowing up dirt that sprayed in his face. He waved the thick air away before getting up, his knees popping. His boots were dusted and the ends of his white clothing were dipped in red clay. “Good luck with that, honey. We’re miles—“

He stepped over the small hill that crested and froze, eyes wide. Small rocks tumbled down the side of the cliff he stood on, rolling after the girl. His eyes shot up, instantly finding the magnificent tower that he had been chasing all his years. It stood in a marvelous glory, reaching to the skies and from the distance, was less than a mile away.

He dashed after her, his belts and buckles dragging on the ground, wisps of cloth fluttering in the air. She walked with her head held high, hands on hips and in a hurry. “Look, kid—“

“That’s miss to you!” she tossed her anger over her shoulder and daggers of sharp tones flew at him.

“Look, missy.” The tone of sarcasm was thick and heavy in his voice. His pace slowed as she turned her head from him, closing her eyes. “You help me,” he pointed to himself. “I’ll help you.” Soon his finger pointed at her and she stopped.

The bucket, that he realized she had picked up, flew through the air, aiming for his head. He stepped back at the piece of wood shattered on a rock that was behind him. He looked at it and then at her. Her face had become red and her eyes were ablaze. The saint took a step back, his hands raising in a defensive position.

“Help you?” she shouted. “Help you, you say! Help you!” she threw her hands up. “If it weren’t for me you’d be baking in that desert back there and being eaten alive by the wraiths!”

She had a point, he had finally realized. With a sigh and the drop of his hands he looked at her. She had already started walking again, heading to the near by city. He stood there, his robes and belts blowing in the wind.

“I’m a saint.”

She stopped. The wind blew, sending a hot breeze over the tension filled area. Dirt and clay blew up, beating against his face. She turned, then, looking at him with her innocent eyes. Emotion pooled in them and his mouth twisted into a confused grimace. “I… I’m sorry.”

“You want something. Speak.”

Her hands gripped her dress; she pulled at it and looked down, biting her lip. She glanced up at him and then back down before she spoke. “It’s… my brother.”

The saint remained quiet, blinking every so often within the awkward silence. His hands twitched every so often, his hands trying to free themselves from his metal gauntlets.

“He headed into the catacombs but hasn’t come back yet,” her voice was strained, thick with emotion and quivered every so often. She bit her lower lip, her body shaking, her eyes shut as she tried to hold back the tears that welled in her eyes.

He was walking past her, head low and eyes closed. “That sucks.”

She looked up, her eyes widening. She turned to look at him walk past her and dropped her dress. Her mouth was parted in a perfect ‘o’ shape, disbelief written in her wet eyes. He continued to walk when he heard shuffling behind him. He opened his eyes and turned, wood pieces flying past him.

Tears welled in the girl’s eyes as she screamed incoherent curses at him, throwing pieces of wood from the broken bucket at him. He ducked and threw his arms up, wood smashing against his arm. He took a step back.

He growled and pushed his hands out, hitting any pieces of wood back and glared at her. “Knock it off! You’re really getting on my nerves.”

“…you self centered, horrible person, you! Horrible, horrible, horrible!” she continued to throw things at him, which he dodged with ease.

He then spoke, his voice rising above the sound of wood shattering against rock. His voice was stern, strict and deep. “I can’t do much for you if I don’t have a weapon,” he shook his head, splinters falling out of his hair. “I don’t feel like having my body torn to shreds just for your brat of a kid.”

She threw another piece of wood and sniffed. “Brother!” she screeched.

He put his hands up. “Right, brother.”

“What weapon were you thinking of?” she ran to him, dress in her hand and he took a step back when she neared him. He didn’t fully trust her, he believed that the realization he had come to hours before had told him correctly.

The pounding headache slammed against his head, the inferno scratching at the back of his eyes. He credited the girl for not asking the same question as the others had, the constant question that gave him the pain in the back of his mind and cynical view towards life. He stared at her, her deep green eyes reflected him perfectly. He could see the soulless lump that stood before her.

“Look, I’ve got something to do before I do this little… mission… you put me up to, alright?” he turned, walking off. She watched him go before running to his side.

“No, please, sir! All you have to do is check the entrance, then get a weapon, then head back! I just need to see if there is any proof that he’s still alive! If he isn’t his bones will probably be sprawled in front of the caves…”

He glared down at her, his hair falling in front of his eyes as it died down. “Don’t tell me you believe the crap that spews from people’s mouths about that place.”

Her eyes avoided his and her face grew to a reddish color. “What if I do? I have been told it all my life, what am I supposed to do?” She had to run to keep up with him.

He didn’t answer and continued on, looking at the magnificent tower in the distance once more. It would have only been that man in the sky’s will that would have placed an obstacle in his way just before he reached the tower. Clouds still swirled around it and in the distance, far behind it and in the sky, that brilliant ring could still be seen.

He eyed the tower, letting her babble on about the day her brother went missing as she guided him. With his mouth slightly parted and his eyes glued onto the tower, he began to think what was up there. His stomach knotted and he felt sick, the bile climbing up and into his throat. Anxiety gnawed at his stomach before fluttering around like butterflies.

A shadow passed over him and broke his thoughts. He was dragged under an oddly shaped rock and the air suddenly became cooler, a light breeze brushing over his skin. The girl looked back at him as they slowly slipped into the darkness of the cave. She stopped and looked at a near by rock, grabbing the lantern that was on it.

She handed it to him, a smile on her face. “Thank you so much, holy man. This means a lot to me,” he took the lantern, ignoring her thanks. With a strike of a match and a simple movement, she lit the lantern which set the place aglow.

He winced from the sudden light, trying to almost avoid it. He pushed her back for a moment before stopping and turning back to look at her. “I didn’t get your name, Missy.”

She huffed, crossing her arms and looking at him. Her mouth was turned into the oddest of pouts and she glared up at him. His sarcasm didn’t impress him much and she didn’t appreciate being mocked. “What does it matter, huh, holy man?”

“I’d like to know what to carve onto your head stone after I push you to the Minotaur.”

Her eyes went wide and she dropped her arms. “You’re not serious!” He looked down at her, not replying and she huffed. She threw her arms up going into a hysterical fit of disbelief.

He rolled his eyes and thrust the lantern forward, the small flame barely brightening the dark cavern. His eyes narrowed as he tried to focus on what was before him but caught no sign of movement nor heard anything over her whining and drama fit. He turned to her.

“I didn’t see anything.”

She looked at him, pushing him further into the cave and keeping behind him. “But you didn’t look. You glanced, you didn’t look.”

“Same difference,” the saint replied, looking back at her and her futile attempts to push him deeper into the cave. His belts hit together and he placed the lantern deeper into the cave. She glanced from behind him and saw nothing as well.

“Sorry, kid. Your brother’s gone.”

“No, we haven’t found his bones! The Minotaur didn’t get him!” she pulled on his robes and belts. He gave her a skeptical look, a look she could read perfectly. The look told her to give up or to stop believing in the legends they had told her as a child.

“I ain’t going in there,” he remarked simply. She gripped onto his clothing and sniffled, pressing her head into his back and biting her lower lip. While she tried to hold back the tears he placed the lantern forward again and peered into the darkness once more.

“Kid’s name,” he said suddenly. His voice broke the awkward silence, causing her too look up in confusion. She wiped her tears away.

“P-pardon…?” she asked, rubbing the snot from her nose.

“The kid’s name,” he said again, shrugging. “Try calling it.”

She shook her head and took a step back. “I can’t do it, I can’t… what if I don’t get a reply? Caleb likes to play—“

The saint shouted, then. His voice was clear and rang out, echoing against the walls of the cavern. The girl winced, gripping onto his clothes. The saint called her brother’s name, getting a bit sick of the lack in reply.

“Hey, kid!” he yelled, his voice raised a notch and the tone of irritation covered it, coating it in the sound the girl never liked to hear.

A huff, a snap and breaking of an object was the reply he got from the inner catacombs. The girl’s eyes went wide as she looked into the darkness and the saint took a step back.

The saint shook his head and his body shivered, smelling the air that poured from the cave at that moment. It smelled of rotten meat and saliva. The smell washed over them and the girl stared into the cave.

He shook the lantern, the flame growing brighter for a moment and he peered in, his eyes narrowing as he kept a look out for anything in particular. In the darkness, he could see two smaller reflections of the lantern.

The small lights were faint and flickered on and off as he took another step into the catacombs. His eyes narrowed and his teeth gritted. He moved the lantern back before pushing himself forward, sniffing at the air. Another huff of air was his reply and the smell had become thicker, stronger. It went over them once more and the saint pulled the lantern up.

He stood perfectly still with the girl behind him, her scream of terror stayed stuck in her throat as the saint could only stare into the eyes of the beast before them as it glared down at them.

IV.

Fear thickened the humid air that had settled within the catacombs. Darkness covered the caves: it had reminded the saint of the vision he had once had of Tartarus. Sinners of the before life had been sent there, being dragged by beasts of the under land. Screams of unimaginable tortures had called from the abyss, crying out to him; reaching to salvation.

The land beneath Nimrod’s land had shriveled to nothing. Abandoned by all traces of human life and replaced by a beast of mass destruction. The snorts and screams from the beast called out the saint, screaming at him to stop. His body was compressed in fear, his head filled with a painful, blinding pressure.

The inferno had begun to burn once more in the back of his mind, scratching at the back of his eyes. The pounding continued on restlessly, sounding in his ears and causing his palms to sweat. The frantic movements of the girl behind him caused him to slow around corners. Rock and clay spat at them as the beast slammed into the nearest wall, missing them.

The woman had been crying, he realized. The sniffles of pain and fear had broken through the adrenaline and broken thoughts that seized his head. Her palm was slick and warm against his, sliding every so often for her to be dragged back into the darkness. She couldn’t keep up and the lantern had been fading.

He glanced back, keeping the lantern close. The fear within the woman’s eyes was clear, wide and luminous. It reflected the fire in perfect clarity. He pulled her, causing her to almost trip. She gasped, holding her breath and letting herself lay limp within his hand. The saint dragged her around a corner, seeing a dim light in the distance.

The beast pounded against the wall, clay pouring onto them and blinding him for a few moments. He shook it from his view and pushed forward, lantern in front of him. The girl screamed as clay fell into her hair, causing her eyes to close and her body to shake violently. The beast roared in the distance, frustrated that his attempt to keep them in the catacombs would most likely fail.

The saint realized the beast was closing on them; he pushed the woman in front of him, causing her to yelp and trip over her sandals. He turned, throwing the lantern down the catacomb passageway. The lantern exploded, sending oil onto the walls and flames sparked. The saint turned, tripping over a skull and watching as the light grew brighter.

The girl screamed and he slid to a stop, looking back at her. Sweat dripped from his face and his breathing was shallow, quick: his chest moved in a rapid motion. He yelled out to her and she looked at him, her eyes wide. Her outline could be seen from the blue glimmer that poured from the end of the corridor.

She shouted at him and the roar echoed down the hall, the flames instantly going out. He yelled out to her again and went to her, but a bone smacked against his shoulder. She shouted at him, making a wild gesture with her arm and finally ripped her dress free.

The saint grabbed her and turned, running to the light once more. The corridor began to shake: clay and dust falling on them. Bones snapped and the blood in his ears was deafening. The woman’s screams were drowned out by the sound of the pounding. The inferno screamed at him again, clawing at the back of his eyes.

The saint leapt without notice, pulling the girl with him as they flew towards the light. The saint’s eyes forcefully shut themselves as light poured over him. His palm was pulled on at that moment, jerking him backwards and sending him into a near by wall. His feet slammed against the ground and he looked up as the woman screamed.

The light of the exit flowed through, showing the outline of her delicate body smashed against a wall, horns through her back and arms. He reached out to her to only have snot grip onto his arm. The pressure caused him to step back, tripping into the light. He eyed the girl, seeing her wide, fearful eyes filled with tears.

The image before him vanished in an instant as he fell back, replaced by a light blue blinding flash. His back broke through a thin layer of glass, shards of the material flying back and into the air in front of him. He reached out, seeing the thick, black rectangle above him. The doorway had become smaller, shrinking from view.

His head lolled back, his eyes closing and the sounds of screaming becoming duller. His body instantly cooled, a breeze gliding across his skin. The inferno ate at the back of his eye lids, nibbling and clawing at the tender meat. Pressure gripped his head and darkness began to eat at his senses, clogging them and leaving them useless.

His breath slowed, his chest began to move in a calming movement: all sounds had been blocked and the only thing audible to him was the sound of his own breathing. With a flutter, his eyes opened, seeing nothing but a bright, white light.

He continued to fall, his body feeling almost weightless. Darkness then consumed him once more, eating away at his senses.

Author's Note

This is not completed, so wait for the rest.