messiah sent to help those
whom God loved the most join him in eternal bliss.
Because every human was the most beautiful in God’s infinite capacity for affection, Quinton was allowed to select seven,
God’s holy number. He would deliver seven to God, a symbolic gesture of service for which he would be richly rewarded. At
the end of it all, he would be given the capacity to procreate again. His body, now at rest like a bear in hibernation, would
rise from a deep slumber and join with his own bride.
He’d lost one bride when she rejected him. He would right that wrong, and never allow it to happen again.
Quinton whistled as he drove the green Chevy out of the parking lot. His sense of sheer purpose and self-worth at the moment
was almost overwhelming. He was soaring. He waved at Mary, a single mother who lived two apartment buildings from his. He’d
helped her with her groceries once, wondering if she might be a suitable bride.
In the end, it all came down to the seventh one, the most beautiful of them all, and he knew her like he knew how to breathe.
But the first six, being the number of man, were his to choose at random. His to drain of all humanity so that God could accept
them as his brides.
Melissa, the beautiful young woman, was about to become a bride, the fifth choice. If she knew what Quinton knew, she might
also be giddy with joy and anticipation.
A part of Quinton knew that most flawed humans would find his reasoning slightly off. They might even think he was insane,
and he was okay with that. Humans had an extraordinary capacity for stupidity. They had once sworn that the earth was flat,
that the polar ice caps would soon be gone, that Quinton was ill in the head.
All were equally fallacious. Ignorant, childish, gullible, manipulated, foolish, STUPID, all caps.
Sometimes Quinton wondered at God’s capacity to love them all. His heart was indeed as big as the ocean. Were it left up to
Quinton, he would have taken a handgun with six billion rounds, neatly laid in the world’s largest clip, and laid them all
to rest, one by one.
The thought made his hands tremble on the steering wheel. He struggled to focus past a momentary blurring of his sight and
bring himself into submission.
It took him an hour to reach the blue house. He parked the pickup in a vacant lot at the end of a greenbelt behind the structure
and turned off the engine. Seven checks of his mirror assured him that he was alone, and at 1:00 AM he expected no less. He’d
spent a total of six hours behind the house, stepping behind each tree, around each bush, lying and scooting on his belly,
feeling the terrain, relishing the anticipation of this night.
No streetlights back here. No moon tonight.
Tempted to whistle but refraining from the indulgence, he placed the shower cap firmly over his head, pulled on the same boots
he’d worn during each taking, and slipped on fresh rubber gloves.
He stepped out of the truck and pressed the door closed with hardly more than a click. Locked it with his key. An overgrown
walking path wound between scattered trees, thin paltry apparitions that looked like they’d been planted by the developer
when the subdivision first opened. Houses hid behind the trees on either side; he could see their fences and darkened rear
porches.
He felt as one with all of nature at moments like this, as invisible as a midnight breeze and just as perfectly matched to
his mission. No mere mortal could see him there, floating through the darkness, and no insane human could possibly stop him.
Quinton stepped up the path quietly, keeping his senses finely tuned to his environment. Did any of the residents suspect
that a man had been walking behind their house for several weeks now, watching from the dark?
Likely not. They were favorites, yet they were stupid and entirely too trusting of their own flesh. Melissa’s house came into
view ahead, on his right, and a vast surge of
whom God loved the most join him in eternal bliss.
Because every human was the most beautiful in God’s infinite capacity for affection, Quinton was allowed to select seven,
God’s holy number. He would deliver seven to God, a symbolic gesture of service for which he would be richly rewarded. At
the end of it all, he would be given the capacity to procreate again. His body, now at rest like a bear in hibernation, would
rise from a deep slumber and join with his own bride.
He’d lost one bride when she rejected him. He would right that wrong, and never allow it to happen again.
Quinton whistled as he drove the green Chevy out of the parking lot. His sense of sheer purpose and self-worth at the moment
was almost overwhelming. He was soaring. He waved at Mary, a single mother who lived two apartment buildings from his. He’d
helped her with her groceries once, wondering if she might be a suitable bride.
In the end, it all came down to the seventh one, the most beautiful of them all, and he knew her like he knew how to breathe.
But the first six, being the number of man, were his to choose at random. His to drain of all humanity so that God could accept
them as his brides.
Melissa, the beautiful young woman, was about to become a bride, the fifth choice. If she knew what Quinton knew, she might
also be giddy with joy and anticipation.
A part of Quinton knew that most flawed humans would find his reasoning slightly off. They might even think he was insane,
and he was okay with that. Humans had an extraordinary capacity for stupidity. They had once sworn that the earth was flat,
that the polar ice caps would soon be gone, that Quinton was ill in the head.
All were equally fallacious. Ignorant, childish, gullible, manipulated, foolish, STUPID, all caps.
Sometimes Quinton wondered at God’s capacity to love them all. His heart was indeed as big as the ocean. Were it left up to
Quinton, he would have taken a handgun with six billion rounds, neatly laid in the world’s largest clip, and laid them all
to rest, one by one.
The thought made his hands tremble on the steering wheel. He struggled to focus past a momentary blurring of his sight and
bring himself into submission.
It took him an hour to reach the blue house. He parked the pickup in a vacant lot at the end of a greenbelt behind the structure
and turned off the engine. Seven checks of his mirror assured him that he was alone, and at 1:00 AM he expected no less. He’d
spent a total of six hours behind the house, stepping behind each tree, around each bush, lying and scooting on his belly,
feeling the terrain, relishing the anticipation of this night.
No streetlights back here. No moon tonight.
Tempted to whistle but refraining from the indulgence, he placed the shower cap firmly over his head, pulled on the same boots
he’d worn during each taking, and slipped on fresh rubber gloves.
He stepped out of the truck and pressed the door closed with hardly more than a click. Locked it with his key. An overgrown
walking path wound between scattered trees, thin paltry apparitions that looked like they’d been planted by the developer
when the subdivision first opened. Houses hid behind the trees on either side; he could see their fences and darkened rear
porches.
He felt as one with all of nature at moments like this, as invisible as a midnight breeze and just as perfectly matched to
his mission. No mere mortal could see him there, floating through the darkness, and no insane human could possibly stop him.
Quinton stepped up the path quietly, keeping his senses finely tuned to his environment. Did any of the residents suspect
that a man had been walking behind their house for several weeks now, watching from the dark?
Likely not. They were favorites, yet they were stupid and entirely too trusting of their own flesh. Melissa’s house came into
view ahead, on his right, and a vast surge of
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