The Chosen One - Chapter 3 by Nova

Sharon tried again to convince me not to wear SWORD because, as she put it, "Wait until you find out if anyone gives a shit about them dead dumbasses. If they do a CSI thing then they will be looking for someone carrying a sword. Not a lot of people wearing swords running around here."

"No." I told  her. "HE gave it to me and HE is never wrong.  She shrugged and told me "It's your ass. Not mine."

That was why I was surprised when she disappeared for a bit and came back wearing a machete. I didn't ask her about it and she didn't say anything.  She caught me staring at it, smiled, and turned away.

We couldn't hang out in the house for long periods for a couple reasons. It was getting hot which meant the house was getting uncomfortable to be in. Plus we had to keep moving to find food.  Inside my head HE was prodding me. Making me uncomfortable. I needed to be about his work.  Killing the two clucks had triggered something inside me. A need for action. A need to do. But do what? I couldn't go around killing people unless the were tools of the Devil. We had our share of assholes around here  but not a lot of the Devil minions. THEY made serious money working for him and lived in the secret neighborhoods that were far away. You needed a car to get to them.

I had driven through them a few times and once I had even stepped inside one of their castles.  It wasn't a real castle of course but it was pretty damn big.  It was also beautiful. My department had been invited to the department heads home for a picnic. He, his wife, and their kids were attractive and gracious. The house wasn't a home as much as a work of art. Everything was color coordinated and amongst the colors were scattered pieces of art that could have been in a museum or an expensive mall.

The road through their area were winding and narrow with fences, green fields, and horses grazing. I saw young girls riding in their jodhpurs and English helmets just like in the movies. Beauty, ease, and abundance was everywhere. They were blessed I thought. It occurred to me that they may have even been the offspring of another, more special race that had been secretly dropped in our midst.  I was both right and wrong about that. I had not yet had had the word of the LORD sweep away their deceptions. HE was yet to show me the source of their wealth. The pastures that the horses ran in were bought with the profits of their lies and deception. The houses were built and cleaned using the labor of migrants. THEY had become colonial masters in their own country and we were nothing but debt slaves living in our gilded boxes of illusions.