“I thought they’d never leave, bro,” says Jesus as he takes a swig of wine from a Nalgene water bottle.

“They were certainly persistent, my dude,” I say as I take a seat on the couch beside him. “Hey pass the Cheetos would ya?”

He tosses the bag of the orange mana from heaven into my lap.

“So who were they? Why were they looking for you?” I ask. “I’ve never had those types give me the third-degree like that before.”

“Oh my dad likes to keep tabs on me,” he replies. “He wants to be sure I’m being productive down here, you know, not wasting my time drinking wine and eating Cheetos,” he says with a wink.

“Come on, man,” I reply. “Be serious.”

“I am, I am,” he says showing his palms for mercy. “Look, it’s really nothing. I just—I don’t like to talk about it. Now can we drop it and just chill, dude?”

“Yeah, ok,” I say. “I get it. My family stuff is weird too. Just know that if you want to talk I’m here for—“

“Ah crap!” He interrupts. “Get down. Now!”

He dives across the couch and covers my body with his just as a bomb goes off in the kitchen.

“What the fuck?” I scream.

“Language!” he yells back. “They found me. We gotta go. Now. Go get your go-bag,” he says as he digs under my couch and pulls out a fully loaded backpack.

“Go-bag?” I reply, “what the hell? Who keeps a go-bag?”

“Someone who’s prepared,” he says as he lifts me to my feet. He roots around under the couch some more and pulls out a flack jacket. He puts the flack jacket on me and tightens the straps snug like a dad would secure a life jacket on a little kid.

“What the hell is happening?” I ask again.

“Would you watch your mouth?” he replies. “There’s no time to explain. We gotta get the heck outta—“

I hear a slam in the kitchen. The back door’s been kicked in. Gun fire erupts and the living room is filled with flying feathers as down pillows explode and the couch is torn to shreds. Thankfully, Jesus knocks me to the ground before I explode like the pillows.

“Crawl!” He commands.

I crawl army style toward the front door. As I approach the entry way I hear a hard knock against the door.

“Shoot,” says Jesus, “they’re trying to bust down the door. Hold on.”

Jesus grabs his Nalgene of wine and readies himself in a crouch before the entry way.

SLAM

SLAM

SLAM

After the third slam the door flies open, three men in white shirts and black ties—the same who had come and inquired after Jesus—burst in with guns drawn.

Jesus unscrews the lid to his Nalgene and throws it onto their pristine white shirts.

“Yeah, that’ll teach them,” I think to myself.

The men scream in agony. Their skin hisses and burns, it melts and begins to slough off onto the tile with a sickening splat.

“What the hell?” I say again.

“Holy water,” says Jesus matter of factly. “Works every time. Let’s go,” he says as he waves me on.

We exit the house and break into a dead sprint. Jesus is quick, nimble on his feet, his gear flies freely in the wind. I sneak a glance at his face and I notice he’s…smiling? He looks like he’s having the time of his life.

We get to the street and I hear a salvo of explosions erupt behind us.

“Don’t look back!” he commands. “Just keep running.”

I hear bullets whizz by my head, I try to shimmy myself downward into my flack jacket—I wish he’d have given me a helmet. Soon the bullets subside and we get about three blocks away. Jesus pauses and looks behind us.

“It’s ok,” he says. He’s notably not out of breath in the slightest. “We can take a break. They’re not following.”

“What in God’s name was that all about?” I ask again.

“Oh, that? Like I said, my dad likes to keep tabs on me,” he says. “You know, wants to make sure I’m staying sharp for the war ahead.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask. “I could have died! And my house! Why did you have a go-bag in my house? Oh and my couch—“

I am interrupted by a deafening explosion, much larger and louder than the original explosion that kicked off this nightmare. I turn around to see a mushroom cloud rising from my house. Or rather, what used to be my house.

“Jesus Christ!” I scream.

“Yes?”

“They blew up my house. What the hell, Jesus? You let them blow up my house for…for a god damn test?”

“You’re really a potty-mouth today, dude. And don’t worry about the house,” he says waving me off. “Take it from me, you can’t take it with you. Now let’s get to moving. You don’t want to be caught out in the open for this next part.”

“Next part?” I ask not wanting the answer.

“Yeah, the angels are going to blot out the sky with their arrows,” he says. “It’s actually pretty bad ass.”

“Lovely.”

r/InMyLife42Archive