This story, The Word has a CONTENT WARNING – the narrative contains references to Covid. So do not read if you are sensitive to this topic in any way.
Plus, religious transgression…
Yep leave now 😉
This is what happened in part one –
The well-documented Jesus you have read about died in the name of the pauper. But what you don’t know is that – him up there, (*raises eyes high) – sends another down so that life on earth is never without some kind of Saviour on call. The Jesus model has 33 years to live – then either his life is taken for a better cause than the one he was living for, or he just dies… In the winter months of 2020, when life on earth reinvented itself as a movie tagged with the genre: sci-fi, I could not ignore that people in general needed…well, me – Jesus.
Catch up HERE… And yes it contains erotic scenes too!
The Word – Imaginative Sci-Fi
That night I felt over stimulated for the first time in years. The girls were wonderfully depraved and didn’t let me rest until they had both been satiated several times. Good job I am Jesus and can work miracles.
I eventually fell into a deep slumber on the sofa. Jez’s flat mate, Shanice, threw me a quilt and I found myself having a dreamless few hours of shuteye before I was awoken by loud music –
My brain hurt like a warehouse, it had no room to spare I had to cram so many things to store everything in there And all the fat, skinny people And all the tall, short people And all the nobody people And all the somebody people I never thought I'd need so many people We've got five years, stuck on my eyes Five years, what a surprise We've got five years, my brain hurts a lot Five years, that's all we've got
And suddenly the 1972 song by Bowie sounded so relevant. If all the people carried on as they were doing, having no faith in the human race, the world would be over.
Sitting down over breakfast together the three us discussed what was to be done. I told the girls we had to get more people in our corner, disciples if you like. They were my Peter and Andrew but I still needed the rest. The internet had recently been fully censored. And emails prohibited. So we resorted to the old fashioned medium of pen and paper. Creating a leaflet which advertised a meeting. We made a few hundred copies and headed into different areas of London to distribute them, door to door.
We need to act now.
Free your minds.
Join us at the Dive Pit on 21/06/2023 and find out how.
The location was an area where the street surveillance police never entered. A place the drug dealers were allowed to sell. A blind eye was turned so that the general public could buy their poison and obliterate any thoughts of what life used to be like before the virus.
I wasn’t discouraged that only 20 people turned out. I stood on a box and spoke with conviction.
“You need faith. I am not talking about religion in the traditional sense. That’s outdated. Instead, through me, learn to see how wondrous you are. Believe in yourself and your neighbour. You’re not sheep. Don’t be herded and told what to think. Use your unique brains and trust in them. Not in those who impose. For they do not care for you or your children. Don’t let your sister end her life alone. Or your father die thinking he is unloved. It is time to stop isolating. Stop condemning others. Instead join hands to rebuild.”
Ten of the twenty stayed after to chat and find out what could be done. Now I had my twelve I knew things would move fast.
Each of us branched out and held separate weekly meetings. Within a month we were a tribe of over 500. Within two, the word had spread across the country and people began to hold their own meetings. Often I would speak in one place and broadcast to 50 other separate gatherings in the UK.
My vision was spreading. Under the guidance of the twelve, help centres were opened to deal with the mental health epidemic that had risen and been swept under the carpet. Shanice carried out what proved to be a successful campaign to allow the dying elderly and their families to make their own decisions regarding visitations and such.
Jez had become quite a celebrity and was a great asset as a promotional tool. She thrived from the attention she received by putting out the word of Jesus. Making sure everyone knew I was that man. Revelling in telling tales of how she had first fucked me years ago. Entered by the holy spirit many times over. I was the real deal and she was flying high on my coat tails.
Things were heading in the right direction. But I knew time was slipping away – it was 2024 and my 33rd year was looming closer with each passing hour. In fear that my days were literally numbered I resorted to depravity. The Minister for Fitness, responsible for many of the restriction laws, was a loathsome man who had the morals of a devil. It was easy to befriend him. He was partial to good-looking young men like me. A back allay. A fumble with his flies and he was mine as I knelt before him, released his beast, and took it in my mouth. He pumped my face deep and hard. Holding my longish hair to make sure that when he climaxed my mouth was firmly clamped around his shaft and his load shot like a rocket down my throat.
Within moments he had zipped up and moved on.
Smiling to myself I knew that one act would make all the difference in my fight for the freedom of mankind.
He didn’t even reply to my blackmail request. But shortly after a law was passed relaxing house rules. People began to interact. Form groups and plan for a future for the little man. Trying as much as possible to block out big brother and his ever watchful eye. As to the virus, Ministry of Fitness statistics showed that under the new law the disease didn’t spread any further than previously.
My hundreds of followers were being true to our initial mandate and helping others to bond and forge links within their communities. And my twelve conscientiously surveyed all. I knew I had set the wheels in motion. But of course there is always a Judas in the camp. And as expected ours wasn’t any different.
It was the week after my birthday. Jez had taken to bringing people back home to meet me. Often this worked out well as afterwards they would be inspired, feeling the faith, and spread the word. This one day there were quite a few people at the flat already. Guys and gals sitting down to a late supper and discussing new ideas. Working together. Jezabel tottered in on her heels, wearing over sized sunglasses – hiding her soul – with three guys in tow. She whispered in one of the chap’s ears then walked over to the table, smiling as she bent down and kissed me intimately on the lips. Tongues tangling. Her firm, full breasts pressed against my shoulder. Before my cock had even registered her advances one of the guys put a gun to my chest and blasted my living heart into eternity.
The last thing I saw was my own reflection mirrored in Jez’s shades.
Jez knew not what she did. The men had expressed an interest in learning our ways and so wrapped up in her own importance she didn’t suspect an alterior motive behind their desire to meet me. But, let’s face it, my time was up.
Once again, I died attempting to liberate mankind. I have not heard of a worthier cause. And my murder actually helped. In the aftermath of my death the hundreds of disciples soon became thousands. Although there would be many setbacks for them to endure on the journey, I was confident that faith in their own abilities would stand fast and strong as the years went on.
But as with all worthy crusades it is inevitable that good people will fall. The new Jesus is merely an infant. But I hope he will take over from where I left off in a decade or so. For redemption takes its time.
And me. You must be wondering if I chose heaven or hell. That is guarded information. All I will say is if I had a choice I would chose life. I suggest you do the same. After all what’s good enough for Jesus…
The songs used in this story, The Word, were Bowie – five years and Bob Marley – Redemption Song.
Header image of the last supper – copyright May More.