Flesh of my Flesh: A Short Story

For every man there comes a judgment day. From each a sacrifice is asked. And from the dust and ashes can all be made new, as if for the first time.So it was for John Skilman, as he fled from the brilliant whiteness that usurped the sun and then had fallen back upon itself to become the pillar of fire that obliterated the city to east.~~(3400 words)This story was first published in New Worlds under Michael Moorock's editorship.____________________He turned his head and stared back at the summit of the ridge and it seemed to him impossible that it was no higher, for he knew that he had fallen from some place more elevated, soaring, celestial, and that the fall had been long and arduous. He had fallen, yes.Above the ridge he saw the glow, the red glow of vengeance reaching its hungry, its holy and spiritual fingers up toward the fixéd stars whence it had been hurled.Oh Lord God, Lamb of God in whose blood the sins of the world shall be washed away! Only words, an affirmation, homage, homage and supplication could help him now. He pushed himself to his knees, and his lips, which were swollen and in one place torn, began to move, but he could think of no words. It was dark in his brain and the darkness frightened him. He struck his breast in anguish, for the anger of the Lord was terrible and His wrath was quick.. . . .