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| This property was reserved by Sean R. Padlo on I'm 25 years old, from Indiana, USA. Sorry, I had a little trouble with the lease...but this page WILL be ready shortly, so thank you all for your patience, and as a treat for you, here is a little story to entice you...thanks-Sean
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| A DOUGHNUT AND A CUP OF
SALVATION by SEAN R. PADLO ----- Saul sat Indian-style
beside the front doors of Jim's Quick-Stop Mini Mart,
reminiscing happily on times long past, when people were
first won over by his charisma. He laughed aloud,
realizing that business boomed for him ever since.
Nevertheless, a dreary, ominous foreboding hung about him
like an old graveyard infested by weeds and twisted,
arthritic trees. Glancing up, Saul watched dark cloud s
roll in from the west. The dead, moldy air around him
began to stir as a crisp autumn breeze blew in, taking
about fifteen degrees away with it. Saul could feel his
stomach turning as he waited. The cold was getting to
him, \par through his full-length London Fog overcoat,
through his Giorgio-Armani Original suit, through his
well-tanned skin, to the very marrow of his bones.
Nervously, he glanced at his watch, and after realizing
the absurdity of the act, removed it from his wrist and
shoved it absently into his pocket. He rubbed his hands
together and put them into his pockets, too. His unease
intensified by the second. Saul drew a deep breath and
stood up slowly. Again he looked to the sky. The heavens
thundered and lightning struck in the distance. Up the
road, Saul spied an old man shuffling slowly toward the
mini-mart. The revelation had begun. By the time the old
man reached the parking lot, clouds overhead completely
blotted out the sky, spitting rain upon the sleeping
world below. Saul waited patiently, keeping a watchful
eye on the old man who approached. Saul could see, even
from this distance, the old man was dirty and unshaven;
he was poo rly dressed in dated and well-worn rags. A
beaten and stained trenchcoat hung open and limp from the
old man's shoulders. He walked slowly, awkwardly, his
face twisting in agony with each pained step. Saul
believed that time must surely be this man's enemy, and
he found himself pitying the old fellow before him. The
old man's unkempt hair was dull gray, a shade darker then
his equally messy beard, which was streaked a sickly
yellow color. The old man appeared as old and beaten as a
common street bum. But his eyes, Saul noticed, were
ablaze with youthful intensity. Saul could not believe
that crystal blue eyes could possibly convey such fire.
Saul did not try to mask his impatience concerning the
old man's speed. Besides, Saul's heartbeat thrummed
loudly in his ears. He ran his fingers through his $65
hairstyle, trying to hide his tension, and failing
miserably. The storm overhead intensified, pounding rain
upon the old man. The empty parking lot seemed to come
alive around him, but his pace did not quicken to escape
the downpour. Saul waited anxiously, tapping his shoe in
a growing puddle nearby, humming to himself, but never
taking his gaze from the old man coming near. As the old
man drew closer, the stench of old perspiration (and some
kind of underlying musty attic-smell) easily overpowered
Saul's designer cologne. He took his h andkerchief, and
coughed into it as he opened the door for the old man.
The old man did not acknowledge the gesture as he entered
the building, and with a tired sigh, Saul put his
handkerchief away and followed him inside. The old man
offered the clerk behind the counter a subtle wave and
proceeded to the back of the mini-mart, to a single
orange table near the coffee machine and a tray of
assorted doughnuts. He sat down slowly on one side, and
Saul joined him after grabbing a glazed doughnut. The old
man glared at Saul, and Saul grinned back and took a bite
of his snack. The men continued to stare at each other,
and Saul started drumming his fingers nervously on the
table. He was sweating badly. He loosened his tie. The
old man did not move, nor would he speak. Saul knew this
would be finished soon, but the silence was deafening.
Lightning flashed, and thunder replied immediately. Saul
could wait no longer. "Well, the time has finally
come, hasn't it?" He spoke in a soft English dialect
that he'd practiced many times over the years until it
was perfected. But the old man remained silent, not
responding in any manner to Saul's words, or to his
wonderful dialect. Saul leaned closer to the old man,
looking directly at him. "You understand that I've
always cared for all mankind, don't you?" Lines of
age dug deeper into the old man's brow, and finally he
spoke, his voice hollow, haunted. "It is not your
place. Men should be free to live their own lives, and
not to be ruled over." Saul laughed, and his dark
eyes held a momentary sparkle. "Men become weary if
they are not challenged constantly, my friend." He
tried to sound self-assured, fighting the tremble in his
throat. "Untrue! Men become weary if they do not
challenge themselves! Seduction breeds only despair and
mistrust!" The old man glared at Saul, his eyes
burning fiercely. "Man does not need to be
challenged, ruled over, or used as puppets!" Saul
stood up, his face flushed with anger. He paced back and
forth, fuming. "If such things were never to be,
then man could never know happiness! Without despair,
there is no happiness, only bleak existence!" The
old man stood and gestured for Saul to return to his
seat. Saul crossed his arms and shook his head in
defiance, his face screwed up in a childish pout. The old
man clenched his teeth. "Sit! I will play no more
games with you! Outside, the storm raged on. Saul pleaded
his defiance a moment longer, and returned to his seat.
He stared at the floor between his shoes, picked up his
doughnut and held it for a moment, then put it back. The
old man regarded Saul with sad compassion. The old man
sighed. "You are a son of God." He paused,
drawing a deep breath, and continued. "Why do you
cast yourself away? Beautiful angel, why do you not end
your torment now?" The old man reached out his hand,
and Saul pushed it away, enraged at the pathetic display
before him. He stood again, shaking with fury. "You,
you are only the son of man! How dare you speak to me
like this! Look outside, you old fool! Look at what your
sacrifice has done for mankind!" Saul's voice rose,
and every fiber of his being tensed in anger "Wars
run rampant throughout the world. People die of hunger e
very minute. Hatred and evil are undying. Your precious
glory has no place here! The Age of Paradise has long
since passed! All this, and still you cast aspersions at
me?!" "Cast aspersions?? You talk of wars,
strife, pain, and despair of the soul- all of your doing,
Lucifer, and you tell me that I cast aspersions?! Father
of Lies, Dark Angel of Destruction! You have long since
created a monument of despair," the old man pressed
his fingers against Saul's temples, "and you will
see the Truth through the eyes of all the dark souls of
your Hell!"The pain of the damned flowed through the
old man's hands, into Saul with fierce brilliance. Saul
began to shake violently, his eyes reflecting infinite
dark horrors that held infinite tortured souls chained to
the bloodstained walls of Hell, suffering endlessly until
this moment. Thunder rumbled as the storm unleashed its
final wrath. Saul screamed once. Forever. The old man
smiled at the empty seat across from him. He picked up
the doughnut and took a bite. Outside, the clouds parted,
and the world shone with a brilliance unchallenged by the
sun itself. He walked up to the cash register, reached
into his pocket for money, and placed a crumpled dollar
bill into the awestruck clerk's hand. "All is well
with the world," the old man said, and turned to
leave. Over his shoulder, the old man heard the clerk
call out to him. "Mister! You forgot your
change!" The Lord turned around. He smiled.
"Keep it." He whistled cheerfully to himself as
he left the mini-mart.
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