Sharene

The hunter had read The Book and knew he'd be released a second time far into the future, but damnit, 1,000 years of anguish was something to be postponed at all costs. Sharene Marsena, weakened from an incurable blood disease, an induced cough, and a bullet lodged below her rib cage, was still armed with a shield of faith the hunter would never grasp. And, aware of her pain, but not the strength of her armor, he determined that she'd earned his immediate and undivided attention. Sharene experienced a sense of euphoria as she safely stepped off of the open field and on to the tennis courts, but only briefly. She looked closely at the moonlit courts and the nearby woods, and was pierced by a painful memory. She held one hand on her wound and kept walking beneath the bright, bloodstained shawl. Her prayers were behind her as she proceeded in a brief shroud of comfort. The hunter, only a few feet away, stalked her mercilessly, patiently waiting for his moment to effectively succor her weakness like a black hole sucking reality out of space. He needed to remove any chink he could find … truth, righteousness, faith, preparation of the gospel. He chose to attack the strength of God's grace by usurping her physical weakness. "Why do you suffer so?" asked the hunter. Sharene heard a smooth, soothing voice near at hand, and cringed at its closeness. She was too weak to run. "You are too beautiful of a creature to be in such pain," the voice continued. Then he materialized in the night, handsome and radiating a warm light. He reached out a hand to Sharene. "Come, and we will fly with the wind." Sharene felt a lifting of her burden and dropped to her knees. She was too humbled to look, to speak, and pulled the bloody shawl over her head. The pain wasn't as bad now. Even the hard playing surface of the tennis court she knelt on felt gentle to her knees. "Who are you?" she said from beneath the shawl. "Woman," he said, and then his smooth, soothing voice changed dramatically. It became cold, like ice, and he spoke in a rote pattern as if he'd been practicing from the graves for nearly 2,000 years. He said, "Cast thyself down: for it is written, He shall give his angels charge concerning thee: and in their hands they shall bear thee up, lest at any time thou dash thy foot against a stone." Sharene's pain was suddenly gone. She felt healthier than at any time since Sherm Purcell's errant bullet had entered her body, since before Mike's small pills. She dropped the shawl, which now was clean, and looked directly at the radiant prince. Her weaknesses had been stripped. "Who are you?" she asked a second time. And the silky, soothing voice returned. "Come with me," he said, "and I will make my kingdom, your kingdom. This world and all of its riches will be yours." He again extended a hand. Even in her seemingly new body, Sharene Marsena, probably from long ago teachings from Pastor Hemri, doubted her good fortune. She asked one more time, "Who are you?" The radiant prince smiled and stepped closer. Then Sharene remembered what she needed to say. "Do you confess that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh and is of God?" The hunter cringed, backed up, and lost his glorious façade. In seconds, he metamorphosed into a scaly, upright, snakelike creature. "You will suffer for that," he said cruelly. "Die alone in the dirt if that is your choosing. You will bleed for me, woman." Sharene crumpled onto the unyielding, hard surface beneath her with all of her wounds restored. She pulled the shawl over her body to cover her weakness. Tense angels watched from a distance, and the hunter disappeared from view.