Monday, June 27, 2011

Camping Trip June 2011

Some photos from my camping trip with friends at the reservoir islands in Low, Québec. Such a beautiful place, the scenary is so relaxing. The rain and a friend's health washed us away but a day later. But never fear, summer's officially here! More camping trips to come!!

We didn't bring wood to burn so our main fun was gathering. I unwillingly ate a tiny amount
of bacon. It was in a sandwich I bought and halfway through i'm like...wait a minute, what's this
weird taste. I know, I just called bacon weird. WEIRD!

Apart from that it was the regular old, drunken camping trip, complete with night trips for branches, clumsy and somewhat reckless ways of gathering said branches, sausages and marshmallows, chips (Um yummo)
and my trusty little MP3 player with Liane's speakers.

Did I mention we were on an island?

What good camping sites do you suggest?

Candles are out,

Eleven's Ink

Monday, June 20, 2011

Jesus Murphy: Blog Story (24)

The Final Chapters
- Chapter 24 -
A Long Awaited Discussion

Jesus was washing his hands in the makeshift bassin. The sawmill was old and in pretty bad condition. Everything had been removed and gutted leaving a blank canvas the size of a commercial hangar. The Agency had been smart in leaving the main floor as is and set up their camp in the basement.

It was dark and humid below ground but there was only one way in and several feet of solid steel seperating them from the ground above. With Madonna by their side, they had little to fear. That is, until Anna shows up.

Jesus emptied the hollowed bark that was used as a wash bassin and hung it upside down to dry. He was just about to leave the room when he was surprised by Madonna.

Something about her drew him in. Her presence alone beckoned submission. She glowed like a light tower in a purple night sky. She was so youthful yet her grey eyes betrayed her age. Madonna Riviera was the essence of beauty -

"My eyes can make people do what they want. My ears can hear their thoughts. Although i'm flattered by them, I suggest you opress them at once." Madonna said, walking out of the room and gesturing at Jesus to follow her.

Jesus felt his face reddened and swell with embarassment. He lowered his head and quickly stepped out of the room and soon caught up with Madonna who kept a steady pace. They were walking down a long steel corridor and Jesus couldn't help but to think of the story Martin had told him. Anna Simeon had guided Martin down a similar tunnel, this one maybe, and his life changed forever.

"Where are we going?" Jesus asked, slightly apprehensive of following Madonna down a winding tunnel.

"Don't worry, Jesus. The Boss has requested a meeting with you." She answered.

"The Boss?"

"Will you calm your nerves a bit, I can feel them vibrating in my skull." Madonna said stopping in front of a rounded door that had no knob. As far as Jesus could see, it had no mechanism to open the door.

"Were here. Don't be afraid, you'll find he isn't that much of a stranger."

Madonna winked and pressed her right hand on the door. A purple beam of light glided over the door like a scanner and then disapeared. The door slid open and Madonna waved her hand towards the dark room.

"Destiny awaits"

"Right..." Jesus sighed and stepped inside the room.

The door closed before any lights were turned on. Jesus remained still in the dark for quite some time until several small lilac coloured globes descended from the ceiling and lit the small room that housed but a chair with one man sitting on it.

"Uncle're The Boss?" Jesus let out, his fears washing right off.

"Hello Jesus." Michael got up from his chair and walked towards his nephew. "You look just like her. Your mother. Mary."

"So this is why you haven't been around all my life?" Jesus threw back, noticing immediately the anger in his tone. He didn't care. Martin had struggled all along and Michael was the mastermind behind everything.

"So much anger inside you, Jesus. You remind me of her. She had a temper -"

"Stop talking about my mother. She didn't hide behind a title. She didn't abandon her family."

"She didn't have to make the choices I made. Anger filled me too once. I'm sad to say you're mother passed before I changed my ways. But I haven't missed a day of your life, Jesus. I have been watching over you for some time."

Jesus rolled his eyes and turned around. He didn't feel like talking with his uncle at all. He didn't care how powerful Michael was.

"When will you understand that this," Michael said, emphasizing on the last word, "this, this place, this country, all of this is but a small fraction in a war that surpasses any concept of time your small, arrogant, ungrateful mind can even process. Snap out of it, Jesus."

At those words, images of a large country home with sheeps suddenly flew by in his mind. It was followed by another picture, this one much older, set in a valley high above a roaring river. Another of a girl with red hair. She's being stoned. One of him as a child with his mother and another as a teen, Mary standing beside him.

"Snap out of it, Jesus"

He's playing ball with Joseph at Malcom's fiftieth birthday. He's marrying Maghdalyna Saint. Over and over again. Madonna laughs and gives Jesus a hug. Everything is so different yet Jesus didn't want the images to stop. He forced his eyes shut.

"Do you see now, Jesus. What you are. What you need to do. Save us, Jesus."

Jesus eyelids shot open exposing two bright white spheres.

"I see them all. I feel them." Jesus said, turning to face his uncle. "I keep seeing the same image. A large bare valley with a river raging by below it. Where is that, Michael?"

"That is the Birthplace, Jesus. Don't forget it again."

Michael, satisfied with the outcome, walked out of the room and it took but a few seconds before Madonna hurried inside to see Jesus. She noticed his white eyes immediately.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Is that what we're fighting for?"

Madonna smiled. "That's exactly what we're fighting for, Jesus.¸"

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Jesus Murphy: Blog Story (23)

The Final Chapters
 - Chapter 23 -
What's To Come

Martin was further up ahead, checking around the corner of the public library. He signaled to Jesus to come over. They we're just in front of the abandonned sawmill. There didn't seem to be anyone in the streets, as if the city had been evacuated somehow.

Jesus followed Martin's orders and began running towards the sawmill. He jumped over the chain linked fence and fell hard on his back. He turned on his side and saw Martin running in his direction. He was just about to jump the fence when a member of the Sicarii came around the corner and fired at Martin.

The world stopped as did Jesus' heart. Everything was silent. Martin grabbed at his chest as blood spilled from his wound. Defeat shadowed his face just as he collapsed face down on the hot pavement.

"Nooo!" Jesus struggled to get air back into his lungs. Sicarii members were swarming towards the sawmill, hundreds of them. Jesus managed to get on his knees when he felt it coming. The edges of his vision began to blur into a swirl of mauves and purples. Everything turned black and he was kneeling in front of the woman who claimed to be Madonna Riviera.

"You have to stop running, Jesus. They are at your front door." She said, not an ounce of sympathy found in her voice.

"I know who you are, Anna Simeon." Jesus said, spitting out her name with disgust.

The woman laughed and walked around Jesus. "You know nothing! That is what will destroy your world, Jesus Murphy. The Sicarii, as you call them, are going to win. This place is already doomed. Rest assured, I am who you call Madonna Riviera. My word is to be trusted and before this war is over, I will bring you home."

The darkness began to fade away and Jesus found himself inside a white bare room, looking up at Madonna.

"Where's Martin? Jesus, where is he?" She asked, and Jesus detected sadness in her voice as if she anticipated the answer he was about to give her.

"They...they shot him." he answered. He felt disconnected from his body, as if he wasn't the one saying those words. It couldn't be true. Nausea overcame him and he leaned sideways to throw up.

"This can't be" Madonna said, pacing around the room, unable to stay still in one place. She looked back at Jesus. "We don't have time to grieve, Jesus, the Sicarii are here. We're trying as hard as we can to hold them back but once Anna arrives, there won't be much time left to act"

"Didn't you hear me? Martin is dead. They shot the only person that was ever there for me. I don't care what happens. This place is doomed, Madonna. You told me so yourself."

An Agent was just about to enter the room but Madonna asked for more time alone with Jesus. She wasn't going to give up on this place without a fight.

"Listen, Jesus, that vision of me isn't me. I don't think the way she does, I see the light at the end of the tunnel. We can stop them. Don't you understand the consequences of them getting at you? The balance will shift and evil will have the upper hand, Jesus. Damn it, get your head out of your ass for a minute and think of the repercussions. If the balance shifts, every single person here dies, Jesus. Get it through that thick skull of yours."

Jesus lowered his head in shame. He was always thinking about himself. Why didn't he understand? Why didn't anyone tell him anything? Why him? He was so busy thinking about himself and his own troubles that he forgot to stop and ask if the world was still turning. He didn't have the luxury to sit at home, make friends, and enjoy life.

"I'm scared, Madonna. I'm confused about everything that is happening. Life doesn't make sense here, there's no time to ponder or appreciate. My whole life was a speeding bullet."

"And it's time for that to stop, Jesus You can stop this."

Madonna placed a gentle hand on Jesus shoulder' just in time to feel the cold splash of his tears. He looked up into her eyes and smiled. He wouldn't let Martin down.

"Tell me what I have to do"

"It's simple" Madonna answered, "You have to heal them of their anger. Heal them and good will triumph."

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Jesus Murphy: Blog Story (22)

The Final Chapters
- Chapter 22 -
The Burning Bush

Jesus jumped over the fence, his long curly hair blowing in the wind behind him. He ran across the neighbours yard, crawled under the chain link fence and repeated the endeavour numerous times until he reached one of the side streets that broke off from the main road.

He stopped only for a second to catch his breath and continued running towards the abandonned sawmill. He knew that's where the Agency hid their Bethlehem branch of activity. He passed by the Burning Bush, the only club in town. For some unknown reason, it beckoned him inside. Jesus stopped to look around, made sure no one was watching him and he darted inside the club.

The place was crowded with locals and kids from neighbouring towns. It was smoky and the music resonated deep within our hero's ribcage. A large man came up to him and asked for identification. Jesus hesitated, unaware of this procedure.

At that moment, a girl with flaming red hair walked up to the bouncer and whispered something inaudible in his ear. She smiled at Jesus and gestured for him to follow her.

The attractive redhead guided him to a private room in the back of the club, next to the oversized DJ booth. When he stepped inside the room his eyes had to adjust to the stark red lights that gave the room a sombre tone. The girl took a seat on the velvet couch and brushed her shining crimson hair behind her back.

"Have a seat, Jesus. I won't bite" She said, smiling.

It was her energy that had drove Jesus to stop running. It was her energy that beckoned him inside. He sat down next to her, his palms sweaty. He was racked with nerves.

"You're so nervous. I'm not use to seeing you like this."

"We've met before?" Jesus asked, shifting in his seat. She was overflowing with joy and it made Jesus uncomfortable. She talked to him with such familiarity. He couldn't stop himself from looking into her piercing green eyes.

"I'm so sorry. You must be confused about this all. I'm Maghdalyna Saint. This may come as a shock..." She looked away from Jesus. He could tell that she was just as nervous as he was. She didn't look much older then him yet wisdom and strenght leaked through her pores. Something about her was familiar. "You may not want to believe me but this world depends on you."

Jesus hadn't expected her to say that. With everything that was happening, her statement felt oddly out of place and, he had to admit, kind of late.

"I don't know recognize you but let me assure you that I am very well aware of what's to come for me. I felt compelled to come in here. Your energy drew me in." Jesus answered.

Maghdalyna smiled, her eyes glowing with happiness. She stretched across the couch and wrapped her arms around Jesus, kissing him in the hollow of his neck. She whispered into his ear: "You being here means it's too late."

Jesus didn't move. He felt cold tears strolling down his skin. He lifted Maghdalyna's head and looked into her eyes. "Who are you?"

She composed herself and arranged her light pink blouse. She rested her hand on top of Jesus' and her eyes creased at the ends as she smiled at him. "You can call me Maggie. I want to tell you so much, Jesus." She struggled with her words and it was apparent she was holding back.

"Then tell me." He begged, pressing his hand into hers.

"I can't. You're not even suppose to be here, Jesus. You're suppose to be training and learning. Where's John and Judeyah? Where's Marty, or Maria? Where am I, Jesus?"

A shiver ran up Jesus' spine. He didn't understand what she was saying yet something about her last sentence chilled him to the bone. Where was she? She was sitting in front of him, her hand in his.

"I've said too much. There isn't much time left. You have to stop them, Jesus. You cannot let them win. The balance is depending on you."

Jesus let go of her hand. She backed away, offended.

"Why does everyone depend on me?"

"Why can't you just accept your role, Jesus? Your defiance is threatening what little good is left."

"How can I defy what I don't even understand?" Jesus shot back, unable to pronounce her name out of fear that speaking it would mean remembering her. Something about this all was just so odd. He felt detached from this, as if he was still running outside towards the sawmill.

Just as he was thinking that, he blinked and found himself standing in front of the Burning Bush. He looked around to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. The front doors were barred with wooden blanks, graffiti covering the dirty display window. The place was abandonned.

What was that? Jesus thought. He was just about to continued his run when he spotted Martin at the end of the alley besides the abandoned club.

"Jesus!" Martin screamed catching up to his nephew. He patted him on the head and hugged him almost to the point of suffocation. "I found the house in shambles, I thought you were..."

"I'm okay. What about Madonna?" Jesus asked, never thinking he would have worried about the woman he had felt so much anger towards.

"She's okay. She managed to take care of several Sicarii members. What are you doing here?"

"I was running towards the sawmill when I got...distracted. Dad, I don't think I'll fulfill the prophecy"

"And why do you say that, cowboy?" Martin asked.

"Because I just talked with Maghdalyna Saint. She told me it was too late. She mentioned John and Judeyah and I think you too. But that's not why I believe her."

Martin looked uneasy. Jesus doubted that Martin didn't expect what was coming next.

"I believe her because when she touched my hand, I felt a connection. She said she knew me and now I remember her."

"And where do you know this woman from?" Martin queried, helping Jesus find the answer that would unlock everything.

"Maggie Saint is my soulmate in this life and all the others like it." Jesus found himself saying against his will. The words had formed themselves on their own.

"I'm proud of you, cowboy. It's time for you to get ready for what's to come."

Tuesday, June 07, 2011

Jesus Murphy: Blog Story (21)

The Final Chapters
- Chapter 21 -
Not Okay
The water was splashing about as Jesus opened the dingy, rust-covered faucet of the bathtub. He cringed and shut them off when he was surprised by Madonna Riviera.

"Don't you knock?" Jesus asked, shaking the water off of his arms and detouring Madonna out of the bathroom.

"I did, nobody answered. Where's Martin?" Madonna queried, following Jesus into one of the abandonned bedrooms on the second floor. The light that came from outside was muted by the dark, dusty shades that hung in the bedroom windows. Madonna could barely see where Jesus had went. She couldn't see him anywhere.

"Jesus...?" Madonna tip-toed out of the dark room when Jesus shot out of the bedroom behind her and slipped a dirty old pillowcase over her head, blocking out the dim light  and the sound around her. Madonna struggled against Jesus' tight hold and she eventually was able to raise her legs and push herself off a wall, falling over Jesus and both tumbled down the creaking staircase.

Jesus rolled over Madonna and reached the bottom of the stairs, unconscious. There was a giant gash across his forehead and blood dripped out of his left ear. The staircase was starting to groan and sway. The seventh step was loose and cracked and when Madonna reached that step it snapped in half and caused a ripple effect with the other planks. The whole staircase gave way and Madonna dissapeared below the rubble.
The house was quiet as dust filled the entire first floor.

There was a slight distortion in his hearing when Jesus awoke. He was greated with a great buzzing in both ears and his vision was slightly blurred. His normally blue eyes were hidden behind a thick layer of bloodshot veins and cracked skin. His kept hair was dishevelled and the blonde streaks were turning brown. When he tried to get up, pain shot through his ribs.

Jesus looked around and noticed the wrecked staircase protruding from the basement, sticking upwards like a wooden iceberg. He couldn't see Madonna anywhere and the last he remembered, she was falling and tumbling right behind him.

"Madonna!" Jesus tried screaming but it came out more like a whisper. He could barely breath, his lungs would hurt his ribs as they expanded to let the air in. What have I done? Jesus thought. As he shifted around, he found the cause of his pain. His ribs weren't cracked, nor broken. One of the steps had snapped away from the rubble and the nails that kept it in place had found temporary shelter in Jesus' torso.

He exhaled and grabbed the plank with both hands. He cringed as he pulled the nails out of his side. Jesus slid himself towards the wreck and started removing the debris that was covering Madonna. Pain and remorse shot through Jesus, knocking him back. The room spun around him, darkening at the edges, blurring between black and purple until Jesus found himself in total darkness and one woman stood in front of him.

"I told you I would visit you once again. And that it would be my last visit. And that I would finally bring you home." Madonna said, towering high above Jesus.

"You're not Madonna! Where is she?" Jesus screamed, getting back up on his two feet. He didn't feel pain in this place.

"I am her and she is I. I see you still haven't understood what is happening. I wasn't expecting this, Jesus. You have to grow. Or all is doomed."

"What are -"

He was cut off. The blackened room twisted into itself, blending back smoothly with the normal décor of Martin's house, minus the twisted staircase. Jesus was still half-sitting against the living room wall when Madonna walked in.

"What's up, Jesus? Where is Martin?"

Jesus couldn't believe his eyes. Madonna was okay; there was no broken staircase behind her. Madonna must have seen the look on his face at the surprise.

"Jesus, what's the matter?" She asked, a smile forming on her lips. She brushed a few strands of rebel hair behind her ears and extended a helping hand to Jesus.

"Come on, get up!" She said, and walked away towards the kitchen.

Martin had made slight progress. There was at least cabinets now lining the wall. The sink was still spraying rusted water but at least they could cook a decent meal. Madonna rested against the countertops and gave Jesus her usual "what's going on" eyebrow raise.

"What?" Jesus said, arrogantly, looking away from Madonna.

"Don't 'what' me! You look like you've just seen a ghost!"

"And you act like you don't know what's going on!"

"I don't, Jesus. Don't forget who you're talking to, young man!" Madonna shot back. Authority, not anger, resonating in her tone. Something almost maternal had externalized itself.

"Who are you? What do you want from us? From me? I know you're not one of us" Jesus answered, letting his anger guide his words, something he regretted the moment he spoke. Madonna was a very powerful Agent. It was unwise of anyone to anger her.

"And what makes you so positive that you're one of them, as you insist on dividing your people, you selfish little brat. How dare you question my loyalty, my affiliation to the Boss and to your uncle? The man who took you in when you had no one else to turn to? You ungrateful little..."

At that moment, Madonna caught herself. She too had let herself get absorbed by her anger. She straightened her purple blazer and simply walked by Jesus and towards the door. Jesus wasn't going to let her walk away from this one.

"I know Anna is your sister. And I think she has been visiting me lately." Jesus said. It had the desired effect. Madonna stopped short of the door and turned around. Her anger had been replaced by confusion.

"How do you know that? What do you mean she has been visiting you? Jesus, she is a dangerous person." Madonna said, walking back towards the galley kitchen.

"Twice now did I get a visit from someone who looks a lot like you but I know it isn't. Everything turns black and then you appear. The first time, you told me I would heal the world, and I healed a man. This time, you told me to change or else everything was doomed. I see stuff too. Bad stuff."

Madonna's eyebrow cocked a bit. She was taking in what Jesus was telling her, confused about certain aspects.

"Sit down, Jesus. It's time I explain to you who I am, where i'm from and why i'm here. First of all, my real name isn't Madonna Riviera. And this place you call Jerusalem... Well, it isn't the only place like it in the Universe. And some people will stop at nothing to destroy every last place like this one."

"What is your real name?" Jesus asked. He couldn't think straight and it was the only thing he thought of at the moment.

"My real name is Maria Simeon and where I came from, there was a boy -"

They were interupted by a knock on the door. Jesus wasn't expecting anyone and Martin had left for his interview and shouldn't be back until later in the day. They walked out of the kitchen and just as Madonna stepped inside the hallway, the front door blew off it's hinges and bounced off the walls until it made contact with Madonna's face, knocking her out.


Jesus knew it was the Sicarii. He grabbed his bag off the counter and ran out the back via the sliding glass doors. How did they locate him?

He had to find Martin.

Monday, June 06, 2011

Jesus Murphy: The End is Coming :(

Breaking News: I am taking pointers from NBC. :S

Jesus Murphy: Blog Story will be no more very shortly. Pageviews have been declining for the blog story since early May and I haven't been able to boost them back up. I blame myself for this situation as I fucked up the narrative early on with too many flashbacks and not enough linear points. I will have a lot of Singaporians (??) angry at me, but rest assured, the main plotline will be resolved.

I'm just not sure if EVERYTHING will be resolved but I will focus the next chapters on concluding the narrative on a high note. We will not be seeing certain characters anymore as I will focus all of the remaining chapters on Jesus, Madonna, Martin, and Anna. Don't be so upset though, as the world of Jerusalem will soon be seen through the eyes of an up-and-coming warrior Agent:

Maggie Saint.

Sunday, June 05, 2011

Something Worst then Rebecca Black

Oh the joys of Facebook. A friend of mine posted a video for a song that could possibly dethrone Rebecca Black's Friday as the worst song ever recorded in the history of the UNIVERSE.

It makes you wonder what the fuck those people were thinking when they "engineered" that song. The title is - wait for it, you're going to laugh - "I don't wanna be a crappy housewife"...

Are you laughing yet? Ok ok, then watch the official video for it. Overperformed by Norwegian dimwit Tonje Langeteig. Oh God...

NOTE: I am not responsible for any seizures related to watching this video.

Friday, June 03, 2011

Share the Blog!

Hey Everyone!

So I was searching for a place on facebook that was user-friendly and easily accesible for bloggers and blog-readers alike to share their blogs.

Here is the link for you to join the group and find all the blogs you like to read in one convenient place.

Are you a blogger? Want free advertisement? Searching for that special place to share your baby with the world? Join the group, post your link and let people stream over to your site and read all the entries you have to display! It's that simple!

Come one, Come all!!/home.php?sk=group_221946137834490

Bloggers are ALREADY sharing their wonderful stories with the world. Don't be a party pooper, join early!

Candles are out,
Eleven's Ink

Thursday, June 02, 2011

Mon Grand-Père

Je ne pouvais pas m'exprimer sur ce sujet en anglais. Souvent quand on ressent quelque chose de profond, c'est notre voix intérieur qui dicte les mots avant même que tu ne les pensent dans ta tête. C'est donc naturel pour moi d'écrire ceci en français, un message pour mon grand-père qui est décédé le 2 juin, 2000.

Mon Grand-Père, c'était le meilleur
Un grand, un vrai, un fort
Mon Grand-Père, y'avait du coeur
De l'amour, de la joie, du bonheur

Mon Grand-Père, c'était mon héro
Un idol, une vedette, un combattant
Mon Grand-Père, me protège d'en haut
Avec fierté je le sais qu'il me dit bravo

Mon Grand-Père, c'était un farceur
Un conteur, un rieur, un chanteur
Mon Grand-Père dégageait une certaine chaleur
Qui confisquait toute mes peurs

Mon Grand-Père, c'était le biscuit
Le grill cheese, la gomme aux fruits
Mon Grand-Père, c'était les bretelles
Les jeux au soleil ou dans la pluie

Mon Grand-Père, c'était le rire
Les blagues, la joie de vivre
Mon Grand-Père, c'était la famille
Les valeurs, le support, une béquille

Mon Grand-Père, c'est le ciel
Le soleil, les nuages, les étincelles
Mon Grand-Père, c'est la nuit
Le beau temps comme la pluie
Mon Grand-Père, c'est lui


Une chandelle dédié à toi grand-papa. 
Ton p'tit fils qui t'aime à tout jamais

Jesus Murphy: Back to Bethlehem (Ch. 18 - 20)

 - Chapter 18 -
Back to Bethlehem


The landscape that surrounded them was familiar, even welcoming. Jesus remembered this place so vividly, memories of his childhood flooded his mind. He hadn't been here in eight years, ever since they went on the run from the Sicarii.

Jesus had been with Martin for less then a year when their protector, Madonna Riviera, up and vanished from the small fishing town of Bethlehem, leaving them unprotected and vulnerable. Jesus was young, not yet an adolescent, when he healed an old man's injury. He was unaware of this special ability until that day and news quickly followed of a boy who could heal wounds. 

Threatening situations soon followed and Martin decided best to run while they still had the chance. His nephew was too immature and uneducated in the matter to truly grasp the reality of the threats. His abilities, however great they were, could be used for darker, more sinister deeds. Martin explained this to Jesus and promised to elaborate more when the latter would turn sixteen.

A promise Jesus intended for Martin to keep.

They arrived exactly where Jesus expected; Martin's house. It had changed through the years. The past owner's must have disliked the country feel of it and updated the features. The red tin roof was gone, replaced with the usual black, sparkling shingles. The stucco had been painted a dark blue, giving the house a sombre shade.

"I don't like what they've done with the place" Jesus remarked as they pulled into the driveway.

"I'm glad we're on the same page. I'll need some help getting this place back to shape" Martin answered, bringing the car to a stop.

It was silent in the car. Martin gave a friendly punch on Jesus' shoulder making the latter one laugh. "Welcome home, cowboy."

The moment Jesus stepped inside the house, he was overwhelmed by the smell that rushed at him. The placed looked like a wreck. Everything was gutted, including the walls. Jesus sighed and stepped to the side to let Martin thru.

"She didn't mention the whole gutting..." Martin said.

"I didn't think it would bother you, Martin Christ." Madonna answered, walking out of one of the bedrooms on the right.

She was just as Jesus remembered; tall blonde with the expression of a snarling bulldog.

"You left us when we needed you the most!" Jesus lashed out unable to control the anger that boiled inside his pit.

"You haven't told him, Martin? How are we suppose to suceed without trust?" Madonna said, looking directly at Martin.

Jesus could sense the dissapointment in her voice. Something stirred in his gut. Regret.

"I want to talk to Jesus alone" She continued.

Martin nodded in approval and stepped outside, leaving Jesus alone with the Agent. Madonna removed her lavender jacket and made her way towards the kitchen. Jesus followed her into what probably used to be a kitchen but was now just another empty space.

"You probably feel a lot of anger towards me Jesus and I understand. I'm shocked that Martin hasn't explained to you the importance of my departure. Had I stayed, this world as we know it wouldn't be. You have to trust me, Jesus."

Jesus listened to every word she was saying even though he didn't want to hear anything she had to say. He knew she was using her own abilities to make him focus on her words.

"I'm back now and that's all that matters. I am not going anywhere and I promise that. Nobody remembers what you did and I personally made sure of that. The Agency has placed a protective barrier around the city. We shouldn't be having any problems for a while."

Something about her had changed. She wasn't as stern as he remembered nor as stuck-up. Jesus felt comforted by her words, reassured even. As if the past nine years of running, hiding, and fearing capture had never occured. He would never forget Joan, he wouldn't let that memory fly away.

"So what happens now, then. We just live a normal life?" Jesus asked, shifting uncomfortably.

"Not exactly. Normal doesn't apply to people like us, Jesus. I want to show you something"

Madonna walked into the space that would normally be reserved for the dining room. There was an antique oak table in front of the patio doors, a laptop resting on its freshly polished surface. A photo of a boy took up half the screen. He was surely Jesus' age and looked very average. Short brown hair, fairly straight features safe his curved upper lip.

"His name is Goliath Zane. I think you should befriend him at school, get to know him a little." Madonna suggested, smiling at Jesus.

"You sure don't skip a beat. What's the reason?"

"I just think you guys can learn something about each other. You see, you're going to heal him."

"Really?" Jesus remarked, somewhat arrogantly.

"Yes, really. Don't be smug." She said, frowning at him. "In a way, he'll heal you too. What you need to attend to in his case you need to work on yourself first." She said, closing the laptop and walking out of the room. Before Jesus could even ask what that was, Madonna answered his question.

"Anger, Jesus. Work on it."

Jesus couldn't see her face as she stepped outside but he knew she was smiling.
- Chapter 19 -
Bedroom Confession

The rain hadn't ceased since they arrived back at 45 Willow Road. It was molesting the bay window in Jesus' bedroom and distorted the view of the woods that surrounded the yard. Jesus was looking out but wasn't focused on anything in particular.

He was still trying to make sense of it all; His future, his past, his present. What waited for him before the death that was predicted? Did he cause every event that happened before him, simply so he could be born into this world as destiny wanted? And most importantly, as he lingered in his humid bedroom with all lights shut off, Jesus pondered what would happen now, in the moment?

Thoughts of Joan Archer were running by when a gentle knock came at the door and when Jesus spun around, Martin was slouched in the door frame.

"Want pizza for supper, cowboy?" Martin queried.

Jesus just shrugged and kept his eyes on the blurry image that was created by the downpour outside.

"What's up? You've been gloomy for the past week. Anxious to start school?"

"I guess. I've been thinking alot about what Madonna said to me." Jesus started. He turned around and let his legs dangle off the edge of the windowseat, "I mean, maybe I am angry about what happened to mom, to dad. He wasn't the best father but...he was all I had."

Martin kind of half smiled and went to sit by his nephew. He wrapped his arm around his shoulder and looked into his eyes.

"Joseph was a marvelous man. Your mother loved him. Sometimes when bad things happen, it can really destroy someone. I think he would be proud to see you overcome your anger, Jesus. Give yourself some time."

Jesus shifted in his seat then got up and walked aimlessly around his room.

"Where do my abilities come from?" Jesus asked, finally gaining enough confidence to ask the question that had lingered for too long inside his mind. He needed - no, deserved - answers.

"That, I don't know Jesus. All I can say is that you were blessed. You are going to change the world, cowboy." Martin answered, staying seated by the bay window.

"You guys keep telling me that. All I know is that I am going to die so that people can live, how is that even fair?"

Martin could hear the start of a tremble in his nephew's voice. He didn't like it when Jesus would doubt the mission, the prophecy. It just made it harder for everyone.

"I made the mistake of letting you in on that tidbit of information. I promised I would tell you everything and I will. But you have to get rid of that anger inside you. It's growing, Jesus, and anger eventually leads to hatred. We can't...lose you to that, Jesus."

Jesus rolled his eyes and sighed. He dropped himself on his bed and turned away from the man he now called father. He often wished that his parents hadn't died and in moments like these, he wished even harder. He was glad that his back was turned. He hid the tears that pearled down in his cheeks and didn't bother to wipe them away.

"I wish we could communicate better, Jesus" Martin finally said, after a few minutes of silence. Dissapointment and sadness took over his voice.

"How can we communicate when I feel like i'm talking to myself?" Jesus turned around and sat up on his bed. That emotion that polluted his soul, anger as Madonna had put it, was painted all over his face. "You never answer my questions! You don't tell me anything of what we are about to do and why! I don't know if you trust or don't trust Madonna! You don't communicate with me, dad. You don't. How am I suppose to open up to you when I...I..."

Jesus looked away.

Martin didn't quite understand what he was feeling inside but it tore away at his heart. He hadn't notice how secretive he had been with Jesus. What was it that he wanted to say?

"What is it, Jesus? Say it, don't be afraid."

"I don't trust you."

Both men stood in the silent bedroom, looking away from each other. Martin walked closer and wrapped his arms around Jesus.

"I'm so sorry."
- Chapter 20 -

The sun was shining when Jesus woke up from a well needed rest. The rain had finally stopped and it would pave the way for a week of complete sunshine and warm temperatures. There was only a few weeks left before school started and Jesus was taking full advantage of it.

He didn't linger in his room for long, he felt compelled to apologize to Martin for his bratty behaviour the night before. He knew the feeling of entitlement was wrong and wanted to express this to his guardian.

The house smelled of fried eggs and bacon and the aroma flirted with Jesus' hunger. He hurried down the stairs and into the galley kitchen when he noticed Martin wasn't alone.

His guardian was in a heated discussion with Madonna Riviera. They hadn't notice Jesus. He spun backwards and hid from view, listening in on their conversation.

"...and Elizabeth. They didn't want him to be part of this, Martin. I did what I had to to secure the players in the prophecy. That was long ago, you know I have changed since then. My loyalties lay with Jesus and with you." Madonna said. Jesus found it odd to hear this woman defend herself. He remembered her being more stern and tenacious.

"We need to fix this. I can't let my friends live like this; that is their son, Madonna!" Martin answered, his voice firing up with anger. Ironic that they could express such emotions but they so desperatly wanted Jesus to oppress it.

"I can't change it, Martin. What is done is done. You have to accept that, there's nothing I can do. If we change it now, if we bring Jonathan back to his parents, he will never meet Jesus."

"And what would be so bad about that?"

"Jonathan will enlighten Jesus, share his wisdom of peace. His message alone is what will shape Jesus to become the man he needs to be."

Their was silence in the room. Jesus tried not to stir too much.

"He will be downstairs any second now. It would be best if we continue this talk some other time, Madonna."

This was his cue. Jesus ran his hand through his thick curly blond hair and walked inside the kitchen. He acted surprised when Madonna smiled at him. She was always so dressed up, Jesus noticed. Her shining fair hair was pinned up and she had a lilac headband keeping it in place. She wore a summer dress that seemed white at first but when Madonna got up from her chair to leave, purple hues could be seen in the creases.

Madonna kissed Martin on the cheek and patted Jesus on the shoulder as she passed by him and towards the entrance. Jesus waited for Madonna to be out of the house before adressing his uncle.

He took a seat at the table just as Martin slid a plate full of food in front of him. There was a scent of cologne that came from his uncle. Jesus noticed Martin was dressed up in a black suit and tie. His naturally frizzy and wild hair was slicked back, giving Martin a very corporate stature. His apology speech was placed on the back burner.

"What's with the get-up?" Jesus asked, curbing his desire to laugh.

"I have an interview for a job today" Martin answered, sitting down across from Jesus.

"Cool. What are you going to be this time? A clerk, a mechanic?" Jesus queried. During their years on the run, Martin had held many different jobs and excelled at all of them.

"Actually, It's a job at the Agency"

That didn't really surprise Jesus at all. He expected Martin to settle down once they were in Bethlehem. Once he saw Madonna inside their house, he quickly understood what would happen next. Martin would have to join the Agency. They would protect Jesus until he reached maturity and then they would unleash him to the great country of Jerusalem to spread the good news of hope, love, and respect.

"It's time I tell you about my history with the Agency, Jesus."

"Their was a time," Martin started, sliding his plate to the side, "when the Agency and the Sicarii were known to the public. It was a time of war. Your grand-parents died defending our home and their children. The same night they died, we were divided. Uncle Malcom and your mom were too young to join the Agency so they were taken away to live with Agents."

"Your uncle Michael and I travelled through Jerusalem in various training camps. I rebelled, of course, as would any teenage kid with anger," at these words he paused and smiled at Jesus. "I met a very beautiful young girl who challenged my views and eventually my loyalty to the Agency. She was very deceiving and manipulative and managed to pull me into her circle. All along though, she was an Agent and she was testing me."

"For some reason unknown, she kept a promise she had made to me before she revealed her true colours. She let me leave the Agency without them ever knowing I was part of it. Years later, I learned she had switched sides and pled allegiance to the Sicarii alongside her colleage, Jenna Crown."

"Times had changed though. The Agency had went underground when the citizens demanded a more stable organization to run the country. When the Mayor took power of Jerusalem, the Sicarii went into hiding as well and became even more dangerous then ever.

"When news of this broke, Michael was now a high-ranked Agent and he mounted an attack on Jenna's estate to retrieve her adopted daughter."

Jesus didn't need for Martin to say it. The realisation had struck him the moment he paused. Jenna Crown was the Agent who had adopted his mother. Michael didn't want his sister to be tainted by the manipulations of the Sicarii, Jesus thought to himself. He didn't know much about his uncle but he didn't picture him as being guided by emotions.

"What happened next?" Jesus was curious to know, anxious even. He always loved hearing stories about his mother, and this one topped all of them.

"Michael took her away. Jenna was out for the evening and the nanny didn't hesitate at the site of a squad of Agents. Soon we were all reunited and eventually relocated here in Bethlehem. Michael continued his work for the Agency. Your mother settled down with Joseph and Malcom continued...well, being Malcom."

Jesus chuckled. He had only seen his uncle Malcom once when he was younger. He remembered his odd style and quirky habits.

"When your mother died I was approached by Madonna who wanted me to watch over you and guide you through life. I never trusted the Agency. I prefer them to the Sicarii, but organized societies often have very corrupt centers. Anyhow, I accept the role with some hesitation, I won't lie. I didn't want to get involved with the Agency again."

"It leads me to this, Jesus. I want you to trust me when I tell you that I will stop at nothing to protect you from those who seek to harm you. I don't want you to doubt what I am doing, even though sometimes I myself may seem uncertain. I want you to be a teenager, Jesus. Don't worry about what we are doing, okay."

Jesus nodded. This was a lot of information to absorb. He wondered if the Agent who had toyed with him was the prophetess that mapped out Jesus' life.

"Who was that Agent woman? The one who turned bad? You mentioned something she did that only one other person can do; Madonna."

Martin sighed. He was getting Jesus tangled in webs he didn't belong in. Martin cleared the table and took a moment for himself, to also clear his thoughts.

"Her name is Anna Simeon. She's Madonna's sister."
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