*It was originally written for a Flash Fiction Contest–Topic: Religion in the Queen City. The “Queen City” is a nickname for Charlotte, North Carolina, USA.
He cannot hear but He colors his world. She cannot see, yet her voice bounces along the waves of melody. Then, of course, there is It. It can’t speak and, even so, moves to faint and resounding rhythms with fluidity and passion. They are the embodiment of freedom and indivisibility under God. The earth is their church and, in these gifts, they worship. Though, no one sees it this way and that is especially true of Ms. Susan.
Ms. Susan was groomed to believe that it is her civic duty and God-given right to harvest the souls of those that are lost. So, it is no surprise that Ms. Susan would make it her mission to reach He, She, and It after hearing her grandson’s workday tale of the spectacle that they are… He’s paintings of torment, She’s graphically lyrical laments, and It’s twirling about and finery that often leaves onlookers weary of exactly what It is. On this particular day, Ms. Susan has set her mind to minister. She gathers up all her tools for battle— her Bible, her anointing oil, and a plethora of outreach tracts from her beloved sanctuary.
When Ms. Susan arrives Uptown, as the progressives like to call it, she knows instantly that she has laid eyes upon the entourage of misfits. The evil was entrenched in He’s unruly blonde dreadlocks and facial piercings that paled in comparison to his graphic mid-brushstroke painting depicting red-eyed frighteningly contorted men emerging from a cave to attack a passerby. The kinship of the devil is obvious in She’s long unkempt hair, dark glasses, tweed poncho, jeans, and bare feet as she sings an ominous song about someone beating a man within an inch of his life, leaving him for dead, and actually being happy that it happened. Wickedness is certainly about when it comes to It. It’s arms lift repeatedly in the air as It sways from left to right keeping time with She’s worldly poison. It’s dancing isn’t the biggest problem in Ms. Susan’s eyes. It is an abomination with his jewelry, make-up, and what seemed to be a daintier dress than anything Ms. Susan has ever owned. Ms. Susan believes in her charge and fixes herself to own her mission. “Today is the day that these heathens will come to Jesus,” Ms. Susan thought to herself.
Ms. Susan’s rose-colored lips upturn with a rehearsed agape love that is easily diminished by the reptilian condescension in her eyes. She pats her perfectly rounded factory-line hairdo for the aged and hairspray addicted. Ready to earn another jewel on her heaven’s crown that is surely rhodium by now, Ms. Susan takes a deep breath as she approaches He, She, and It.
Ms. Susan tries not to gaze too long upon He’s heinous painting.
“Who hurt you child? Who hurt you that you would paint such ugly things? The Lord can heal your heart and you can use your talent for a greater good.”
There is no response.
“You know, in my day it was commonplace to speak when you are spoken to.”
He continues to paint but She takes notice that there is someone present. She stops singing and this causes It to stop dancing and observe their visitor quizzically.
“He can’t hear you. He’s deaf,” She says.
“Oh, my word. Here I am rambling on and the boy can’t hear.”
“Is there something I can help you with?” She asks.
Ms. Susan digs in her purse and pulls out a tract.
“I thought I would give you and your friends here some literature. Here, take this one. It’s the greatest story every told.”
“I am sorry Ma’am but I can’t see, “ She responds.
“Now you’re just pulling my leg, huh? He can’t hear and you can’t see?”
She takes off her glasses revealing opalescent orbs. Ms. Susan turns away at the sight. She apologizes for her insensitivity and approaches It.
“Excuse me. If you have a moment, perhaps we can pray together for you and your friends. I brought some anointing oil and if you just…”
She puts her glasses on and says, “He’s mute. So, is that why you are here? To pray? That’s great! It’s so nice to meet someone else that loves God as much as we do.”
Ms. Susan flutters her eyes in confusion. “As much as we do?”
She goes on to explain to Ms. Susan about how He, She, and It acknowledge that we are all brothers and sisters under one Creator. Each week He paints, She sings, and It dances to tell stories of whatever religion they are studying at the moment.
She says, “So far, we have shared stories from the Quran, Dhamma, the Mabinogion, the…”
“And what is this?” Ms. Susan asks while glancing at the painting and rolling her eyes, “The Book of Shadows?”
“Actually, it’s the Christian Bible,” She shares, “ The painting, I am told, is from the book of Matthew when Jesus performed an exorcism. The song I have written is about the crucifixion. The dance is a dance of praise and thankfulness. We have thousands more religious stories to share. Our goal is to bring Tolerance to the Queen City.”
Ms. Susan takes a deeper look at the misfits that she came to save from self-destruction. Feeling the energy of God from them, she shudders as she mumbles to herself in remembrance, “In the same way you judge others, you will be judged. Matthew 7.
Four Corners of Reality ©
By La’Kisha DeVon Jordan
He, She, and It are the likeliest unlikely trio. No one knows their names. They are merely eyesores on the four corners of the gown of the Queen. Watching the time, the giants of the city rush by with their silken nooses fluttering in the wind. They hope to forget all about He, She, and It. The giants perish the thought of having any words to speak. They only communicate threats to call on the yellow vested tyrants to take them away from their mercantile oasis.He cannot hear but He colors his world. She cannot see, yet her voice bounces along the waves of melody. Then, of course, there is It. It can’t speak and, even so, moves to faint and resounding rhythms with fluidity and passion. They are the embodiment of freedom and indivisibility under God. The earth is their church and, in these gifts, they worship. Though, no one sees it this way and that is especially true of Ms. Susan.
Ms. Susan was groomed to believe that it is her civic duty and God-given right to harvest the souls of those that are lost. So, it is no surprise that Ms. Susan would make it her mission to reach He, She, and It after hearing her grandson’s workday tale of the spectacle that they are… He’s paintings of torment, She’s graphically lyrical laments, and It’s twirling about and finery that often leaves onlookers weary of exactly what It is. On this particular day, Ms. Susan has set her mind to minister. She gathers up all her tools for battle— her Bible, her anointing oil, and a plethora of outreach tracts from her beloved sanctuary.
When Ms. Susan arrives Uptown, as the progressives like to call it, she knows instantly that she has laid eyes upon the entourage of misfits. The evil was entrenched in He’s unruly blonde dreadlocks and facial piercings that paled in comparison to his graphic mid-brushstroke painting depicting red-eyed frighteningly contorted men emerging from a cave to attack a passerby. The kinship of the devil is obvious in She’s long unkempt hair, dark glasses, tweed poncho, jeans, and bare feet as she sings an ominous song about someone beating a man within an inch of his life, leaving him for dead, and actually being happy that it happened. Wickedness is certainly about when it comes to It. It’s arms lift repeatedly in the air as It sways from left to right keeping time with She’s worldly poison. It’s dancing isn’t the biggest problem in Ms. Susan’s eyes. It is an abomination with his jewelry, make-up, and what seemed to be a daintier dress than anything Ms. Susan has ever owned. Ms. Susan believes in her charge and fixes herself to own her mission. “Today is the day that these heathens will come to Jesus,” Ms. Susan thought to herself.
Ms. Susan’s rose-colored lips upturn with a rehearsed agape love that is easily diminished by the reptilian condescension in her eyes. She pats her perfectly rounded factory-line hairdo for the aged and hairspray addicted. Ready to earn another jewel on her heaven’s crown that is surely rhodium by now, Ms. Susan takes a deep breath as she approaches He, She, and It.
Ms. Susan tries not to gaze too long upon He’s heinous painting.
“Who hurt you child? Who hurt you that you would paint such ugly things? The Lord can heal your heart and you can use your talent for a greater good.”
There is no response.
“You know, in my day it was commonplace to speak when you are spoken to.”
He continues to paint but She takes notice that there is someone present. She stops singing and this causes It to stop dancing and observe their visitor quizzically.
“He can’t hear you. He’s deaf,” She says.
“Oh, my word. Here I am rambling on and the boy can’t hear.”
“Is there something I can help you with?” She asks.
Ms. Susan digs in her purse and pulls out a tract.
“I thought I would give you and your friends here some literature. Here, take this one. It’s the greatest story every told.”
“I am sorry Ma’am but I can’t see, “ She responds.
“Now you’re just pulling my leg, huh? He can’t hear and you can’t see?”
She takes off her glasses revealing opalescent orbs. Ms. Susan turns away at the sight. She apologizes for her insensitivity and approaches It.
“Excuse me. If you have a moment, perhaps we can pray together for you and your friends. I brought some anointing oil and if you just…”
She puts her glasses on and says, “He’s mute. So, is that why you are here? To pray? That’s great! It’s so nice to meet someone else that loves God as much as we do.”
Ms. Susan flutters her eyes in confusion. “As much as we do?”
She goes on to explain to Ms. Susan about how He, She, and It acknowledge that we are all brothers and sisters under one Creator. Each week He paints, She sings, and It dances to tell stories of whatever religion they are studying at the moment.
She says, “So far, we have shared stories from the Quran, Dhamma, the Mabinogion, the…”
“And what is this?” Ms. Susan asks while glancing at the painting and rolling her eyes, “The Book of Shadows?”
“Actually, it’s the Christian Bible,” She shares, “ The painting, I am told, is from the book of Matthew when Jesus performed an exorcism. The song I have written is about the crucifixion. The dance is a dance of praise and thankfulness. We have thousands more religious stories to share. Our goal is to bring Tolerance to the Queen City.”
Ms. Susan takes a deeper look at the misfits that she came to save from self-destruction. Feeling the energy of God from them, she shudders as she mumbles to herself in remembrance, “In the same way you judge others, you will be judged. Matthew 7.
