10-03-2013, 10:59 AM
Hope was suspended by a kindred thread. Quickly fraying, but with all the loud crack of a whip, it snapped one word to Jensen's mind. Arrogance.
Rebuke was unexpected. Jensen thought he knew how this story ended. This gift he had not chosen reaped death and carnage, yet he continued to use it time and time again. Surprisingly, no malice did Tony spew, only woe. He was worn by his burdens as Jensen by his guilt. For the first moment in years, Jensen realized how every breath he took, with every second of every day, and in every interaction he thought solely about himself.
An iron hope rusted by pride; the greatest of all evils, opposed by God's very nature. It was almost as though he heard Jesus' calling to Peter on the boat, but all Jensen saw were the waves of uncertainty mirroring his own reflection back at him. A young lady was in danger in the basements, and he cared more about the demon's haunting him than guiding Katya's soul to salvation. At MSU, he dismissed the harassment of a gifted theologian on the grounds that Jensen was more interested in confiscating the man's knowledge than aiding his discoveries.
Then, when the safety of that single thread was breaking, Tony threw him a second.
The train rocked back and forth on its tracks, and Jensen's stomach swayed along with it almost more nervous to find redemption and subsequently lose it again than accepting the consequences of his failures as a man of God.
His focus shifted from the blur of the tunnel whipping by to Tony, anxious to look too closely at hope. Was it Lucifer's light? Or the Father's? Would he be able to tell the difference?
Heal?
"What do you mean there's more to this power than death? What else is there?" It was a hungry whisper he uttered, eyes wide with longing.
His hand slid down the cold pole. It steadied him as he all but fell onto a seat.
Rebuke was unexpected. Jensen thought he knew how this story ended. This gift he had not chosen reaped death and carnage, yet he continued to use it time and time again. Surprisingly, no malice did Tony spew, only woe. He was worn by his burdens as Jensen by his guilt. For the first moment in years, Jensen realized how every breath he took, with every second of every day, and in every interaction he thought solely about himself.
An iron hope rusted by pride; the greatest of all evils, opposed by God's very nature. It was almost as though he heard Jesus' calling to Peter on the boat, but all Jensen saw were the waves of uncertainty mirroring his own reflection back at him. A young lady was in danger in the basements, and he cared more about the demon's haunting him than guiding Katya's soul to salvation. At MSU, he dismissed the harassment of a gifted theologian on the grounds that Jensen was more interested in confiscating the man's knowledge than aiding his discoveries.
Then, when the safety of that single thread was breaking, Tony threw him a second.
The train rocked back and forth on its tracks, and Jensen's stomach swayed along with it almost more nervous to find redemption and subsequently lose it again than accepting the consequences of his failures as a man of God.
His focus shifted from the blur of the tunnel whipping by to Tony, anxious to look too closely at hope. Was it Lucifer's light? Or the Father's? Would he be able to tell the difference?
Heal?
"What do you mean there's more to this power than death? What else is there?" It was a hungry whisper he uttered, eyes wide with longing.
His hand slid down the cold pole. It steadied him as he all but fell onto a seat.