• Blam! The gunshot was a sharp retort, much like the sound a walnut shell makes

    when it's broken to reveal the treasure within. The Messiah knew he had hit his mark,

    didn't need to even look to see the woman, lying below on the sidewalk. Her brains would

    be a gray and red smear cooling on the sidewalk as they floated, dingy blond hair

    stringing, bone shards in the crimson ruin staining the drab gray of concrete.

    She hadn't even had the time to realize that she'd been marked before death

    came in a blast of sound and a bullet that was traveling faster than the eye could blink.

    Her name was Lenore, Lenore Reynolds, 19 years old too. Not only was she addicted to

    heroin, but she sold her body to satisfy her need. Too bad today was her day to face

    The Father for her sins and the stains on her soul. It's truly a pity that her body had

    emptied itself when that simple metal object had blown the side of her head off and

    ruined her smooth, silky black dress. Urine and feces pooled between her legs, she

    hadn't worn any underwear that morning, it's a shame that her hiked up dress showed

    just that. Oh well, there was still plenty of work to be done. The M82 Sniper rifle's

    tripod stand was folded up against it's smooth, black surface and The Christ slipped it's

    strap over his left shoulder. It felt comfortable. The Prince of Peace? Pf. More like The

    One Shot Prince.

    Across the rooftop he went, silent, white robes shining like fresh fallen snow

    that danced moonlight across it's surface in the dead of a winter's cold, empty night.

    People were screaming below, loud too, the grating wail of ambulance sirens followed by

    the whine of police cars was growing louder. Oh, before the day was over, the sounds

    would be always there. His sandaled feet only stopped for a second, long enough for him

    to reach into a pocket and pull out the small notebook. His other hand reached behind

    his ear to push away to locks of brown hair from behind it – and to reach the pencil

    tucked safely there. He had a name to check off of his rather long list. Far too many

    still there, waiting for him to make them face what they had done.

    He had come back for a reason and it'll be revealed but let's start at the beginning, shall we?

    Part I. The Return

    Being Crucified had hurt, more than God's mortal son could ever imagine. It

    Wasn't the pain that had hurt so much. It was the fact that he had loved them, for so

    long, with all his heart, all his soul. He had willingly gave his life to keep The Father from

    taking his palm and just smearing it across the earth, wiping humanity from existence,

    with ease too. Such a thing might have even hurt God. They were his most cherished

    children, above even the High Seraphim's themselves. When he was brought back into

    Heaven he sat, and he thought, and though he never admitted it. He hurt. Pain turned to

    anger, anger lead to rage. Rage was bad. 'Specially in the mind of this one. Centuries

    passed, time was nothing to Jesus. He spent the days with his disciples, talking,

    walking, sharing his thoughts. They watched as things grew worse and worse.

    Man loved man. Woman loved woman. Both sometimes even loved animals. The body

    was no longer a temple, the mind no longer of God or about God. The Heavens

    Were crying tears for eternity. Things had to change, drastically.
    So. Around the year 2012 Jesus made a decision. It was time to return. The rapture

    was coming?! Oh yes, it was coming, but not in the way it should have been. Jesus

    descended from the heavens. First thing he did when his feet touched the dirty, filth

    strewn concrete was vomit. Outrage came out in the form of yellow and brown, bile and

    mortality, it was sickening as it splashed across the trash strewn ground below.

    Empathetic? You bet, thoroughly. He could feel the discontent. Feel the sin, feel the

    loss of each and every soul. There! To his immediate right. A pawnshop. He had cash, God

    had made sure of that. Plenty of it too. When the Messiah entered it he felt revulsion.

    So much had been given here, for so little. His right hand clenched, rage. If he were The

    Creator in full, he would have leveled the entire city right then and there. As it was, he

    was but mortal once more. No one took any extraordinary notice of the white robed, long

    bearded, dark skinned man as he looked around through eyes that were the epitome of

    chocolate and cinnamon mixed together, a perfect blend, no one noticed the anger

    brewing within. He was looking here, looking there, taking note of all that was around

    him. That was when he noticed her, short little woman, all curves, hips and breasts.

    She showed them off all too proudly. The black dress she wore stretched to almost the

    point of bursting from the strain of keeping her breasts secure. There wasn't a bra

    The messiah could see the perk of her nipples, hard, probably all the time too. “Eh,

    whacha need man?” Her voice was tired, husky, the deprived of lust, heavy in it's

    tone. She had blue eyes, the lights in them long gone dim, blonde hair too, dirty even.

    “What you need, my daughter is a hot bath, a warm meal, and some simple love.

    Can -I- help you?” He was sincere, honest, open. Once again Jesus had tried to

    spread his arms wide and embrace these animals who's lives were but a blink of

    his eyes. He was laughed at. “What I need suga is some more money in my pocket,

    what are you lookin for? A little side action? If so, meet me outback in ah hour

    maybe a hour and a half. I got lunch and I could handle ya. Ya isn't too big is ya?”

    Blink, blink, went those brown eyes, sadness filling their depths, was a tear shed?

    No, not anymore. Not for her, not for another human. The last straw had broke in

    the camel's back, so the line went. “Again, Lenore, I ask you – please, please let me help

    “ He was cut off by her terrified expression. The way her mouth worked wordlessly

    The way her blue eyes shined now, with fright, not affection. “Look misser, if you're

    not buying, you need to leave. I don't know how ya know mah name, but you're scaring

    me.” The Christ's resolve was steeled, he had given up. Turning to leave he noticed it

    It practically called to him. “BUY ME” it screamed. It was a gun, a sniper rifle in fact

    Dark gray, almost black.

    The shine of the metal a fine polish like starlight in a dark sky, the weapon was

    large, the barrel long and wide. The butt of it thick, molded to fit comfortably against his

    shoulder. The scope massive, even a blind man could hit a bird with such a sight. The

    trigger was what caught his attention, pure silver, a bright sheen on a thing of darkness,

    there was a cross etched into it. “That gun, how much? What's it's price?” For the

    first time in his life Jesus had awe in his voice. This went beyond that, it was

    adoration. Lenore laughed, even as the man picked up the gun she had no clue that this

    would be both the instrument of her death, and the weapon who would kill her. “Cost ya

    fifteen hunred bucks, we take plastic or cash but no checks.

    If ya want it now, we could work somethin' out.” A lewd wink was given along with a

    seductive sway of her hips as she leaned over the counter, propped up on her elbows

    her hands holding her chin up. She had that lascivious gleam in those ocean blue eyes

    that promised a good couple hours of fun, for a price of course. Didn't everything have a

    price?

    Lenore would find hers to be high before noon. The Messiah simply laid a card on

    the counter, the gun already slung over his shoulder, it seemed right somehow pre-

    ordained, as if this were right, the means to an end. A quick swipe of the card through

    the register and it was given back, the woman even gave him a box of shells. Fifty

    Caliber. They'd burst a watermelon to mere pulp, a head would be much less. Out

    the door Jesus went, without another word. Right across the street was a

    skyscraper it's roof in the clouds.

    Perfect. Inhaling Jesus made his way across the busy street, dodging cars with

    the most simple turns and twists of his body or skipped steps here and there as need be.

    People shouted, cursed and waved fists along with middle fingers. The rage bloomed.

    Jesus Christ saw red. He still saw it as he went inside that bank and never calmed as he

    climbed step by step, floor by floor. Exiting onto the roof, he found himself to be alone,

    him and the birds. No one heard him cry, no one heard Jesus himself, the immortal son

    of God spill his heart's sorrow into the sky. No one heard him ask for forgiveness for

    what he was about to do. The wall was waist high, and wide enough that he could set up

    the M82 on it's tripod base. Was it mentioned that no one heard him sigh as he filled

    the clip, shell by shell? Each click was a haunting pop. It took him less than a minute to

    load the gun full, a full for him to have it set up and aimed at the pawnshop's double

    glass doors, waiting for that poor, lost soul to exit, from her job and from this world.

    One brown eye stared into the scope and deep down, inside he liked the way the world

    seemed through the cross hairs.

    Just as he fingered the trigger, she came out of those doors a good four hundred

    feet below. The streets were crowded but he knew every inch of hair on her head, he

    wouldn't miss. Between the gunshots, the screams and the wail of sirens from

    ambulance and the police. No one heard or saw the son of God exit from that building,

    and if they did, they wouldn't remember. They were too busy, running, screaming,

    ducking, and crying for the loss of poor, heroin addicted whore. Who in the area didn't

    love her pretty little mouth? A tragedy was the life of Lenore, her end was pity. That

    Single gunshot still rang loud in his ears. Oneshot Prince, the Angels sang on high

    some with joy, some still cried.