The Science Fiction Guild, home to science fiction, fantasy, and just about any other genre storytelling you can imagine, in short fiction, flash fiction, and serialized fiction form.
Sunday, April 25, 2021
Soul, Pages 1-4 (of 4)
Saturday, April 24, 2021
Court Jester, Page 1 (of 1)
Thursday, April 22, 2021
Hun City, Page 1 (of 1)
Wednesday, April 21, 2021
The Duke, Page 1 (of 1)
Tuesday, April 20, 2021
Bandit, Page 1 (of 1)
Harlot, Page 2 (of 2)
Monday, April 19, 2021
Harlot, Page 1
Sunday, April 18, 2021
Dead Butlers, Pages 10-12 (Conclusion)
Friday, April 16, 2021
Dead Butlers, Page 9
Thursday, April 15, 2021
Dead Butlers, Page 8
Wednesday, April 14, 2021
Dead Butlers, Page 7
Tuesday, April 13, 2021
Dead Butlers, Page 6
Monday, April 12, 2021
Dead Butlers, Page 5
Sunday, April 11, 2021
Dead Butlers, Page 4
Saturday, April 10, 2021
Dead Butlers, Page 3
Friday, April 9, 2021
Dead Butlers, Page 2
Thursday, April 8, 2021
Dead Butlers, Page 1
Sunday, April 4, 2021
In the Mouth of the Lion
Believe.
Today I saw something I will never be able to unsee.
Today was another of the circus days. Everyone loves the circus days. Some people argue it’s all just distraction from the stuff that isn’t nearly as fun about life in the empire, but some people are always complaining, and, well, after a while you just learn to tune them out.
Me, I always loved the circus days. The best thing is to find the perfect spot in the stadium, so you can see everything. There’s nothing worse than showing up only to find the only available seating leaves you behind or adjacent to a post. Then you spend all day obsessing over the post.
Today I saw everything. I didn’t really think about posts. I thought about a lot of other things. I’m still trying to process.
I saw a man in the mouth of a lion. It wasn’t the first time. Yeah! That’s the circuses. You will see any and everything in them. It’s what passes for entertainment these days. Death as entertainment! Well, maybe it’s been going on for a while. I don’t know. I never really thought about it until now.
This wasn’t just another man. This was an older man. Amazing how such a simple distinction can change everything.
Later, I asked some questions about him. Usually they don’t really advertise the reasons. I mean, there are executions and then there are the circuses. Two separate things. We all know how you end up in the stadium. It’s no secret. It’s easier to watch when you know it’s never going to happen to you, I guess.
His name was Polycarp. He was one of those Christians. I never understood those people. You hear a lot of stories about them. Most of it is just a lot of gossip, a way to pass the time. I mean, all religions do strange things behind doors. They say Christians are cannibals. That one is certainly memorable. You’d never know to look at one. We get a lot of Christians in the stadium. Maybe I don’t know what a cannibal looks like. The Christians don’t look like what I would expect from one, I guess. They don’t act wild, I don’t know.
I never really thought about it.
The stories. They say they’ve been around for less than a hundred years. To put that in perspective, it’s been more than a hundred years since Julius Caesar, his assassination. That’s still pretty memorable. There’s always a play about it, during the circuses. The versions always seem to get better. If I lived to see a hundred years, I’m sure I’d see a hundred better versions than I’ve ever seen. It’s just one of those stories.
The stories they say about the Christians, though. Well, it depends where you hear them. The popular histories are pretty dismissive. I mean, these are people at the bottom rung of society. The empire is not exactly going to waste its time tracking all that. The Jews themselves (sometimes it’s easy to forget Christians aren’t Jews), they seem actively repulsed by them. They’re even more dismissive, but probably to distance themselves, an act of self-preservation, which would be smart, considering that even that much is hardly enough to prevent their...involvement in the circuses...
They say we executed the first of them, less than a hundred years ago. Do I have the math right? It’s so hard to tell. Maybe a little over a hundred. Something like that. Very close. Anyway, this Polycarp was involved with them all his life, and he was friends with that first generation, which of course was there when the first of them was executed.
If that clears things.
One of the things I heard was that Polycarp timed his appearance in the stadium to coincide with the anniversary of that execution. The Christians have a name for it, but don’t ask me what. I can barely keep the Jewish holy days straight. If you’re a citizen of the empire, religion means festivals. They’re celebrations.
The execution was carried out by one of our governors. They say he was a particularly brutal one, and there will always be talk about that sort of thing, justifying it to keep order in the empire and all that. To hear the Christian version of it, because of course now they want to at least sound like friends of the empire, the governor agreed to this execution reluctantly, as if he had no choice, as if the blame were someone else’s. Listen, the empire’s rule is absolute. The Christians can say what they want, believe what they want.
And as I said, they say a lot of things, believe a lot of things. Today, for whatever reason, I decided to listen. Okay, the reason was the old man, Polycarp, in the mouth of the lion.
I began to ask about him specifically. I learned that what I saw was exactly what he wanted. He welcomed it. He made the whole journey from Smyrna, apparently, quite willingly. It was a procession to him! Every stop he made along the way, he greeted his fellow Christians, many of whom made trips of their own to intercept him, never once attempting to avoid his fate, of which he was very clear from the start.
It baffles me.
This isn’t just defiance. They say the Christians believe they have a different fate, once they die, that whether as a combination of their faith or their conduct, that death is not the end. They will see something better than anyone living has ever known. I don’t even know what to say about that. Everyone wonders what follows death. Few welcome death itself. Certainly not the death of the stadium.
Yet that’s exactly what this Polycarp did. So I began to wonder. I started listening.
Death is not the end. And I began to wonder, did they expect to just return to life? Did they expect revenge? Did they expect justice for what had happened to them? Did they expect to revolutionize the world?
And then I thought about this man Polycarp again. This life he had led. What he had embraced. This impossible ideal.
And I saw maybe that was the whole point. Perfect selflessness. Impossible. And perhaps, even if terrible, as in the ending, how...sweet.
This was the antithesis of the circuses. This was not entertainment.
This was life. In the mouth of a lion.
And so I reconsidered the Christians. I thought about the stories I heard. I thought about that execution. I thought about the kind of lives that were lived because of the man who had been executed, not because of the execution itself. The execution itself, what followed it, the anniversary of which this man Polycarp had timed his moment in the stadium to coincide with, perhaps something greater than the best performance of the assassination of Julius Caesar could ever hope to be...
You know, in those plays the key moment is always the betrayal of Caesar’s best friend. To hear the Christians speak of the execution, there’s a betrayal that resulted in that, too, but it’s detached from the moment, and even in the moment, this first of the Christians is said to be forgiving those who made that moment happen.
That’s what it’s all about. That’s what made me think so much about all this. That’s what this man Polycarp, in the mouth of the lion, did to make me rethink everything.
He forgave us. He forgave me.
Who does that? A Christian, apparently.
And so I say now, believe. Believe what the Christians say. Believe. They have this figured out, regardless of how bizarre they make it sound. Probably the worst things said about them aren’t even true.
Believe. The most impossible things sound so impossible because they challenge everything. Not people. Ideas. The Christians believe not to aggrandize themselves, but to make a better world, with or without themselves in it. I don’t know. Maybe all this looks very different a hundred, two hundred, two thousand years from now. I don’t care.
At some point the play about the death of Julius Caesar finds its perfect words. But for these Christians, the message will never change. It’s trying to remember what Polycarp commemorated, that’s...
Believe. That’s all I say to you now. Believe.
Saturday, April 3, 2021
The Place of the Skull
Believe.
At this point it was many years ago. Many things have happened since. I was a young man. We were all young.
I was in search of the truth. I guess we all are, and we find our various answers, and it doesn’t seem to matter how much they contradict each other, and how divisive the results, how we can come to hate each other because of them. I found my truth at the Sea of Galilee, from a man who bellowed his every word. Such a man was difficult for some to appreciate, but those who did found him captivating.
The curious thing about him was how he spent all his time talking about someone else. “Someone else” was a common theme in those days. Ours after all was a religion of the future, the belief that some day everything would be better, that we were waiting for that one miracle, the man who would fix everything.
When the man in the Sea of Galilee spoke like that, however, it sounded different. He spoke of hope, but also of the present day. He didn’t know when it would happen, but he spoke with such confidence, it was difficult not to get caught up in it.
So one day a man appeared, and some of us were quickly convinced that he was exactly who we were waiting for. He spoke with authority, too, but he mostly spoke of impossible ideals, not the established ones, but the kind you’d have to be a saint to embody. We realized the best way to have even conceived of them was to be something greater than even a saint. Some were brave enough to understand the truth of it without even being told.
Well. It’s the kind of truth that sounds impossible. In those days even the Romans were trading faith on the shoulders of their predecessors, a mere act of fealty, a gesture of respect. We had Zealots, and even our band had one of those, fanatics who didn’t believe in compromise, and prepared for every sacrifice.
I say “we” when in fact I was never courageous enough to be included in the closest of circles. Later I consoled myself by saying, this was something of a ripple, and the ripple journeys outward, and it journeys inward.
I was always at the fringes. I was kind of the first of the secondhand.
Such was the moment of my most famous infamy, what I never talked about with anyone. I was there, you see, at the place of the skull. I saw it happen.
Most of our number had fled like cowards. We reasoned, we would have been executed, too, and the whole thing would have been lost. We had of course abandoned him in his hour of greatest need. He would have said such a sin had been necessary, but we had never been good enough to understand him, when he was living. Not really.
I was there. I saw him hanging.
I saw from a distance. That was the point of those things, a highly visible phenomenon to act as a warning, so that you maybe thought better of your actions. Later, they did it as entertainment, a different kind of spectacle, to discourage, so you would avoid such a fate, or to humiliate you, cause you to recant in the hour of your death.
They didn’t seem to care if it failed. Eventually, they thought, it would. The candle would snuff itself. The movement would end.
Ours never fanned, not in the way they so feared. We never took up the sword, the only thing they understood. Our king died, never having claimed his throne. That’s all they saw. I saw it the same way they did. I saw it on the hill. I saw it as the moment all was lost. I saw it as my failure. I saw it as the moment I drifted permanently into obscurity, a name that no one would remember, as if nothing at all had been accomplished.
As if I had never believed at all.
The day after it happened, when the body had already been taken down and laid in the tomb, I had already distanced myself. I saw none of my friends. As far as I was concerned, I no longer counted in their number. I was no better than a stranger. Everyone had done what I did, but I thought I was worse. I hadn’t been strong enough when he was alive, and no better when he was dying.
Then the next day a few of us saw him alive.
I heard about it from idle gossip. Much was made of the paranoid talk, from those who thought we would try to fulfill a prophecy, as if we were clever enough, even from the Romans who with irony went along with the conspiracies. I heard the gossip of tramps, of beggars. Just like those he had done so much, casually, in his revolutionary manner, to see themselves as worth something.
That was what I had become, perhaps what I had always been.
And when I heard, I sought my friends again. I was accepted back as if nothing at all had changed. In fact, I was accepted as a brother. I became counted.
I can’t really explain any of it. I’m not good enough. But here I say, Believe. Don’t believe me. I’m nothing. Believe what I say. Believe in him. Believe his consequential life, his message.
Believe.