|
|
Post by Lady Steise on Aug 26, 2012 23:18:35 GMT -5
And ye shall be hated of all men for my name's sake: but he that shall endure unto the end, the same shall be saved. - Mark 13:13 How quickly the tides do change. Within a matter of years, Christianity had gone from being tolerated to accumulating a growing riptide of persecution. Statistics showed that America alone had gone from eighty-percent of its population believing in God, to only forty. And of that forty percent, only sixty percent were Christians. With this massive surge of those in disbelief, hearts began to harden not only against the God of the bible, but of His followers as well. All over the world, hatred grew. Attacks against Christians increased everywhere, and as even the most free of all countries grew cold toward its Christ followers, there seemed to be no escape from the converging masses against them. Now, in America, the persecution is just beginning. Laws crack down on public evangelism of any sort. Both churches and individuals that preach biblical truth are often accused of hate crimes - and convicted. Being relieved of their tax-exempt statuses, most churches now find themselves under the crushing weight of immense taxation. Families are torn apart, harassed by government agencies who make it their priority to “liberate” children from the “abuses of Christendom.” Yet, even more sinister are the rumors. The missing person. The ones who seem to vanish without a trace; silent, gone. What is done with them is only a mystery... ----- The setting is New York City, New York, though it may change over the course of the role play. It is summertime right now. ----- Rules are the same as forum rules, no other restrictions or addictions, really. Casual role play.
|
|
|
|
Post by Lady Steise on Sept 12, 2012 17:12:20 GMT -5
Even if she had not stood atop the box, she would have commanded attention with her own power. Some averted their eyes, while other stared openly. Some stood, while others walked away. Some faces were unreadable; others were interested, and yet still, some snickered. But, rest assured, all attention was fixated on her.
Or, rather, the words coming out of her mouth.
She could have been six-foot-two or four-foot-eleven and no one would have cared either way. It wouldn’t have made a difference if her hair was normal or bright pink. She could have looked like a model, or a gorilla. No one paid attention to her appearance.
They paid attention to her words.
They paid attention to her audacity.
Open-air preaching was highly illegal and could result in a court conviction involving hate speech, disturbing the peace, and eliciting a riot. Yet, here, she, this ordinary woman stood and preached as boldly as if that law was never even there. Her voice carried so that no one within thirty feet was deaf to her witness. She held the Bible in her right hand and tracts in her left, bending down occasionally to give the latter.
And she was dangerously close to the ferry terminal.
Her earthy brown eyes would frequently dart over to monitor the ferry terminal, carefully noting where the security cards and policemen would be. At some point, she would probably have to make a quick getaway. They would discover her soon enough. And sure enough, they did. The glass doors opened, but instead of rushing employees and overzealous tourists coming out, it was two armed officers. The woman took that as her cue. She grabbed the box, lest it be used to find DNA evidence of who she was.
And she took off.
Her name was Sarah Rath. And that was just how things were.
|
|
|
|
Post by Lady Steise on Sept 12, 2012 17:49:58 GMT -5
He held the a cigarette between his two fingers, taking his time to relax while on break. He felt his jittering nerves soothe, and the quick, irritating, pulsating static that had been at the forefront of his mind slowly fade away as the paradoxically calming wave of nicotine made its way through his system.
He slowly exhaled, a steady stream of polluted white smoke exiting his nostrils. He took another drag. Did the same thing again. Looked down at his watch. He frowned, sighed. He would have to get back to work soon. He did not like his job; he wasn't sure anyone in his position did. He had gone to college. Business management. It wasn't what he wanted to major in, but it was something he was good at, and something his parents had encouraged him in, and so he had gone. Upon getting out of college, he found a job difficult to find. He went six months without getting hired. Then another twelve. The market was over-flooded with his kind, especially in the city, and during the economy he was in. And so he took what he could get. After eighteen months of searching, he was able to get a temp job at the business end of a law firm. That ended. Then, finally, he was able to find a supposedly permanent "career" in the same department of a real estate agency.
It was as fun as it sounded.
And there he was, taking up half his lunch break, smoking outside. This was not what had been advertised when he had entered the university. He snorted; anything but.
He watched with the deep browns of his Iranian eyes the street before him. Pollution. People. Cars. Noise. Traffic. Nothing particularly compelling or interesting, let alone decent. Truly, this was a horrible place. He wished to be elsewhere, but life was funny that way, because it rarely left people with much of a choice.
Akim Abdel Abdul-Qaadir. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he thought about his own name. One in six billion. All left up to chance. His name meant nothing, not really. Yes, it did have a very intricate meaning, but what did that matter? The thought that his parents had put into choosing a name for him? What was it really worth, when every man who could decide his fate did not know of it more than that he had sent in a resume that was so easily tossed into a rejection pile?
He sighed. Of course, his parents had always told him that whatever happened was the will of Allah, and to just trust in him. But, lately, such had not been so easy. Of course, being a devout Muslim, he did his prayers, his rituals, ate only Halal, went to mosque every week, and had gone to Mecca as part of his eighteenth birthday present - one that he had wanted very much. So he was more religious than many of his faith, especially so young. But what did that really make him? He was still a twenty-four - almost twenty-five - year-old man with a dead end cubicle job. He was insignificant to his employer, and to his city. What made him anymore significant to god?
He shook his head, as if to clear the depressing thoughts from his mind. It worked, but it didn't help to remove the lingering feeling. He was in a rut, and it was an immovable one. Nothing would ever change, it seemed, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of color. He turned his head with furrowed brows. He looked just in time to see a woman with a milk crate dart into an alley. Her clothes were...interesting. They were old. Probably from Good Will, or some other thrift store; there weren't really many Good Will stores anymore. They were colorful, at one point, but they were faded now. She wasn't rich, that was evident. But, despite the clothes, she didn't seem very poor either. Quite simply, she was just...odd.
How strange, Akim thought to himself. That certainly was not normal; he didn't see that everyday.
Perhaps, he was wrong after all.
|
|
