WIP: A Prayer for Mr. Bang
Dec. 25th, 2011 04:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jasonandrewThis is one of the works in progress I have going on at the moment. It is a sequel to a story I wrote in 2006. The characters have aged appropiately.
“A Prayer for Mr. Bang"
by Jason Andrew
Ruthie Jones kept vigil just outside the Bread of Life Mission upon the cerulean indigo checkered-glass mosaic for three days and nights. She stood under the faded neon sign that proclaimed Come Unto Me where her mother believed that she would be protected in the shadow of the portrait of Jesus. Jerome always wore the crucifix and it didn’t stop the hail of bullets. He had forgotten the stories and thus lost their protection.
The old street grate was a sacred spot where the walls of the world were thin. It marked the borders between difference places and was part of neither. She remembered everything she had ever heard whispered about Mr. Bang. The inner walls of the city were littered with street murals and graffiti marking His dominion with his image; a tall, skeletal black man in a hoodie with a long black coat that flowed like cape.
She knew well his power and kept within the glass street grate so that she would recognize him when he came. His eyes are pure white and Ruthie knew that they would give him away to the rich people and that was why he always wore dark sunglasses, even at night. Mr. Bang always returned to a murder committed in his name. He couldn’t help it. It was his nature.
Ruthie rubbed her eyes and watched the corner where her brother had been gunned down. Seattle rain had not quite washed the concrete and street completely clean and if she looked hard enough Ruthie imagined that she could see where his body had fell.
The familiar flutter of the wings of doves woke her from her daze. Startled, Ruthie looked around for a black coat. Mr. Bang emerged from the crowd. The rich people somehow sensed his presence and parted when he moved amongst them. He knelt regally at the spot where Jerome died and whispered a prayer to the stars hidden by the halogen lights.
She dropped her umbrella and ran to him. He looked up at her over the rims of his mirror shades and her blood ran cold as ice. Ruthie might be almost sixteen, but she still remembered the stories shared in the dark at the homeless shelters. She had never held a gun in her hand and thus didn’t belong to him. Mr. Bang could kill anyone with just his long, bony finger and when he takes your life, doves fly to take you to heaven or hell.
Ruthie dropped to her knees on the wet pavement. “Mr. Bang, please help me! Will you hear me?”
He reached to Ruthie and felt her cornrows with his palm. His hands almost burned with intensity. Mr. Bang stared at her dark hazel eyes. “You are of my people lost in this dead barren land. Why would you petition me? It has been a very long time since anyone prayed to me.” Mr. Bang nodded to the flickering neon sign of Jesus. “Such things go to him these nights.”
Ruthie swallowed nervously. “Why did my brother have to die?”
Mr. Bang shook his head sadly. “Your brother didn’t have to die. He took a risk. It failed. That is the way of the gun.”
“You didn’t kill him?” Ruthie asked, surprised. “It wasn’t your will?”
The man stood and stared down the girl that petitioned him. Rain dripped from her face as she shivered. He extended his hand and Ruthie accepted it. The rain didn’t dare to tough her under Mr. Bang’s protection. His deep baritone voice warmed her. It was a sweet gesture, almost romantic. “The world is not my puppet dancing upon my whims. This life is what you have created. It is not my place to change it.”
“You bring terror to the gangsters that break the rules of the street. Tempt the innocent to take up the gun. How can this not be your will?” Ruthie asked.
“You are almost a woman and yet you know well my stories. How can you be so innocent? Walk with me.”
“A Prayer for Mr. Bang"
by Jason Andrew
Ruthie Jones kept vigil just outside the Bread of Life Mission upon the cerulean indigo checkered-glass mosaic for three days and nights. She stood under the faded neon sign that proclaimed Come Unto Me where her mother believed that she would be protected in the shadow of the portrait of Jesus. Jerome always wore the crucifix and it didn’t stop the hail of bullets. He had forgotten the stories and thus lost their protection.
The old street grate was a sacred spot where the walls of the world were thin. It marked the borders between difference places and was part of neither. She remembered everything she had ever heard whispered about Mr. Bang. The inner walls of the city were littered with street murals and graffiti marking His dominion with his image; a tall, skeletal black man in a hoodie with a long black coat that flowed like cape.
She knew well his power and kept within the glass street grate so that she would recognize him when he came. His eyes are pure white and Ruthie knew that they would give him away to the rich people and that was why he always wore dark sunglasses, even at night. Mr. Bang always returned to a murder committed in his name. He couldn’t help it. It was his nature.
Ruthie rubbed her eyes and watched the corner where her brother had been gunned down. Seattle rain had not quite washed the concrete and street completely clean and if she looked hard enough Ruthie imagined that she could see where his body had fell.
The familiar flutter of the wings of doves woke her from her daze. Startled, Ruthie looked around for a black coat. Mr. Bang emerged from the crowd. The rich people somehow sensed his presence and parted when he moved amongst them. He knelt regally at the spot where Jerome died and whispered a prayer to the stars hidden by the halogen lights.
She dropped her umbrella and ran to him. He looked up at her over the rims of his mirror shades and her blood ran cold as ice. Ruthie might be almost sixteen, but she still remembered the stories shared in the dark at the homeless shelters. She had never held a gun in her hand and thus didn’t belong to him. Mr. Bang could kill anyone with just his long, bony finger and when he takes your life, doves fly to take you to heaven or hell.
Ruthie dropped to her knees on the wet pavement. “Mr. Bang, please help me! Will you hear me?”
He reached to Ruthie and felt her cornrows with his palm. His hands almost burned with intensity. Mr. Bang stared at her dark hazel eyes. “You are of my people lost in this dead barren land. Why would you petition me? It has been a very long time since anyone prayed to me.” Mr. Bang nodded to the flickering neon sign of Jesus. “Such things go to him these nights.”
Ruthie swallowed nervously. “Why did my brother have to die?”
Mr. Bang shook his head sadly. “Your brother didn’t have to die. He took a risk. It failed. That is the way of the gun.”
“You didn’t kill him?” Ruthie asked, surprised. “It wasn’t your will?”
The man stood and stared down the girl that petitioned him. Rain dripped from her face as she shivered. He extended his hand and Ruthie accepted it. The rain didn’t dare to tough her under Mr. Bang’s protection. His deep baritone voice warmed her. It was a sweet gesture, almost romantic. “The world is not my puppet dancing upon my whims. This life is what you have created. It is not my place to change it.”
“You bring terror to the gangsters that break the rules of the street. Tempt the innocent to take up the gun. How can this not be your will?” Ruthie asked.
“You are almost a woman and yet you know well my stories. How can you be so innocent? Walk with me.”