ROMAN STREET | by John R. Mabry | High School

While traveling the world (which, indeed, seems to be all that is worth doing) I chanced upon a crossroads. The street which I had been previously traveling was nicely paved, and my bicycle traveled it smoothly. A rather odd chap, dressed in black with top hat and tails, was incessently trying to force me into an accident with passersby. It was, as one might think it to be, quite infuriating. In many moments of extreme exasperation, I would stop my bicycle and face the man. It was strange, for each time I would face him, he would be slightly different. One, for example, would have a frilly collar, and the other straight; one would have a scar on his neck and the other, someplace else, which, as you might have guessed, causes implications to arise in one's mind that it is not the same fellow at all, really, and that they are all working for the same cause. If you are wondering what the reason was that they stopped me, I'd have to reply that they said a number of things, all very pleasant soundings and all very wicked.

These events all took place on a major highway known as "Damnation". It was comfortable, but, as was implied one had to keep on one's toes at till times. It was while traveling this road that I chanced to pass by a road called Roman St., as it said on the intersection sign. With a shrug, I turned sharply to the right, and made my way across the street. Just before I got off the road, I had to pump my brakes furiously, for directly before me was a solid wall of black-coated men. "Do not pass, continue riding upon this road which is known as 'Damnation.' About a mile down, there is an ice cream shop, and it serves peppermint"

My innards struggled helplessly. Peering down at my more-than-slightly fat stomach, I felt a definite urge to return to my lane and turn off for peppermint-flavored ice cream. Now, you might think that this decision is terribly irrelevant and perhaps, completely silly or absurd, but ice cream is my favorite foodstuff, and Peppermint, my favorite flavor. But the lure in my heart (or was it just couriosity?) caused me, for the first time, to resist. "No," said I, "I want to go past." I wished so that they were on the side of me; wished it so much, indeed, that I spoke my wish aloud: "Please move, get on the other side, now." And they were gone.

Turning my bicycle, I peddled onto the new street. I had not traveled long when I realized that something was different, I tried to put my finger on the change, but, it was undecodable at the moment. Enjoying the change, I soon discovered a man standing by the side of the road; at first I ignored him, but, as you would think (I did), the most strange thing happened. At introvals of only one mile, the same man appeared, beside the same mailbox. He was dressed in black, and that itself was enough to make one leary of a person. So, I ignored him as long as I could, until I decided to talk to him.

It was turning dark, and so I peddled into a nearby tavern to stay the night. Dusting the street from my hat, I entered the large travelers' abode, I met the owner, instantly, for he did all the work at the tavern, he and his wife. As I introduced myself, he eyed me strangley. "Are you ?"
he began, then he through back his shoulders. "No, you're not." "Well, said he, "Room, eh? No, I know; you're on for a drink, you are!"

I watched after him as he strode off to get me something to drink. Expecting a liquor, I was quite surprised to see a cold glass of a fruit-flavored drink in his hand as he returned. As I drank the sweet liquid (and all too quickly, I might add),I saw another man walk in. The owner walked over to him, laughed, grasped his hand and led him to a table. To me it appeared as if they knew one another; I found out, however, that they had never met before.

The next morning I was in a bear of a mood.. I didn't under-stand how anybody in this place could be angry, even if they had a reason. As I walked out of my room, a young, beggar girl stood at the doorway to meet me. Her eyes were sunken, as well as her cheeks, and the effect was of extreme pity. I would have done anything in my power to help her, but this morning, I felt no pity whatsoever for her. I began to walk down the hallway, and she was on my heels; I made some strategic turns in an effort to throw her off. She was there when I turned around. She was getting on my nerves. In a final effort to threw her off, I ran as fast as I could. Once outside the building, I stood panting, sweat cascading down my shoulders, and she was there, behind me, cool and refreshed as if she'd slept a dreamless night. In my frustration, I closed my eyes and fitted my jaw, and swung as hard as I could at the child. She fell violently to the ground. The owner, who happened to be watching this display, rushed to the side of the girl, and feeling her neck, said softly, "Dead."

I turned my eyes away hastily. The other guests were making their way out to the place that we were, and all stared at me awkwardly. In my grief, I turned and walked off.

Grabbing my bicycle, I peddled away, unwilling to watch the mourning of the villagers. Frustrated by my wavering moral standards, I rode, teary-eyed upon the road, until I could see out of them no more. As I wiped the tears upon the back of my hand, a palm fitted over my shoulder. I sniffed, wiped again, and saw who it was, The man in black, reappearing upon the side of the road. For some reason, I could not fear him, and so, out of extreme desperation, I buried my face in his suit-coat and wept. His voice was soft and gentle "Please, what is the matter?"

"I-(gub!) I could not say it through my sobs; indeed, the more I tried, the harder it got. Finally, he spoke.

"You did something wrong?"

I nodded.

"Very wrong?" Nod. And now you are sorry for it."

I nodded again. Finally, I managed: "Killed."

"Friend," he said, "We all have done wrong. The manager himself said so. No one is good--no one in all the world is innocent."

I raised my head and stopped my sobbing. He continued. No one has ever done what the manager tells him to, at first, or even I wanted to. Friend, we've all done wrong, and because of that.fall short of the purpose that the manager has for us."

My eyes still puffy, I said, "I have a purpose?"

"Indeed, you do."

"Why do I do wrong?"

"Well, friend, that's a long story, but simplified--wait. You've heard of the first man, haven't you?"

"Certainly."

"Welli, when the first man was tempted by the Nemesis, he gave way to that temptation. And when he did wrong, his wrong spread throughout the earth, and then everything began to grow old and die. We've all done wrong."

"Isn't there some punishment for that?"

"Yes, friend!"

I looked at him inquiringly. "Death."

My face went cold, as if all the blood had drained from it.
I looked at the ground.

"Isn't there a way out, for forgiveness?"

"Yes, yes indeed. It is in the form af a free gift. Anyone can have it, just for the asking."

My pace quickened, and hope began to shine through the gloom of my burden-ladened heart. "What is it?"

"Life eternal."

As the words passed from his lips, the words became still as if in reverence, and the leaves rustled in harmony, and suddenly all that "science" that the men in black had fed me became ridiculous. "Life Eternal," I whispered. Then a question came to mind. "How, then, did I this come about?"

"Well, everyone became so very, very bad, that there was no way for them to get out of it, except by the spilling of blood. Perfect blood, human blood, blood unstained by men in black, or their influences, yet put to death by them."

"Who, who's blood?"

"That of the manager."

My eyes stuck upon his face in horror. The Manager? No, Never.

This could not be so, and yet the look of the face of the man brought terrifying truth that it was. "Why, Why did he?"

"He loved us so much.. so much that he died."

"But I didn't think that someone so great as the Manager could die, even if he wanted to."

"Ahh, but that's the best part, because, after he died death wasn't strong enough to hold him, and he rose again."

My eyes shone in a joy incomparable to anything I had ever before felt. It was unbelievable, yet it was so.

"I want it. Please, show me."

"I told you. Just ask."

"How can I be heard, though?"

"Trust. Just confess Him to others,,.you know you've done things
wrong; acknowledge that, ask forgiveness, ask for His presence at all times."

"It's that easy?"

"Yes, that easy. And you won't be disappointed. No one has."

So. bowing my head, I asked. And just as quickly, I felt relieved of all my wrong. As my head raised, I realized I was wearing the same sort of suit the man next to me. It was black, but very different than that worn by the Men In Black that tried to stop me. I was very much surprised, indeed, astounded, for I had never had such a day as this. "Why," I asked him, "Am I wearing this?"

"Because, the Manager commands it. We must all wear these suits in one way or another. ' You may wear other clothes, but the feel of this lingers on in you."

I smiled at him, pulled on my sleeves to measure the fit; it was perfect. I stooped to pick up my bycicle, and tossed it into the bushes. I hugged the man who was now my brother, and went to take my place by the side of the road.