The Book of Asa:

“A Letter to You, (YES, You)”

Story by Chris

One: Hello. You don’t know me, and I hope you never will. Hopefully, you will never see these words and you will never have a lasting impression of me. Hopefully, I won’t break your heart, or make you smile, or rally you to march unto your own glorious rise or disastrous fall. I am nobody, I’ve been asked to be no one by my “Teacher” (of which you will never know their name) for the betterment of the rest of the world. But, as one of the few self-centered oaths I’ve taken, I’m breaking it, as a kindness to a friend whose mantle I’ve taken up. (Side Note, Reader: as I write this sentence, I realized that I’ve broken a lot of rules in my short second live and I think I’m going to break more… and I don’t know why, I’m not sad or afraid of that.) But, to answer your lingering question on who this non-important person is, for perspective and clarity you can call me Asa. 

Two: You’re probably wondering why the quality of the rest of the “Gospels” have drastically changed, hopefully with less… “fanaticism” (Sorry, Ben, no offense). Then, I’ll just say that its because I’ve taken over the writing duties. The previous author of the “Book of Zachary” have had a… “self-made reckoning” and is no longer able to continue his duties (again, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to stop it, Ben). So, the “Prophet” asked me to step in and write his “holy visions” down. As a quick aside, True Believers, his name is Zachary, he was born and raised in the DC area, he’s wholeheartedly a kind and gentle Jewish guy, and he really gets itchy and uncomfortable if you refer to him in his “anointed” title. So, for everyone’s safety and peace of mind, if he’s “The Prophet” to you, then he’s Zachary to me. 

Three: I would also like to say that I’m neither a writer nor interpreter of The Word. I’d like to think that my college degree credit in English was somewhat enhanced after my own Embrace. But, as I write in the dark, I can feel the brain cells in my undead body fizzle and smoke with all the stress that I’m putting it through. I guess that’s what I get in sounding wiser and clear-headed than I honestly am. I guess that brings me to an important point about my asides… I’m going to lie to you. Yes, You. 

I will NEVER confirm nor deny any of the “truth” of the Gospels that you have read so far, or what you will read in the future. I will never tell you the piece-by-piece account of what’s happening in the nights of our motley crew. (Personally, I don’t think we’re a Coterie yet, at the time of this entry and I don’t know if we could be (no thanks to “Miss G”, and I want her to know that, if she ever decided to be interested in actual people and NOT ghosts) I’m actively being vague and secretive, to the point of you asking questions. I want you to ask questions. I want you to find your own version of truth in the stories you read. All I can only offer you my opinions and STRONG feelings about my own journey to keep this world spinning after 1995… before the world supposedly ends. 

To reiterate, I am a nice guy before and after my Embrace. I promise. 

So, a quick biography from me to you, True Believer. I go by Asa, and I born in a certain time in New York City, New York. I had a father who preached The Word (The Human One), and a mother who made sure that I knew how to read it.  Life as a “Preacher’s Kid” was about as dutiful to “G*d” as you might expect. The “Upper One”, that just made half of you flinch just now (yes, you too). But my faith in Him was strained when my mother died of Cancer when I was a teen. And very soon after, too soon after, my father married some Big-Hat-Having, Trout-Mouthed, Witch-Wigged, Jezebel and forced me to confirm to THEIR interpretation of “manhood” Yes, the pompous heterosexual blowhard, who stepped out on his DYING wife, did tell his VERY gay and grieving son to “get saved from Hellfire” from his “{slur} urges”.  

Not that I’m still bitter about that bastard in my afterlife. 

But, taking my anger at Him and the “Messenger” to heart I made a determined to be kind, initially out of spite. So, I took my free time to feed the poor and help with the homeless. And then, as soon as I graduated High School, I put my name on the line to join the armed forces and said goodbye to the Big Apple forever. Unfortunately, I did serve in a time of which I had to imprison my gayness, so I hopped from one stifling experience to the other. The buzzcut military men, in and out of uniform, were at least easy on the eyes. And, if you were careful and knew certain ways and schedules, one can get some “shore leave” to get some R&R. Dorothy had A LOT of friends for men like me. 

Unfortunately, skill, knowledge, and being unassuming can only get you so far before one gets caught in a VERY compromised position, out the dumbest of luck from a proverbial ass-kissing snitch. And, before the ink dried, BOOM! Discharge paperwork and slurs on the way out of serving with your fellow man. But what the military always grills into you is to always have a back-up plan, and a back-up plan for the back-up plan. So, In keeping on my path to live for my fellow man (non-sexually, mind you, get out of the gutter), I used the time to educate myself and use me skills as a medic in the private sector. I’ve got a big degree and earned my place to helping people all over D.C. Inner-City Emergency Rooms, Local Intensive Care Units, and where I landed my eventual happiness at Palliative Care in a tiny box of a facility in Fairfax. 

Side Note: I probable should’ve asked a LOT more questions about there being so many victims with signs of exsanguination in the city. Wink, wink! Nude, nudge! 

Helping the people who had no one in the end was my absolute calling, I had such a pull to give all of myself to hear these people’s stories and honor their lives. It always brings me back to when I did it for my mother in the hospital, before the end came for her. To pull over for another aside, Reader, let me just say that Cancer is a terrible disease. It’s the one thing that I hate about the religious folk who pray for a recovery. Prayer doesn’t work for a body’s own defect killing them, believe me I tried. After all, if G*d made everyone in His image then why make it so that people die from suck a parasitic defect? Are you a parasitic defect? Do you need to have several chemicals and surgeries and hair loss and tears and pain to be removed? There lies my proverb of asking questions, even if you wont like answers. Because maybe, just maybe, I would’ve found my own answers to explain my headaches and fatigue weren’t just from too many night shifts. Maybe, just maybe, I would’ve planned a way to heal myself myself before I was diagnosed with a fatal version of the same parasitic disease that killed my mother. 

It was on Halloween, True Believer, a pagan night to celebrate before All Saints Day. 

Welp, to make a long story short: I was going to die… horribly, my “Teacher” offered me a way to save my life, I took it, got Embraced, went on a path to help others, …and immediately fell into SEVERAL situations where I almost died… HORRIBLY. And that’s where you are, True Believer. 

Reading the snarky notes of a Combat Medic, with his back on the door to one of the few blacked out room in a farmhouse. Ben, the previous writer of the Gospel, has a piece of chair lodged in his chest, so that the Vampiric Embrace he brough upon himself doesn’t drive him to walk into the goddamn sun. His best friend, Zachary, a scared, sweet, and emotionally drained Jewish man will be here in a few minutes, wrapped in his cloth. He will most likely have a terrible nightmare, as he’s been having since he was a child. Nightmares so vast and terrible that even the kind release of Death couldn’t stop them. He’s going to try and hold the hands of Ben... his Child. The “Child” born from rules unexplained, the loss of identity and independence, and an act akin to unspeakable layers of assault that I was too slow to stop. Or maybe stopped by a certain necromantic member of our little “Coterie”… one whom I pray gets consumed by the very souls she ensnared and enslaves from beyond the veil of life and death. 

But alas, True Believer, I’m tired as shit, and I’m going to die again. So, if my introduction is to be believed by you, and if there’s NOTHIONG else you take out of it is this, its this: 

ASK. QUESTIONS.

Ask why the universe is punishing a sweet Jewish man for crimes, just by being born with terrible machinations stacked against him?

Ask how the Wolf Woman, that can be faster than thought outrun the Beast that thrives in her heart?

Ask how to teach a black-hearted little brat the power of Humanity, when she was born with very little concept of how Human she really is? 

And ask how a Combat Medic is going to save these poor souls, despite being so angry, and scared, and hungry, and lost, and hunted, and destined for either great triumphs or disastrous falls.

And ask… “G*d, can you help me?  Please?”