Still Valley At 20,000 Feet by Mike Burns (feel good books to read .TXT) 📕

BOB
“Vagabonds will make up a people,
As surely as they split a people,
While living on their knees
A stumbling block unto all.”

‘I think we all know the curse of slavery when we hear it described.

‘And some other verses of his hold out the hope of an end to all this.

“A broken heart hath broken the world.
A man from without shall come to it.
He will be an apostle of real change.
A physician with the only possible cure.

“This world, unlike God’s world, is failed.
Not merely fallen, but failed.
A creation of no true or noble intention.
If it must be buried in time, with death as cure,
Let the interment be in hallowed ground,
And the apostle of change eulogize it.”

‘Today, my friends, we face a time of ripening discontent among all our enslaved brothers and sisters, of broken hopes and the weight of smothered aspirations for these great many people. We SHOULD be able to refer to them as our fellow citizens, but we can’t.

‘Not yet, anyway.

‘But that day is coming. Father Ricard spoke truly. The apostle of change he prophesied is among us. He said so.

“The trusted one, one whose world
Lies many suns distant from us
Yet nearer than the next street
Will read these golden words to all.”

‘The “trusted one” is reading this letter of mine, and will have done so before the rest of you can hear it.

‘When you do hear this letter, brothers and sisters, it will be the “apostle of change,” the “trusted one,” the one Father Ricard prophesied, reading it to you, not me. Father Ricard, prophet that he was, foresaw this, too; that is how I know.

‘The good father, as I have showed you, foresaw the apostle reading this very letter, and gave him something else to read, too. A document written by the priest’s own hand, splattered with what I believe is a few drops of his blood. For Father Ricard was also a stigmatic, a man whose body bore the same wounds as Christ. ’

Bob turns to the third and last page of the letter, and sees that another piece of paper, a fragile, old piece of paper, browned with age, has been STAPLED to the last page of the letter. At the top of the old piece of paper, in a flowing but perfectly readable cursive script, appear the words A PRAYER FOR A NEW WORLD, BEING IN THE HEAVENLY TONGUE, TO BE READ AT WORLD’S END BY THE APOSTLE OF THE CHANGE. Toward the bottom, there is indeed a dark, reddish-brown stain.
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Bob begins reading something in another language, one he’s never heard, yet he reads it flawlessly, without hesitation.

(AUDIO FADE-OUT)

of Bob’s voice, and

(AUDIO FADE-IN)

of a sound of breathing and heartbeat.

(CUT TO)

POINT OF VIEW shot from KFH’s viewpoint. FOCUS IN increasingly tightly on Bob’s mouth, which continues to speak the words of the sublime prayer, unrenderable in any human language, though we can’t hear it--all we hear is the sound of the KFH’S breathing and heartbeat.

Bob finishes and looks up. At the same moment, AUDIOFOCUS on KFH’s breathing and heartbeat stops. Silence for a few moments, as we see Bob staring fixedly at KFH.

(CUT TO)

POINT OF VIEW shot from KFH’s viewpoint.

FOCUS OUT is on Bob‘s whole face.

FOCUS BEGINS TO JIGGLE AND VIBRATE, CAUSING BOB’S IMAGE TO TILT AND SHAKE, BLURRING IN AND OUT OF FOCUS.

KFH VOICEOVER
Sir...Bob, I...I...what have I done? My wife, my children...how can I let go...but I must. I will. I am letting go...of them. This whole war...this whole world...it’s the devil’s creation, and I helped him do it! God have mercy on my soul, I did it. I remember...I was gonna do the right thing...then I heard about...Anna, and Paul, and John, and Portia, and Cordelia, and little Matthew. I just...I got so angry, I lost my way. I couldn’t see anythin’ but hate, and wantin’ to get revenge on the Yanks. I turned my back on my God. I turned the country...the Confederacy, I turned ITS back on God. Lord knows why the decision was left up to me alone, right then, but it was. Christ forgive me!

BOB
I...I can’t...I don’t know what to say to you.

Suddenly, a tall man, bearded and black-haired, with Mediterranean features and olive complexion, clad in a black cassock, comes into Bob’s field of vision. Bob doesn’t remember seeing THIS man on the plane!

MAN IN CASSOCK
I know what to say to him, Bob. Go back to your wife and give us some space...

KFH
Father? Father...Ricard?


(CONTINUED)
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MAN IN CASSOCK
Yes, my son. It’s about time we met. Do you wish me to take your confession?


KFH
Uh...I’m not a pap--I mean, I’m not Catholic, Father. Does that make a difference?

MAN IN CASSOCK
Not now, it doesn’t. Repeat after me: Bless me, Father, for I have sinned...

Bob doesn’t hear the rest, having gone back to Julia. Somehow, he feels safer now.

BOB
Julia, I think that man’s been disarmed. Or something. Maybe he’s mentally ill. Anyway, I think we’re out of danger. Just lie still.

JULIA (sounding relieved)
Oh, Bob, poor you, having to take care of a blind invalid!

BOB
You’re worried about something that may be no problem at all. Even if it is, eye transplants are practically a dime a dozen now! We’ll have you eyeballing every dress store in Dallas before long, little lady! Don’t you fret about THAT! The main thing is, we’re ALIVE!

JULIA
Yes, we are, Bob! Thank God! (blindly extends her arms upward for a hug, which Bob gives.)

A few minutes pass. Presently, Father