Invasion

by Grace Bridges

There was another one! Emil raced through the dim streets of the run-down suburb, trying desperately to avoid seeing the beams of light that lit up the sky in blinding glory. They were coming more and more often. Sensing a flash behind him, he jumped aside. A glance told him it hit a house roof, but it was still far too close for comfort.

A thought crossed his mind - was this how women felt in childbirth? These shafts of light were certainly like contractions, coming ever faster. As quickly as the thought flashed by, he chased it away. No! He didn't want to think about that. The light hurt his eyes and there was no way he would ever consider that this might be some kind of birthing process - if this was just a birth, what on earth would the newborn be like? Terror squeezed into his heart until he thought he'd be crushed by it, and he ran faster among the darkened homes.  

The beams of light had lit the sky just over a week ago. They looked like a spotlight, but from the way they moved, anyone could tell they began in the heavens and not on the ground. Still, they moved slowly or not at all, remaining as a pillar of light reaching from the grim winter clouds.

No one knew what caused them. Alien invasions had been mentioned, but on clear days it was paramount to idiocy to suggest there were ships of metal in the empty blue sky. The light-shafts shining golden bright eclipsed even the glory of the sun. The papers reported on the search to find the cause of the phenomena.

Tonight,  there seemed to be more than before. The frequency was increasing. Emil wondered if he was losing his mind. He could never tell where exactly the beams met the earth, but as the hits grew closer, he saw clearly that they were about two feet wide, no more. Surprising, really, considering the brightness of them.

The sound of his shoes pounding on the concrete convinced him of his sanity. He looked up. The stars were his witnesses. He stared at the Southern Cross. Funny - he had always thought of it as a diamond, but tonight it really did look like a cross.

Surely, the route home from the bus stop had never been so long. He had fled to the city to seek normality in the noisy streets.  There had been few people. Those he saw scurried along in the shadows with their heads bent down just like his. Everyone was running scared, and no one ever spoke of it. Secretly, they avoided talking about it. They feared being mocked even though, they shared the same fear.

The whole world knew of it by now, but no one dared discuss it with his neighbor, so great was the fear in their hearts. They took comfort in the hope that the mystery would soon be solved. The scientists were working hard on the problem, and science could answer any question. Emil looked forward to the day when they would do away with the lights, once and for all. He hoped it was soon.  

Suddenly, a memory crashed into his brain. He stopped in mid-marathon and reached out for support, clinging violently to a fence post. Shocked, he remembered the day as vividly as if he had been transported back in time. He was a teenager.  He walked out of church for what he vowed would be the last time. He remembered how cocky and brutal he had been. His mother's grief, and her words: "I'll never stop praying for you, boy." He had been old enough to make his own decision, and to this day, he stuck by it. It was as if a shutter  opened at that moment. He saw precisely how that one decision led to myriads of others, many of which he could now see had messed up his life.  

Overcome by despair, he dropped to his knees and lay as one dead before the fence. He tried to crawl on towards home, but couldn't see where he was going. Reaching the middle of the quiet street, his mind worked overtime trying to figure it all out. Somehow he knew what must be done. He didn't want to do it, but he was at his wits' end. There was nothing else to be done.

Against all better judgment, he opened his mouth and in desperation moaned, "God!" Not such an unusual exclamation for a man in his frame of mind. But he meant it differently this time, and it was as if the whole city knew it. The air vibrated with the sound of his voice, and as soon as that solitary word had left his lips, night became day.  

At least, that's how it looked. Pretty soon it became obvious that he was standing (how he'd got to his feet, he had no idea) in his own personal sunbeam. Two feet wide, and as high as heaven. Squinting upwards, he thought he glimpsed a face that was his father's - but he'd never known his father very much, and the smile he saw now could never belong to such a man as had married his mother. The light was like water! Warm and yet refreshing, it poured over him and seemed to carry away all the years of cobwebs from his heart. All of this passed by in just a second or two. Then, just as suddenly, it stopped, and he was standing on the street that now seemed brighter.

Frowning, he cautiously said in a feeble voice, "God?" For the half second of the spoken word, he felt the light again, and the father's smile, but closer. Then, back to darkness. Noticing a pattern of cause and effect, however crazy, he asked, "God, is that you?" - but he said it slowly, and for the duration of his prayer (for that is what it was), he knew the Father came to him, close enough to touch, and real enough, too. Other feelings began to replace the initial amazement - chiefly a sort of strong discomfort that he had left God so very deliberately and lived without him for so long in the same way. Not knowing how to apologize, nevertheless that's what he did. Faced with God, he could do nothing else, nor did he want to. In the privacy of his soul he made his peace with God, peace with the light.  

When all had been said on both sides, he looked around. The light vanished, but he knew it would return when he prayed. Looking at the house whose fence he'd grabbed, he noticed a light-shaft piercing its roof, and instead of revulsion, it brought a smile to his face. Then recognition dawned on him and he opened the gate to his own home. A light burned in the kitchen, and he went up the two steps, laying his hand on the doorknob. He paused to thank God and wondered again at the flash of glory that enveloped him for that moment. Thank God. The world was forgotten. They wouldn't understand it anyway, and he wasn't about to explain. Somehow he knew they'd find God in their own time, when desperation drove them to prayer. Mere curiosity would never do. And he went in to tell Mum that her boy had turned around. Her prayers, even of that very minute in the kitchen, had all been answered. God invaded me.