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| The Crow and the Farmer |
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The crow tapped his beak on the farmer's head but the farmer didn't notice. All day long the farmer went about working his fields, feeding his cows, visiting the outhouse but the crow continued a rat-a-tat-tat. Soon a bald spot appeared in the thick gray hair; still no notice of the crow with its shiny black feathers. A sore developed. As you might imagine and find somewhat disgusting, eventually the flesh in that spot was completely pecked away. The crow was tapping against the farmer's hard bony skull. Well, the day had ended and the farmer went inside, ate some dinner and went straight to bed as was his custom. What happened next is a little disturbing and if you are given to a weak stomach you might find your self wishing you had stopped right here.
By morning the crow, standing on the farmer's forehead, had eventually and slowly chipped away at the farmer's skull and ate out his brains. How the farmer never felt the crow tapping on his head is beyond my understanding. If the farmer had come into town or visited your home, it would have been plain to you. You would have seen the crow right there and would have asked him why he had a crow on his head. Why did he not know of the rat-a-tat-tat against his skull? If you had a crow sitting on your head pecking away, you would have noticed, right?
Conclusion: Without the Shepard's voice speaking to us we are not able to see plainly the corruption in our lives. When we compare ourselves to our own standards we will not see our disobedience because it is blurred out in the lack of contrast. When we see our sin in comparison to a holy God we see very clearly how far we have strayed and how destructive our sin is.Labels: macabre |
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posted by Brett @ 12:22 PM
 
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| The Villager |
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The villager ran through the square yelling at the top of his lungs. He lunged passed a large stone well in the center of the square.
At one time all kinds of livestock, people and carriages came through this downtown market. They would stop here at the well to drink. Vendors put on dramatic flair to attract customers to their tables. Chickens scurried passed avoiding being trampled by the crowds, but no one's been here for months.
In fact the village was silent. Other than the occasional stray villager running through screaming about the end of the world or something, there was no one here. Today, however, something was more unusual about this villager than all the previous ones that came running hysterically down the street. This villager had no face. The front of his head looked like the back of his head but without hair. How could he be yelling? It would seem impossible having no face, but yet he was shrieking about the plight of the world, something about an erupting volcano and a monster with one eye eating people, or something like that.
Oh well, back to work. "Fresh Humus for sale! Anyone? Fresh Humus! How about you sir, without the face?
Conclusion: Matthew 24:38 (NIV) "38 For in the days before the flood, people were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, up to the day Noah entered the ark." Though the signs are all around us, the world and even sometimes ourselves are blind to the obvious signs of the end days and the need to have our hearts anchored in Christ our Savior.Labels: macabre |
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posted by Brett @ 11:43 PM
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| The Frog |
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The frog was admiring the colors in the sky, floating slowly in the pond. The evening sun, large and orange, was setting in a pink background. The water in the pond was slowly lapping against the body he was perched on.
This poor fisherman drifted along in isolation. No one has come looking for him yet. They may never come. This pond is but one of many hidden ponds in these lonely woods. Fishing line was here and there, wrapped around one leg and an arm. A soaked ball cap was lying in the weeds.
Earlier that morning the man came and was standing in his boat, quietly fishing, smoking his cigar, and enjoying the morning breeze.
If only the young man had not been so harsh, when the frog started singing to his mate, and thrown the crumpled up beer can at him. He lost his balance, flailing desperately to keep from tipping the boat, but it was too late. He hit his head on the side of the boat and drowned.
From the Dead Body Series
Written in 2004Labels: Dead Body Series, macabre |
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posted by Brett @ 1:26 PM
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| The Mouse |
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The mouse ran along a beam of the old shack and stopped. He looked down. The old man had been dead for three days now. He was slumped over his desk. His head rested on the sheets of paper he had been writing on. There were a few sketches among the writings as well.
The mouse wondered whether anyone would find him or even know where the old man was. The aged writer would come to the old shack every spring to write his books and sketch out new ideas. For nearly 30 years this ritual took place.
If only the old man had given him the piece of cheese he was begging for, he would not have choked on it when he ate it himself.
From the Dead Body Series
Written in 2004
Labels: Dead Body Series, macabre |
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posted by Brett @ 11:50 PM
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