The Last Christian

By Danny Hollweg

She woke and wanted whiskey. Leah’s mouth was dry, partly because of her thirst, but also because of her fear. The only way to recover from her nightmares has always been to drown them, avoid them, run from them. She never thought once about facing the horror or pain or past. That just wasn’t how she grew up. Relying on her father, relying on her brothers–hell, relying on everyone else–seemed to be the script God laid out for her. And now the nightmares were more frequent, more terrifying, more in control. The howls in the night. The explosion of stars. The splash of sweat upon her pillow. Even the crimson numbers on the clock seemed to stalk her. Why can’t I escape, she thought.

And it was the same nightmare, the same sense of a morning that will never arise to free her from the impenetrable darkness and the fiendish voice that continues to echo in her own mind.

But there was the one thing she knew would save her… if only she could find it. Her Bible. But she was the “Last Christian”, and she had lost the Holy Book, making her the careless Christian in this world. There would be no answers when others came asking about the stories.

What would she tell Isaiah when he asked about his own book? About Zion and the pilgrimage? About the oppressors from Bablyon? About what the Oracles had to say? Who was Yahweh? Why were they singing servant songs? The longer Leah was away from the book, the more difficulty she had remembering the stories, disappearing like tears in rain or salt in the ocean. They were still there; but they were no longer there.