The Pilgrim's Tale

The Pilgrim sat down heavily. His shoulders sagged and as he sipped
his Scotch the weight of the world rested heavy upon his shoulders. The
bar was fairly quiet just a few old timers drinking steadily with
little in the way of conversation. The ancient jukebox quietly played
tracks from a bygone age.

A stranger entered the bar he seemed full of energy and life. He was a
youngish man in his mid thirties and dressed entirely in black and it
looked good on him. He did not fit this old fashioned bar he was out of
place, like an optimist at a meeting of manic-depressives. He ordered a
pint and walked over to the pilgrim.
"May I?" he asked politely indicating a seat next to the pilgrim.
"Sure"
"You seem troubled old timer. Want to talk about it?"
The pilgrim made a pained expression and grunted.
"Young man you have no idea of the things I have seen. The horror I
have witnessed. Do you really care to hear my story?"
"A problem shared is a problem halved old man." He replied
chirpily.
"Well if you insist then I will bring you down with my tale."
The young man nodded his agreement.
"Well?. where do I begin? I suppose you could call me a pilgrim. For
the past thirty years I have wandered the earth searching for proof of
the existence of god. I have travelled the world and all I have found
is pain, misery and suffering. Enough hurt that I have finally resigned
myself to the fact that there is no god."
Almost as if to contradict the pilgrim the Louis Armstrong track
Wonderful World started up in the background. The stranger had a
twinkle in his eyes.
The pilgrim paused and took a sip of his drink. Sadness seemed to ooze
from his pores. Wearily he began his story.
"You remember the events in Tianaman Square?"
"Yes of course."
"I was there. I watched in horror as the tanks mowed down those young
people." The pilgrim's grip tightened on his glass and his anger at
this atrocity was clearly visible.
"That must have been hard for you."
The pilgrim gave a short harsh bitter laugh.
"That young fella is just the tip of the iceberg." He drained the
remains of his drink and looked meaningfully at the young man. Who took
the hint and went to fetch him a drink. When he returned the stranger
had brought a double.
"Please carry on."
"Well I travelled around and found myself staying in a cosy B&;amp;B
in a small village in Scotland. The view was terrific and I felt happy
and uplifted. I was awoken in the middle of the night by the loudest
noise I have ever heard. To this day I still hear that sound in the
dead of night. It haunts me." The pilgrim's hands shook as he took
another drink.
"Anyway I couldn't see much out of the window it was a misty night. I
decided to get dressed and have a wander outside. At first I could see
nothing and then I saw it the wreckage of a plane. Flames were
everywhere. As I walked closer I saw bodies mangled and twisted. Legs
and arms strewn everywhere. I saw" he gulped and his eyes watered
before hardening again "A child's teddy bear battered and smeared with
blood. I broke down there and then and wept. I felt helpless, useless
totally numbed with shock."
"My God" was all the stranger said.
"The village of course was called Lockerbie." The pilgrim looked older
and seemed to sag more than ever. He finished his drink and by unspoken
agreement the stranger fetched him another. The stranger quickly
returned with another double.
"You seem to have endured more pain than most could bear old
timer."
The pilgrim laughed without mirth and the laugh was followed by a
terrible hacking cough.
"There's more," he wheezed "After Lockerbie I went off the rails for a
while. I had enough sense to keep myself alive but I was haunted.
Nightmares plagued me. Ghostly images of the dead and the horrors I had
seen seemed to be with me every waking moment but still I kept the
faith. Still I searched for God. A couple of years ago I was not the
broken figure you see now. I had finally recovered from witnessing the
events at Lockerbie. The kindness of strangers gave me faith in
humanity again."
The stranger smiled encouragingly and listened politely. The old timer
sipped again from his drink and a strange madness seemed to fill his
eyes. His voice took on a strange quality as he continued.
"I found myself in a huge city. I was relaxed for the first time in
many years. I wandered around like a tourist in a daze sightseeing,
happily distracted. I looked up into the clear blue sky and the smile
left my face. I watched a plane crash into a skyscraper and sank to my
knees weeping. The date was September 11th 2001. I saw people jump from
windows to avoid burning to death. I saw?" he hesitated and stuttered
over his words as painful memories returned to him, "I saw the whole
thing. The two towers came crashing down amidst a huge cloud of dust.
At that exact moment I knew for sure that there wasn't a god."
The stranger gave the pilgrim a peculiar look and spoke.
"I know of your pain old man. I was at all of those tragic events. In
fact you could say that, indirectly at least, I had a hand in
them."
The stranger seemed to grow before the pilgrims eyes. The bar
disappeared and the only thing he could see was the stranger. Flames
flickered within his the stranger's eyes. It seemed as if the very
fires of hell were contained within them. The stranger patted the
pilgrim on the shoulder in a friendly fashion and spoke in a deep
powerful voice.
"Fight the good fight pilgrim." He laughed, "Continue your search for
god."
With that the stranger got up and left the bar. The pilgrim sat alone
feeling alive for the first time in a long time. He now knew what he
must do. The jukebox played a Rolling Stones track. The pilgrim seemed
not to hear the lyrics: Pleased to meet you hope you guessed my
name.