Naming The Enemy

So this could technically be classified as a C. S. Lewis fanfiction. Going to a Christian high school, it was natural that we studied his work. One novel we read my senior year was The Screwtape Letters. Being a Narnia fan and an Oh Hellos fan, I was stoked. At the end of the book, we were tasked with rewriting the story from the perspective of the "Patient," or the man Wormwood was tasked to decieve. This (and the shakespearian fanfiction) were among my first short stories that I actually finished. Yes, it's cringy. Yes, it at points sounds like the crappy 2000s-2010s Christian movie but hey, I at least got an A. Is this heresy? Probably. Was I blaspheming? Most likely. So please take this as it is, I am no theologian.

The morning air was crisp and cool, exciting the nearby passerine with a prelude of early spring. Ducks paddled in the clear pond, splashing around. Dragonflies zipped about and a few butterflies danced in the air, looking for a lonesome flower or plant. I watched the cheery scene with an almost ominous feeling. This felt too joyous for the headline that I had just read in the morning newspaper. “BRITAIN AT WAR WITH GERMANY,” the ink declared in bold lettering. My heart sank into my stomach as I looked over it again. No, this wasn’t a hellish nightmare. This was really happening.

I leaned back on the park bench and sighed. I could already feel an impending headache ready to ruin my morning. War would be the only topic of gossip and chatter at the university. How could I even sit through my classes when either today or tomorrow I could be delivered to a base and given a rifle? I took a deep breath, remembering the horror in my father’s eyes as he retold memories from the Great War. The trenches, the air strikes, and of course, the blood and death.

Now it would be my turn to face an army.

I looked up to the pond once more, attempting to distract myself from this bad dream. I knew that this war was coming but I had never expected it during my first year of university. I checked my watch. 7:43. I still had some time before my morning class.

“Hey Ed,” a familiar voice called to my right. I recognized it immediately.

“Hey Pete,” I responded, trying to fill my voice with anything other than despair. “You’re up early.”

“I’m just as surprised as you are,” he said, grinning as he took a seat on the bench next to me. His eyes caught the newspaper and his expression darkened. “You’ve seen the papers?”

“Yep. Just found out.”

“I heard it on the radio this morning. I’m already trying to forget that this is really happening.”

“Yeah, me too,” I said glumly. “You think the pub is packed already?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised.”

“I’m about ready to go myself,” I joked, laughing bitterly. Peter elbowed me.

“Hey, cheer up! The war hasn’t even really begun yet, so I think we’re in the clear for now.”

“‘You think you’ll be drafted?”

“Probably,” Peter said with a shrug.

“You’re not worried?” I asked, surprised at how calm he was.

“Nah,” he said. There was almost a brief pause before he said, “I know that God has a plan for my life and I trust Him, so what’s there to worry about?”

Usually, I brushed off Peter’s typical religious rants about God and the Bible. I always considered myself a Christian but I never truly grounded myself in my faith as he did. But this time, something felt a little different. Maybe it was the promise of war or just my tiredness, but something inside of me had a question. A plea. A wish, even.

I want to have a peace like that, my heart murmured quietly.

“Well, we do have a math exam today,” I said, already trying to squash down this feeling.

Peter blanched for a moment, “Okay. Maybe there is something to worry about. I forgot to study.”

I laughed. A real, heart-felt laugh this time.

“Me too,” I said, clapping one hand on his shoulder, “We have plenty of time to look over the notes.”

“Okay. Good. Because I’m going to need your notes.”

Over the next few weeks, the war’s influence on my life tightened from the usual dread into a constant anxiety. Other than the usual radio broadcasts or papers, no one at the university usually discussed it. That was until one of the students was drafted. It was Oliver Johnson. He was a good kid, only recently eighteen. I was never really fond of him but his absence from class disturbed me. I couldn’t help staring at that empty chair and wondering what he was doing at that moment. Was he training for the battlefield? Already there? Or perhaps he was already dead. I pushed those thoughts aside usually, but sometimes on the bad days, they’re all I can hear.

Then the situation became worse entirely. Archie, Noah, Clyde and Henry were the next to go a month after Oliver disappeared and Theo and Arthur soon followed.

I grew to despise the mailman. It was any day now that my death would be hand delivered right to my door in his grubby hands. My mother was also quite infuriatingly vexed about the whole war. She always switched the volume to its highest setting on the telly or radio when the morning news was on and waited by the window like a vulture for the mail to arrive. She was also much more fussy with me, which made sense because I was the only person in the house that she could be fussy with in the first place.

I watched my grades slip and my missing assignments piled up like a mountain against my chest.

Peter, who luckily was spared from the draft so far, noticed this change and started to invite me to his church. I reluctantly agreed. I mostly just wanted a break from the life I was living.

Saturday passed like a speeding river and Sunday morning arrived before I could even begin my weekend schoolwork. I trudged out of his house and took my bike to the chapel. It was quite small and humble for a building. The wooden walls were decorated with peeling white paint and even some moss crawled up one side near the doors. I locked up his bike and took the cobbled path to the entrance.

Hymns and music trailed from the double doors of the church, pouring into the subtle breezeway. I opened the door, not exactly sure what to expect. I clutched the old Bible that I brought a little tighter and stepped into the sanctuary.

The room was open and bright, color dancing on the walls, pews, and people alike from the stained glass windows. It wasn’t too hard to find Peter in the small crowd. He stood near the back row, hymnal book in hand, and singing with the choir. His eyes found me loitering in the back and he gestured me over. As I took a seat, I was surprised to see many people that I actually knew in the church. Eustace, another classmate who usually wasn’t too kind, sat in the front, and even a few of my teachers were there too. It was not the sort of crowd I would’ve expected in a holy place. A little voice inside my head was scurrying around, casting judgement on different people in the congregation.

I went to church much more often when my father was still alive. Every Sunday started with my father practically ripping the covers off of me and urging me into my best shirt and shoes. The name of the church slipped from my mind but I remembered the peace that I felt nestled safely between my mother and father. As the choir ended their last song, I somehow felt like my mind was clearer in some way. As if I really was back in that old church and my father was still alive.

I don’t remember the exact message that the pastor had preached. But I do remember one thing. I felt this presence enter the space and fill my heart. My soul could feel that it contained the answer to my wish.

Please help me, I asked. It was the first time in a very long time that I prayed. I have never felt more scared in my life.

Though I didn’t hear it, I just knew that this strange spirit had my answer. Looking back, I realized that it was You, Lord, who was speaking to me.

“Edmund,” You seemed to urge. “I have the peace that you long for and everything that you need. You need to trust in me and I will provide for you.”

A story that I read a long time ago came to me. A story about a father and a son. The son had run away from his family and spent all his money in the city. When he returned to his father, he found himself welcomed into his arms once more. As this tale was recalled to me, I realized that I was like the son and that I had been running from You. But I was home now.

I found myself back into Your arms, Lord.

And as I sat in that pew, in that small church, I truly gave my life to You.

After the sermon ended, I decided to take a short walk to a nearby mill, feeling at peace for the first time in a long time.

As the year went on and the war progressed, I finally began to see Your hand in my life and how You guided me all this time. Early spring made way for early summer and the end-of-school excitement began to fill the university halls. The European War, as the papers began to call it, slowed to a lull and the amount of men drafted began to cease. I found a small job as a cabby driver and would take the local businessmen to their jobs around London. The pay wasn’t terrible but I sometimes wouldn’t be able to make it to the shelter when the sirens sounded.

I began to relax into this new reality and as I regained my faith, I started a small Bible study with Peter and a few others. We met every Thursday at a local coffee shop to read and discuss one of the books from the Bible.

I especially connected with one of these other members. Her name was Abigail and she quickly became not only one of my closest friends, but the love of my life.

When summer break began, I soon found myself on one knee in front of the parkside pond, asking her a small question.

“Abby,” I said, my hands shaking like a leaf as I held up the small box that contained my mother’s ring.

Her brown eyes caught mine, already filling with tears. She held one hand to her mouth in surprise.

“Abby, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” She cried, embracing me in a giant hug before I could even stand up. I laughed, mostly from relief but also from the little fountain of joy that was bubbling up inside of me.

I didn’t know that this would be one of my last moments with her.

It was early June when I heard the sirens and the roar of planes.

I heard the emergency broadcasts on the radio.

I heard thunder, though I knew it wasn’t thunder.

I held Abigail tight in my arms as she cried.

We were hiding from something that we couldn’t ever hide from.

I heard the deafening scream of my world being ripped apart.

And then I heard nothing.

I opened my eyes to nothing.

Well, perhaps it was everything.

It was a blank white space, devoid of sound and feeling.

Except… Wait.

No, I could see something now.

Shapes began to form around me, colorful and bright. I closed my eyes for a moment, briefly overwhelmed by the dazzling lights.

When I opened them, the sky seemed to expand, revealing gold-tinged clouds and sun-speckled trees. I looked around in awe at the scenery. Archways of gold lined a path that lay in front of me. I took a step forward with a smile on my face.

I heard distant music. Perhaps the strum of a guitar or the beat of a drum. And I heard singing more beautifully than any song I ever heard. I was in Your Kingdom, Lord. I was home at last and it was more breathtaking than I could ever imagine.

And then I heard something else behind me. A small plea buried underneath the sweeping music. I turned around and found an empty horizon behind me.

It was neither light nor dark. Cold nor warm. Both feeling and unfeeling all in one abyss of quiet and chaos. There on this sightless horizon, I spotted a figure in the distance. A shadow on an empty canvas.

I watched it for a moment. As the image came into focus, I finally could make out what it was.

It was an insect. I wasn’t sure what kind, but its thousands of legs reminded me of a millipede. It crawled forward, scraping and scuttling. As this monstrosity towered over me, I didn’t feel fear. It was more of a resolve than anything. A confrontation. I finally knew what⎼no, who this beast was.

“So it was you all this time,” I finally said at last, staring into the many eyes of my own sin.

Without another word, I turned my back on the creature and found my way home.