He called them insects

The man sat with his back to the group, his long grey hair falling from his shoulders. His clothes were tattered, the green parka he wore soiled with a large hole reaching from the pit of his right arm down and across to the small of his back. There was coarse black hair poking out through the hole as he wore no shirt underneath. The only sound in the night was the crackling of the fire as it consumed the misshapen logs like a dog on a brittle dinner bone. Unlike a dog the fire is always hungry, never satisfied. It is not unlike man in that way. The man reaches his arms into the air, slowly, very theatrically. “We must go beyond Christ, my children. Beyond the God of our Fathers and their Fathers.” The man turned around picking his leg up as he did. As he completed his turn he dragged his leg maybe half a foot from the ground over the fire, the flames licking at his leg as it past over . The fire seemed to whisper as it touched his skin, a soft wind crept up and the fire seemed to wither. He paused his leg hovering over the fire as his other leg lay lazily to the other side. It was as if an unseen force blew down from his leg as the fire poured outward as if a giant fan smote it from above. The old man smiled graciously, kindly, the amusement glittering in his eyes. There was a group of 7 people huddled around the fire that day. Four women and three men sat eyes wide, mouth’s open. The women will not remember the words he said that night. Despite the fact the words changed everything for them. They would only remember how they felt when he spoke them. It was more than a reverence, more than love. It was a rush that started somewhere in the pit of their stomach rolling slowly over the rest of their bodies. One of them, Cathy, would close her eyes and focus on this sensuous feeling as it warmly caressed her one section at a time. She watched it with her minds eye as it swept up through her body. It tingled in their spines and they knew it was him. He was touching them as if he reached out with his own to hands and ran them slowly over their skin. There was no thought running through their heads. Just a blissful silence, a oneness that few will ever know let only understand. Warm tears ran down their cheeks and they knew truly what ecstasy was. The three men would remember the man, their leader, their Father and the words he said that night for the rest of their lives. Words they would never dare repeat, because from their mouths it would almost demean them and what they were to them. It was his eyes that touched the men. Grey like the moon, but hard as if they were forged of steel. Those eyes pierced down into their souls. It was a strange thing to have ones soul touched. The soul is often talked about in such a mythical way. Yes, it is assumed each man has one or so they say. But can you see it? Can you ever really know your soul exists? Or are you forced to assume, to hope. The arguments for or against the soul became irrelevant when you dared to look into those haunting eyes. Though it was not much of a dare. How were you to know what could happen just by looking into a man’s eyes? Windows to the soul? It was as if he was holding a mirror his eyes and when you looked he said. “Here, look. This is your soul. Is it not perfect?” And you would look closely into this mirror not truly understanding what he was showing you. Until you saw it. You saw it there before your eyes and it was, it was so beautiful. Like watching a bud erupt into a flower. It took no more than an instant, and if you were there in the right place at the right time. Oh it is as if you were witnessing your own private miracle into something saved for immortals. You were immortal, in that moment, your life, your soul knew true peace. It was in this feeling that he offered to him he spoke. The words were powerful, enchanting, and insane. They spoke of death, of murder and depravity. “ Because if the God of old is dead, my children and we were the only ones to know. Who does that make us?” The old man smiled, it seemed to reach to his eyes. “Or more importantly what does that make us?” His mouth opened in a dark chuckle as he pulled his head back looking up into the tree top and the stars that pierced their needles. The fire laughed with him dancing violently. You could see his teeth in the light. They were black and rotten.