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Wake Christopher
or Whack the Blue, a Novel
© 2022 James LaFond
AUG/6/22
Copyright 2022 James LaFond
A Crackpot Book
Written with Love in a world of Hate
Wake Christopher is a transmigrant recluse, cast into the future by The Christ, as a mercy of Salvation, to bring a benediction upon mankind. This is his unlikely tale, told some years before 2050, the year of his awakening.
for Mister Grey
“Saint Christopher * Be My Guide *”
-The Silver pendant worn by Wake Christopher
Historians and Biblical scholars disagree on the exact date. However, the beautific image of human suffering upon the cross on Calvary was undergoing that agony that would place him at the head of every date for some 1800 years. At length, circa A.D. [In the Year of Our Lord] 2000, Academia decided to discard The Savior and replace his chronological sanction with C.E. for Common Era.
Perhaps an echo rippled down through the ages as a carpenter, readying his tools for work, was of a sudden taken by a sublime possession…
For, some 2100 intervening years earlier, one of three Roman Soldiers tossing dice for the betrayed teacher’s possessions, took pity on the figure nailed to the cross, and gave him his daily vinegar ration to drink.
His name was Felix or ‘Lucky.’
The man looked down with eyes like thanks and rasped, “You will live again, down the ages, to purge sin and grant the wicked their wages.”
As The Carpenter readied his tools, and noted a silver pendant of a sufferer rowing a boat with the Christ in holy nimbus behind him—a pendent he had no recollection of owning—it occurred to him that he did not know his own name.
Then it occurred that his name had changed.
He was a carpenter, though, he well knew these tools and his trade.
Within echoed a thick, hoarse voice, uttered by a man of war and of building...guided by a deeper, silent voice:
“Wake Christopher, come to your purpose, for you live now again, down the ages, to purge sin and grant the wicked their wages.”
He stood in the garage, among his tools, wondering at the dangling pendent and prayed, “Saint Christopher, Be My Guide.”
An idea kindled and took flame, ‘The Cross, The Stations of the Cross.’
Then the mouth, wherein once resided the voice of the now mute carpenter, whose body was now guided by he who was by HE guided, worked in speech, as if the art of the tongue had for long times been unsung, and finally, the mouth managed to frame the purpose of he who had lately come into this carcass, “God’s law for all. Man’s law must fall.”
Words were only needed for direction, and once heeded were now realized through action.
‘Wake Christopher, wake.’
And so Justice Awoke, at dawn, in a tumbled down garage, one mechanic’s modest barn, among a vast warren teaming with Satan’s gibbering spawn…
Back the Blew
whack the blue
Wake Christopher
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