.Blueberry pSyrup... 2011-02-13_02:38

The Binding of Isaac Разказа на едно типче на име Сам Рос(Sam Ross). [size=150:jzpjt32i][b:jzpjt32i]The Binding of Isaac[/b:jzpjt32i][/size:jzpjt32i] [i:jzpjt32i]And God said, Take now thy son, thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get thee into the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee of. -Genesis 22:2[/i:jzpjt32i] The grass is still. It hasn’t moved since we left Beersheba; not a single blade has swayed in the wind. That’s all I’ve been watching these past three days. My father and I left home for Moriah three days ago. We’re going there to make a sacrifice. I don’t understand why a sacrifice in one place doesn't mean as much as a sacrifice in another, but my father said that this is God’s commandment, and it is my duty as son both of my father and of God. ////////// I was born into a position of great responsibility. Not a day has gone by without my father looking to me alone, in the presence of my brothers, and saying, “You alone shall bring our family honor, you and your sons and the sons of your sons.” I did not ask to be put above my brothers. I did not ask to take upon myself this responsibility. My brothers have never treated me ill, not once have they shown jealousy, but there is a rift between them and me. The way they speak to me is not the way they speak to each other. They look to the ground while addressing me; they do not look me in the eyes. To receive a warm look from my brothers…this means more to me than my responsibility, my burden to the lineage. I did nothing to earn my position, and if given the choice, I would sooner choose to be equal with my brothers than to be above them. ////////// A hill comes into view, and my father drops to the ground. As he prays to our God, the only thing I can think is that the trees, like the grass, are motionless; there is still absolutely no wind. My father is the only thing moving in sight, swaying in the rhythm of prayer. He stands up slowly. “This is the place, son. Bring the wood.” I grab the fire wood and rush to catch up with him. ////////// My father speaks to God regularly, daily, but I have never spoken to God myself. I have tried, though, tried hard. There is nothing I desire more than to talk to Him. Every Sabbath, I throw myself prostrate on the ground, with my nose in the dust, and for hours, in the same position, I pray to God. I pray aloud, I pray silently, I shout, I whisper, I howl to the sky in passion and I mumble in humility, and He responds to nothing. Have I sinned in some unforgivable way? Is that why He will not answer me? I do everything my father does, I fast, I pray, I obey, and I am left without an answer of any kind every time. I dream of nothing else. I desire nothing more than to serve God, but first I must know Him. I lay awake at night thinking about the day He will speak to me. As the cold of the night envelops my body, I imagine the warmth of his presence. But I never feel it. ////////// The wood chafes my arms as I make my way to the hill. I drop one of the logs as I’m walking up, and as I bend over to pick it up, the rest fall out of my grip. I bend down to gather them all up, and when I look up, I see that my father is already at the top of the hill. He doesn’t look back. I hastily pick up all the wood and run up the hill to catch up with him. At the top of the hill, I notice something that should have been apparent a long time ago. “Father, we have come all this way to make a sacrifice to God, but we have no lamb.” “God will provide us the lamb, son.” I don’t know what this means. He says things like this all the time, mysterious statements that just…just…I don’t know… ////////// My mother always treated me differently from my brothers. She would pay more attention to my needs than theirs: she made sure I had my fill of dinner before she was concerned with them, always tucked me into bed first, spent extra time making sure my clothes were clean. But there was an extreme lack of affection in all of this. She didn’t love me like she loved my brothers. All of this was more, I think, out of fear than love. She didn’t speak warmly to me, didn’t look at me with love, and didn’t hug me very often, and when she did hug me, it was brief and careless. I came from her womb, but I was not her child. I was God’s child and I was my father’s child. And though she would take care of me to the best of her abilities, she wouldn’t love me. ////////// We are finished arranging the wood, and there is still no lamb. I don’t know what my father was thinking, coming all this way for a sacrifice without anything to sacrifice. I sit down next to the altar and wait. “Father, what now?” I look back to hear his reply, and all I see is a rock coming down upon my head. [dream] [i:jzpjt32i]I am on a throne at the top of a mountain, and I look upon all of the land I rule over. It is desolate, lifeless, and ugly. And I am King.[/i:jzpjt32i] [/dream] I awake to find myself gagged and tied up with rope on top of the wood. My father is before me, holding a knife high above his head. His eyes are closed and he is mumbling to himself. What’s happening becomes apparent: I am the lamb, and I will be sacrificed. I struggle, I try to roll off of the wood, I try to twist my wrists and ankles out of the rope, to no avail. I can’t speak or scream, all I can do is lay still and make the most of my last moments. I look up to the sky and see that the clouds are completely stationary, not moving at all. As my father continues to mumble to himself over my body, I cannot think of anything else but the stillness of the clouds and the complete lack of wind. It’s not apparent to me at first why this is so important, but I soon figure it out: God is not here.