-The Mint

[Words to Image. A random image that could tell its own story. It could be perceived differently, person to person. This was what it said to me]

"It says right here that if I trust in his goodness, I will be rewarded with everlasting life. Well, isn't that a real kick in the head? What good is that going to do me now?"

"Perhaps there is still hope for you, Sire."

The foolish skeleton knew not what he spoke of. Carrera had been banished to the never regions of the Darkness, since before time began. He lived in a world were all of his kind cursed the heavens and blasphemy was a birthright. He was the very last to be created and the day was blackened shortly afterwards.

"Are you insane, Bag O Bones? Has the stench of the morning fog gone to that hole in your skull

where your brain used to ride? You do realize I'm not part of this promise, right?"

His words were sarcastic, void of remorse or shame for his crime.

"Besides, what good is everlasting life if you have to spend it on your knees? No ... thank you. I would rather hang out with you four ... but, sometimes I question even that?"

The four weren't able to visibly react to Carrera's insults, having no real facial features. The three nonverbal skeletons simply bobbed their heads while the fourth spoke for them.

"Sire, have you ever considered petitioning graces?"

"Graces? What's graces? I have no need for graces. Pleading forgiveness for an innocent question? All I need is a dark night, bottle of ale, and a curve or two to try and straighten out."

He thought for a moment before turning to the silent three.

"It just now dawned on me ... we're any of you female prior to, well, you know?"

Three heads shook.

"BOB?"

His dead voice confirmed their origins.

"Figures. It's a damn shame I got stuck with four quirky hombres. All of which have bad breath. That settles it ... after I read a little bit more of this here promise, we're breaking into a pharmacy for some Tic Tacs.

"Ask and yea shall receive, huh? Blessed are, blah blah, blah. Ok, that's enough of that," he said, snapping the book closed and letting it fall to the earth. "Like I said, BOB, I'm not part of this promise. I lost that the moment I asked the question. Inquiring minds want to know doesn't get you very far, in the grand scheme of things, now does it? First day in existence and I get blacklisted for a simple question. Gotta love upper management."

As they all walked away, the fourth silent bone reached down, scooped up the leather clad book, tucked it between his pelvis and spine, and quickly found his place in line. Carrera forced open the wooden door, splintering it's center.

"Clean up on aisle one."

The first two Bones followed close behind as the last tapped the shoulder of and showed the third the leather book. Its pages began to glow bright, frightening them. The fourth dropped it but the third picked it up.

" One ... two ... three ... come out, come out, wherever you are," he sang between aisles as he searched for the mints. "And here you go. Aisle four. Pharmaceutical. There's gotta be a Tic Tac or mouth spray somewhere in here."

Number three Bones bumped into BOB and quickly showed him the glowing pages.

"What is this?"

The dead voice hummed as he supposed the meaning of it, while flipping the book over and over again. He looked at number Two.

"Do you reckon we should open it up again?"

Number Two silently opposed his suggestion.

"Oh, perhaps just a tiny little peak, can't we?"

By now, all three of the voiceless Bones were frantically attempting to persuaded BOB to leave it be.

"But you brought it to me. Has your curiosity not gotten the better of you?"

Three heads turned just as Carrera glanced around the corner at them.

"And what kind of party do we have happening over here?" he inquired. "Was anybody gonna invite me?"

He noticed BOB's hands were tucked behind his ribcage and stepped closer to them. He could tell they were hiding something from him.

"Dig me up and set me free yet you have something you feel you should keep from me?"

He swayed down the aisle as each step accompanied a sung word. His question still lingered by the time he stood before them.

"And what have you got for me, BOB?"

The dead voice held out his hands and replied, "Grace."

"Grace?" he questioned. "Let's play a game, shall we? Let's play, 'Someone Wasn't Paying Attention When We Spoke On This Before,' game."

"But look, Sire. The pages, they glow. "

Sure enough. By now, the entire center of the book was flaming. Carrera took hold of the book and held it up to study.

"Well, would you look at that? Interesting, to say the least. Hot damn, this must be some kinda grace talking to me."

He turned to joke with his four sidekicks.

I guess I had better look again to see what kind of grace the book is promising a lifelong sinner like myself. This ought to be good."

He opened it to the center of the flames and stared down at what was written. The fire danced about, tickling his fingertips. He bobbed a gentle nod of the head and said, 'Well, I'll be. Who would have thought it?"

"What does it say, Sire?"

The other three Bones began questioning with the use of their body language.

"... smelled the pleasing aroma ... never again ... every inclination ... destroy all living creatures. That's it," he exclaimed.

"What, Sire?"

"Aisle eleven! Tic Tacs are next to the chewing gum. Ask and yea shall receive. Wow. This thing really does work."

Carrera dropped the book and walked away. But not without BOB catching it first.

"But Sire, I feel like there's much more to this book, if you were to just give it a chance."

"Grace, chance, inclinations, and destruction. When one of us commit these acts, some being mistaken more than others, there's hell to pay. It looks bad and the whole world judges you. When he does it, he gets a pass, every single time. Strange and mysterious ways? No thank you. Double standards? Ahh, yeah."

"But, Sire."

"Romans nine, twenty, BOB," he called back while walking away. "But who are you, O man, to answer back to the Man? Will what is molded say to its molder, "Why have you made me like this?"

Carrera continued to search for the mints as the skeletons stood and wondered what to do about the flaming pages, finding it difficult to put down and leave behind.

"Eureka! I knew the little rabbit was hiding in this thicket, somewhere!"

He rounded the corner to the dismay of the dead He could tell they struggled within the moment.

"Tell you what ... on the count of three, we'll each put what we have in our hands into our mouths. One, two, three," he said without hesitation, tossing two of the Tic Tacs into his mouth.

He waited to see what the dead would do. They did nothing. He tapped two more from their container and quickly tossed them into his mouth, the same. Again, he waited. Nothing.

"You see, it's not the questioning that should condemn you. It's the failure to that should sentence you to an eternity of condemnation. You hold it in your very hands, yet you do nothing with it. Unlike the mints, you're left with nothing but a bad taste in your mouth. Bass Ackwards. Mint?"

Carrera walked away, leaving the four to ponder on his words. It held a lot of depth, but could they comprehend it? Would they even try?

[This is an analogy about religious hypocrisy. Those who judge, and those who are unjustly judged. Lots of room here to think on. Do with it what you will]