preview

Justin's Traditon: A Fictional Narrative

Decent Essays
"How'd you get in here, we didn't hear the door." Justin asked.

"I can go anywhere, anytime I choose." He replied, "Out of the entire town, it's always only you three."
"What's going on?" Chasity asked.

"Tickety Tock, Tickety Tock goes the clock. It's only a matter of time until your soul's mine!" He chanted, and Justin's face twisted in bewilderment.
"What's going on!" He shouted. The man smiled and Snapped his fingers. Then he gestured toward the window, with his head. We turned and glanced out the window.

Absolute darkness.
"But, its only two thirty in the afternoon?" Justin muttered. Chasity screamed, as thunder crashed and lightening illuminated the room. The floor filled with thousands of coiling snakes snapping at our ankles.
…show more content…
Unfortunately, it's useless now, maybe next time." He said and I glare into his eyes.

"You're not really Mr. Jones' nephew are you?" I asked, and he shook his head.
"I'm known of many names. Most famously as Ataozur." He admitted, and I swollowed. "Everytime I really think the three of you are going to make it through. Yet, always a little late to eat the sandwich." Justin's eyes grew wide.

"The sandwich? My sandwich?" He asked, and Ataozur nodded.
"The sandwich is always the key to your salvation. If you would have eaten the sandwich despite your fear of the unknown, than you would have cleansed yourself of the sin of judgement and admitted yourselves into heaven. Yet, everyone continues to make the same mistake. Pointing out flaws, and reasons the sandwich is not worthy to be eaten. Much the same as the judgements passed on the Jones family. Who by the way were a normal family that Coalbury outcast because of simular false speculations." He explained.
"I don't understand." Justin Muttered.

"Me either." Chasity added, and I sighed.
"We're dead. We've been dead for a very long time. Ataozur tortures souls trapped in purgatory." I explained.
"So if I would have eaten my sandwich?" Justin
Get Access