The Death of Henry Otis Clarke
It was about five o'clock when I caught up with him.
He was working on his next poetry book and going at it like fire on gasoline. I could see the intensity on his face; the way his eyes hardened and his head scalp wrinkled when he was really into it. He didn't hear me approach. I peeked over his shoulder at his work.
I didn't like what I saw.
"Henry! What in God's name are you doing?"
He turned and looked up at me, his eyes narrow and feverish. He stood up from the computer and shook his head as if in a dream.
"I-I was working on my book. It's going to make me a bit of cash." He looked down at the floor and avoided my eyes.
"I guess you saw some of it huh?"
I sighed and shook my head. I walked over to the computer and scrolled down at his other work. Sometimes there's ugliness wrapped in beauty. It's like an upscale neighborhood downwind from a hog farm. Spiritually, morally, his stuff stunk. I looked at him.
"Brother, you've got a heart problem."
"Whaddaya mean 'heart problem?' I work out, I eat right. Anyway, what does that gotta do with my writing?"
I took my sword and opened it.
"Let's look at Ephesians okay?"
I read the scripture. "Let fornication and uncleanness of every sort not even be mentioned among you..."
As I read aloud, Henry Clutched his chest and stumbled back. He fell on the floor, tears began to fall.
"Please... I want to write....I'm good at it."
I turned to another text, James 1: 13-15 and knelt beside him.
"You know these words. You know what you must do.
There's a chink in your armor son."
He rolled and curled into a ball as I continued to read.
"Each one is drawn out and enticed by his own desire."
He shuddered and began sobbing quietly.
"Please...help me."
I placed a hand on his shoulder and felt the pain that vibrated even through his skin.
"I'm here for you man. Come on, it's time to go."
He glance up at me, his face became fearful.
"Where Henry, where?"
"To get help. We have a mission to accomplish, a sacred one. Let's go and get our armor fixed 'k?"
He sat up and massaged his head. His breathing became more even. He thought for a moment, seemed to reach a conclusion.
"Yeah. Okay."
I helped him up and opened the door. He walked out the room stiffly forcing himself not to look back. Remember the wife of lot.
"It's going to be tough dying to this stuff you know,"
"Yeah," I know. But our Father will help us. He always does right?"
"Yeah, he does." He said as he waited for me outside his room.
I walked over to the PC. It glowed malevolently with all of his stories that sat like multiple eyes awaiting the inevitable. I clicked on the icon that said 'select all,' and deleted them all at once.
"Rest in peace," I said as they vanished.
Then I cut it off.