This particular story is dedicated to the fighters, troopers, and runners that are my cross country team. We face trials, we fight enemies, and we feed our desires to be free.
Good Abel
H. C. Smith
Good Abel was a runner. Some people are dancers, others fighters, but Abel was a runner. Running was his passion. He didn’t see it simply as sport, he saw it as art. The alluring movement of the arms, the powerful kicks and strides of the legs, the spring of the feet, and the tumbles and ripples of muscle was enough to move his soul.
Abel ran and lived. He lived because he ran and ran because he lived. It fed his hunger to be free. It quenched his thirst for flight. He felt like God himself when he ran. He felt invincible. Running was a gift to him and he took every waking moment to bless and grace his life with the art.
Running made Abel joyful. Good Abel’s life was dedicated to the ability. It nourished his unbeatable spirit. Abel’s life was a race, a battle that he desperately yearned to win. However, not every soul with eyes upon him wished for that victory. Abel, Good Abel, had an enemy.
This enemy was unlike any other. This was a demon so sinister, so depraved that its only intention was to see Good Abel fail, to watch his spirit die from lack of nourishment that Abel’s passion granted it. This enemy, the devil, looked at Abel often with hunger. He knew that Abel’s failure would greatly feed his insatiable appetite to destroy and steal. The only subject to be identified was how this devil would go about stopping Good Abel. The devil liked to play games, and he loved to run races, only to see the participants fail under his hand.
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The particular day was overcast. Rain pelted the earth in sheets. The devil was delighted. Now he could easily play his game out of sight. The devil plotted Abel’s demise.
Good Abel was ready to run as always. He slipped into his shoes and was eager. A flame beat in his breast, casting its fluttering excitement throughout his body. He stretched and flexed his muscles to break out of his rest. He kneaded his shoulders, trying to prepare himself.
In the cover of darkness, the devil crept into his shelter. He kept to the shadows and swiftly snatched Abel’s shirt from the bench. The downpour was freezing. Its icy fall would be painful to run through without a shirt.
Good Abel searched for the shirt, but it was nowhere to be found. Slightly disappointed, he stepped out into the rain. It was a frosty storm. It would be quite unpleasant to run through this. Too determined to quit, he simply shrugged. Abel left the shelter and stepped out into the rain bare-chested. It prickled his skin.
The devil stepped out from his hiding place and approached Good Abel. He held Abel’s shirt in plain sight. “Are you honestly going to run in this weather half naked?” The devil chuckled.
Good Abel said, “You can steal my shirt, but you can’t steal my spirit.” He turned from the enemy and began his run.
The devil was unpleased. However, he had more plans.
Good Abel continued to run. The weather was frigid on his chest. Goosebumps spread like cancer on his rippling back and shoulders. Though it was rough, his fortitude did not fail him. He kept a steady pace.
The storm wetted the path and Abel’s trail soon became slick with sludge. Mud slipped down into his shoes and made it uncomfortable to run. After a few minutes, he had to stop. He found a nearby pond. Abel rushed to it to clean out his shoes and wash his feet. Abel scrubbed the soles of his shoes with his fingers and scooped out the mud. He weaved his fingers between his toes to clean them and rinsed his legs and ankles.
The devil, having followed Good Abel along the path, quickly swept in and stole Abel’s shoes. When Abel went to grab his shoes after having washed his feet, he was startled. He lifted his eyes to see the devil wearing his shoes. The devil laughed.
Good Abel stood and simply said, “You can steal my shoes, but you can’t steal my spirit.” He left the devil and continued to run.
The mud was slick on his feet and rocks and sticks poked and stabbed his soles, but he continued to run. The rain was like broken glass on his chest and face. His feet became dirtied and scabbed. Abel no longer was simply running, he was fighting this enemy. He wanted to beat him at his game.
When Good Abel encountered a slope, he struggled to climb it and his feet slipped out from under him. He fell into the mud, dirtying his shorts.
The devil dropped down onto Abel, grabbed the hem of his shorts and yanked them from his waist. He held Abel’s shorts in his hands, leaving Good Abel in the muck, nude.
Good Abel stood and frowned. He turned to the devil and said, “You can submit me to shame and take my dignity, but you can’t take my spirit.” Abel, now aggressive, continued to run.
Nature grew more belligerent, throwing harsh winds and frosty sheets of rain in his direction, as if submitting him to her own insidious torture. He continued to fight through it all, battling the worst of the weather. Abel was determined not to fall under the devil’s sinister deeds.
The devil was growing tired of Good Abel’s endurance. The devil watched impatiently as Abel abided all the forms of torture that was thrown at him. He couldn’t help but laugh as he watched Abel run naked through the storm. What torture. But, the devil’s hatred for Good Abel was boiling now. He was done fooling around with Abel. He would now destroy him.
Abel bore all the torture. His spirit was low; having settled into the depths of his bruised heart, but it was still there. A slight flame in his breast still pumped its energy through him. That was all he held onto. Rain and sweat and blood mixed into an empowering brew. Good Abel would not stop now, not after all he’d suffered.
The devil found a mammoth stick in the woods along the path. It was heavy and blunt. With his crooked, beastly weapon, he sought for Abel. As Good Abel passed through the woods, the devil watched while keeping to the shadows that clung around the trees.
The devil then leapt from the darkness and caught Abel on the shoulder with his spearing weapon. Abel cried out. The crooked spear crushed his shoulder and he went tumbling to the ground.
The devil raised the crooked spear over his head and brought it down on Abel’s legs. It fell on his legs in a loud, sickening crunch. Abel screamed in agony. The devil raised again the crooked spear and brought it down on his legs. He continuously beat Abel with the weapon, crushing his legs.
The devil stepped back and laughed. Abel tried to move his legs, but splitting pain bit at him. A bewildering ache stretched from his hips to his ankles. His legs were broken. Abel cried out.
The devil taunted him, “You can’t run, now, can you?” He laughed and spat in Abel’s face. The devil kicked mud at Abel, splattering his face, chest, and legs. Abel lay there, naked, cold, and broken. He looked at the devil and croaked, “You can break my legs, but you can’t break my spirit.”
“Oh?” The devil said with a wicked smile. “But I think I have.”
Abel prayed that it wasn’t true. He hoped it was a lie. He wept.
“Good Abel, don’t cry.” A friendly voice said from the distance. Abel wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it or not.
He looked at the devil. Disgust clouded his enemy's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by fear. Abel turned to the unknown voice.
In the mist, Abel saw a man approaching. With the man, light came into the dark woods. Abel was bewildered by the sudden peace that smoothed his rough heart.
The devil glared at the bright man. He stepped back into the shadows, where he could avoid the light but still watch.
The stranger crouched next to Abel. Abel instinctively reached out and touched the man, as if he were a friend. The man’s bright, remarkable eyes looked over Abel with remorse.
“My beloved Abel, what has become of you?” He asked.
Abel didn’t know what to say. The stranger wiped the mud from Abel’s face with a gentle, warm hand.
“Who are you?” Good Abel asked the stranger.
The stranger flashed a handsome smile, “Jesus.” Jesus brought his hands down onto Abel’s shoulders and with his robe began to wipe the mud from his skin. He cleaned Abel’s chest and arms. Jesus’ hands lingered at Abel’s waist and frowned.
“Your legs, dear Abel, let me fix that.” Jesus but simply rested his palms on Abel’s broken, twisted legs and they were healed. Abel looked at his legs in amazement. He could move them. Abel curled his toes. He smiled.
Jesus helped Abel to his feet. The devil stepped from the shadows and made an aggressive move to knock Abel to the ground again. Jesus pushed Abel behind him.
“Don’t you dare, devil. Leave Abel be.” Jesus said. Authority ringed in every word. The devil cowered away from Jesus and fled his presence.
Jesus turned back to Abel after he was certain the devil was gone. “You have kept enduring faith throughout your trials, Good Abel. I am so very proud.” Abel found himself blushing like a child. “You must hurry, though Abel. You have a race to run!”
Jesus quickly took off his tunic and gave it to Abel. Abel fitted the tunic on his body while Jesus stood by naked. Jesus bent down and pulled off his shoes and gave them to Abel. Abel slipped into them. Jesus curled his toes in the mud while patting Abel on the shoulder.
Abel fell to his knees and kissed Jesus’ feet. Abel looked up at him. “Jesus, you gave me so much more than I could ever ask for. How can I repay you, my Lord?”
Jesus laughed joyfully. He brought Abel to his feet. “Abel, Good Abel, you want to know how to repay me? I want you to finish the race!”
Abel’s eyes brightened.
“Finish the race!” Jesus smiled and gave Abel a push into the right direction.
Good Abel started to run; he called out behind him, “Thank you, thank you!”
“Run, Good Abel!” Jesus cheered. Good Abel ran.
