The Crossover Chapter 1.

Prologue

There comes a time in every creatures life that life itself, for said creature, ceases to progress any further. This phenomenon is simply called death. I came to terms with this suddenly one afternoon on my way home from work at the local fast food joint known as Whords, when I stumbled upon fifteen seconds of bad luck. The series of events that lead up to my unfortunate demise can be boiled down to one extremely lucky cat. In every town there is a local stray cat or dog, and in our case both, everyone in the small town of seminary know these animals. They pass them every day to and from work. Local shops keep food and water on the back porch so they don't starve or thirst and the children in the elementary school play with them during recess.

Now dogs are prone to chase cats and cats by law are required to flee the dog. It is the way things are supposed to be in a sleepy little town like seminary. On this day however The dog, the cat, a log truck, and I happened to all cross paths at exactly the wrong time. I was driving my self along the back roads outside of town, meanwhile the dog begins chasing the cat through the woods that border our humble village. While the log truck carries his load to the local sawmill which is in the opposite direction I am traveling. The cat breaks through the tree line and streaks across the road. I swerve to miss the fleeing cat, but instead ram into the pursuing dog, which also send me head long into the grill of the massive Mack truck who proceeds to treat me like a beer can in a recycling center. The Driver of the Mack truck not wearing his seatbelt combined with slamming on breaks and the sudden impact of my jacked up F150, is thrown through the front glass and is killed instantly, The dog, being pancaked between said Mack truck and mine, is also instantly slain, and to illustrate my unfortunate predicament, take a hotdog, wrap it in four wraps of tinfoil, set it on the ground and jump on it. The left over hotdog is me. The cat having missed the ride to the great litter box in the sky lives to purr another day. As for The Driver, the dog, and myself well our story is just beginning and you may want to stick around for the ride.

Somewhere on the grassy plains of Aho.

Squish! "Eww! I got crossover on my sandals!" Said the angelic being, crinkling his nose is disgust.

"Dammit Eugene! I told ya to watch where you step! It's hard enough piecing these guys back together without having to remember to scrape em off your shoe."

"Well I didn't know he was just goin to appear outta nowhere like that!"

"Didn't I give you an assignment sheet this mornin?"

"Um. I don't remember..." he said, while scraping bits of the battered body off his sandal.

"All I ask for is one competent angel to help me with this task! Just ONE! What do I get? An incompetent supermodel with wings, halo, and the intelligence of a swamp slug. Why do I even bother? I know they didn't give you free-will when they made ya, but you're definitely proof he forgot the brains as well."

"Just go stand over there next to the wagon and bring me the tools when I ask for em. This guys going to take a while. And study over the assignment sheet while you're there. I want you to know exactly when and where the next ones going to show up."

"Sure thing boss."

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Umm... Oh yeah! here just take em I I'll buy a new pair when we get back to Charist."

This is the everyday conversation of the heavenly host.

Chapter One

Forget everything you think you know about the afterlife. Bits and pieces have been told through various religions around the world throughout the thousands of years humans have existed, but you have never heard the whole story. So I feel it is my duty to start letting everyone know what really goes on.

You see. When death occurs our battered soul is sent on to the next life, in an altogether different world. This happens eternally, thus you spend eternity going from one slippery accident to the next. Now each world is governed by its own set of laws and physics. Which is why here all we have as weapons are swords, bows, and various other medieval devices that will stick, pierce, bludgeon, gore, or decapitate, however we have mages who can fart a fireball large enough to wipe out a forest. Whereas on Earth we don't have magic but we make up for it with technology. We have a guy sitting in a cubical that can press a little red button and wipe out an entire country. See? Same result, different method.

Technology such as harnessing electricity through power plants and gas powered automobiles do not work here. For the people of this world to see a box of steel with wheels moving without a horse would basically be the same as us seeing Aladdin ride by on his magic carpet. Technology just doesn't click with these guys, but why would it be such a surprise to these people if they come from Earth when they die? Short version? They don't remember. Shortly after we are regenerated we begin to forget who we are and where we came from. Memories melt away like ice cream on a summer day. From there we finish out our lives in this world. We continue to age and when we finally become old and die of natural causes we are born into the next world as an infant, or so I'm told. Now let’s go back to where my new life began.

"Well, He's going to hurt like hell for a few days but afterward he'll be fine." Said the deep baritone voice. At first I thought I was hearing the voice of God, but as I opened my eyes I was surprised to find the biggest, blackest face I had ever seen, staring down at me. As my vision cleared I was able to take a better look at my rescuer. To say the least the man was a giant compared to the average man. Looking at him one couldn't help being reminded of a grizzly bear. Huge barrel chest and arms as thick as my thighs. He had to have been at least a foot and a half taller than me as well. Normally a man of his size leaning over me would scare the bejeezuz out of me but an aura of peace exuded from him. As for talking my throat seemed shut down for the time being. Whenever I tried to make a sound it seemed like the wind would catch at the back of my throat and wouldn't go any further. So I just lay there, taking in the room I had been apparently sewn back together in.

The walls were made of rocks of various sizes, some as small as a grapefruit, and others the size of a watermelon. The mortar was a light brown and looked primitively done with bits of straw sticking out. Looking up revealed exposed rafters supporting straw thatch. There was a small fireplace set in the center of the back wall, the floors were pounded dirt. Everything looked so medieval. As the big man turned I noticed something I had overlooked earlier. He had stubs sticking out of holes cut in the back of his shirt, and what looked like patches of crow feathers sticking out here and there. At that point my vision decided to take a ride on a merry go round and I passed out.

When I woke up the second time I was greeted by the unmistakable taste of old leather as well as the same black face, but this time another one joined him in my view. This man was the exact opposite. He had fair white skin and golden blond hair down to his shoulders. Eyes as blue as the ocean framed by sharp cheekbones and straight nose. Looking at him one would have thought he was a movie star or model. But what was most striking was the huge golden wings he had protruding from between his shoulder blades. An angel?

As soon as I made that connection everything that had led to this point rushed into my mind. I doubled over in pain as white hot fire sizzled between my ears and rested firmly in the front of my brain. To call it a mere migraine would be like calling the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan a tug boat. My ears thumped back and forth as my brain pounded. I could neither think nor feel anything but the constant pain. Finally the black one came and rested a hand on my forehead and with that, the pain evaporated. "It'll take a couple days but you should be feeling like new before too long, There should be no scarring either."

I tried to speak again and this time managed to croak one and a half words. "What Happ?" then my throat was back in lockdown mode, and where was that taste coming from? It was like someone had stuffed my mouth with a used gym sock.

"You shall know in good time." came the reply, this time from the blonde one,” Right now you need to rest and take solace in the fact that you are safe, and will be well cared for."

I nodded. It's all I could do. The black one walked to the hearth, where some broth had been set aside to warm, and ladled some into a wooden bowl. "This is my special recipe, I worked on this for forty five years. It'll have you on your feet in no time." He began to spoon feed me.

At first I thought it was chicken noodle soup he was pouring down my throat but as I sipped more down it began to taste like every food I had ever enjoyed, only better. Steak and potatoes with extra butter and sour cream, lasagna, ramen noodles, bacon and eggs. Every bite brought with it a new taste, by the time I had finished the bowl I began begging for a second helping. Looking back I believe I would have performed cartwheels to have had the recipe. When I was finished gorging myself on the mystery soup, the black one wiped my mouth and began cleaning up. apparently I wasn't going to find out what the hell had happened until I could properly take care of myself. I wiggled a little to make myself more comfortable on the straw bed, though I had only managed to upset a whole new set of aches and pains. The soup did help dull it down a bit, I was no longer in the unbearable, 'kill me now!' kind of pain. It was more of a 'Just amputate the parts that hurt. I won't miss them' sort of pain. Though if I had done that I would have just had a nose and a couple ears left.

"I'm Jhakol, and this is Eugene." Said the massive one. "I believe you'll be walking without much discomfort in a couple of weeks. When you have a clear head and a mended body I will tell you about this land, and why you are here. Until then, however, I will ask you not to speak. It puts too much stress on the muscles in your throat and if one part of you fails to heal properly it will be a long time before you ever hear your original voice again. Do not move or exercise unless you are supervised by me. And if you need to use the rest room show me your fingers, just one or two depending of what you have to do. Eugene will mostly be keeping you company. He has many great stories to tell you." At this Eugene began to nod enthusiastically. The man grabbed a flat black rock and a small pebble shaped piece of chalk. "You may use these to communicate when you absolutely must. Don't overwork your arms. Can you do these things?"

I couldn't say yes, I couldn't scream and run, besides these guys had taken care of me, all I could do was nod. So I did.

Then came the stories.

"So God tells Noah, after an intense hand of poker, 'I beat you with a boat load of two's and seven's', but Noah, being drunk on his homemade wine, totally misunderstood, and that my friend is how the story of Noah's Ark began." The golden angel finished with a flourish.

To which I hastily scratched out two words on the rock. The Flood?

"Oh that, well after the boat was built God couldn't let Noah run around making a fool of himself. Not only would people start throwing spoiled vegetables at him for being raving mad, but it would also put God in an embarrassing position. He's very touchy about certain things."

This was story number one hundred and thirty-two. The first couple I heard were entertaining, but after hearing this angels voice for three weeks straight, I wanted to rip his perfect wings off and beat him until his perfect teeth were spit out into his perfect hands. It was like listening to St. Olaf stories from the The Goldengirls. The care they provided me was better than most top notch hospitals could supply, but just having to deal with this ridiculous excuse for an angel was almost worse than dealing with the excruciating pain I had suffered the first two weeks.

This has to stop.

Jhakol had been visiting me every other day to help me with my physical therapy, but for the last week he had begun visiting everyday increasing my workout times with each visit. It had been hard at first, looking at the far wall and wondering how long I would have to suffer before I could make it even that far, but I did. Then my eyes began focusing on a plum tree about fifty yards from the front door. It took me another three days of agony to get there, but I did. After I had made it to the plum tree I happened to notice what appeared to be a dog house about a hundred yards out, partly shrouded by bushes and tall grass. The first trip there was the most trying I had experienced so far. I made it halfway and lay down too exhausted to continue, but I was determined and I pushed myself further until I thought I would die, and I got there.

As I hobbled nearer I began hearing heavy panting, and shrill whines coming from inside the dog house. The grass around it had to have been at least two feet high and stepping through the tangled shoots was hard enough, but I was doing pretty good until I found a rabbit hole. Well my foot did anyway. I lurched forward but my foot stayed in place and I fell with a couple loud cracks, sharp pain flew from my ankle and the hand I used to break my fall. Doomed.

I lay there eyes clinched shut in pain trying to keep from crying out, lest I ruin my voice as well, when I felt something warm and wet lapping at my face and nose. I opened my eyes to find what had to be the most handsome dog I had ever seen. His coat was sleak golden blonde, with a slim slash of white running down from between his eyes to the tip of his snout. He was tall and slender in the waist he appeared to be shaped for running, with a long tail that curved upwards onto itself. He looked very familiar. He also looked like he had been going through the same treatment I had.

"Won't be chasing anymore cats for a while will ya boy?" I managed to whisper as I wrapped an arm around his furry neck. His reply was a soft whimper.

“We'll get through this together.” Startled, I looked around to see where the voice had come from. Furrowing my brow I gave the dog a puzzled look.

“I know it’s crazy but I am actually talking to you. Sort of.”

At first I was amazed but, after being stitched together like I was a Frankenstein by a couple angels, the amazement quickly wore off. The voice appeared in my brain like a thought. Maybe if he talked to me this way I could do the same back. “So, you speak. Literally.” It worked.

“Yeah, It’s amazing! Before I came here I had thoughts but there were no words. When I thought, I acted. And most of what I did was just compulsion. Then I wake up here and drink some soup and my thoughts become organized, It‘s as if a barrier has been removed from my mind.”

“Well, Are you able to communicate with anyone else?” He was so full of childish excitement.

“I tried with the big guy with the nubs, but he never replied, So I guess not. He did happen to tell me that someone would be along soon, but I don’t think he actually believed I understood. I’ve been waiting ever since.”

I could imagine Jhakal playing the dog whisperer. “So, we seem to have a connection, what’s your name?”

“Name?” He cocked his head to the side questioningly “I don’t have one. I never needed one before.”

“Well, I have to call you something if we’re going to be helping each other. Would you mind if I gave you one?”

“I suppose you’re right, as long as I have final say in the matter I guess I could give you the honor of naming me.” He chuckled in my mind.

I looked over the handsome beast, my body had gone numb, but I was too excited over finding someone other than Eugene to talk with, that I simply ignored it. What to call him? He had long white socks running up his legs that reminded me of the thermal underwear I would wear when I would go out hunting on those cold mornings before the sun had peaked it‘s head above the horizon.

“How about Long John? You’re tall and lean, and your markings remind me of a pair of Long Johns. I could call you L.J. for short?”

“Long John, I think it fits me pretty well! Forget L.J. though Long John will be just fine!” It sounded like he was tasting the two words that would be his name. He repeated them a couple dozen more times until it came naturally.

“Well, Long John, I’ve gotten myself in a bit of a pickle.” I thought to him, nodding at my injured limbs. “What do you suppose I do?”

“You’re right, you have put yourself in a delicate position, and I have a little bad news for you.” he gave a small high pitched whine, and began sniffing the air. “Smell that?”

I gave the air a couple sniffs, breathing in the thick earthy air, understanding exactly what he was talking about. Rain.