Christian Young Adult Fantasy
Date Published: November 2023
A vanishing boy, human-animal hybrids, and the grisly murder of one’s
peers are a lot to handle. Existing in two worlds, being hunted by your
town’s killer, and nearly dying every day doesn’t make it any
easier. For 15-year-old Stephen Benson, all of this has become normal,
managing one life as a town outcast and another as a fantasy land hero.
Hopeless and depressed, will he overcome his inner demons and the outer evil
hounding his spirit? Will he listen to the child-penguin fairy? Will he save
the girl he loves and prevent the slaughter of more teens?
The Savior of Norfolk is set in the not-too-distant future when America has
been divided by political and ideological hate. It is a fresh take on
understanding the purpose of existence and suffering and wrestles with a
spiritual understanding of reality.
EXCERPT
I decided I would die in the next three days.
It seemed we were in the final months before America’s next civil war, or the peaceful divorce as many hoped. Violent clashes between the political parties had escalated to a degree not seen in the country since 1865. Norfolk had remained at peace, not succumbing to the rest of America’s destruction by political hate. However, there were now rumblings, and the signs were becoming impossible to ignore.
Even so, we tried.
Casey lift ed the amber-filled Jack Daniel’s bottle to his lips and took a sip. Neither of us had said anything for the last minute as we sat on the dirt, our backs resting against the red brick of George’s Grocery. At the rear of the store, we were safe from the eyes of others. Norfolk’s moral standards had definitely decreased over the years, but it hadn’t yet become acceptable for two fifteen-year-olds to skip school to get drunk.
“Man, I love alcohol,” Casey said with eyes closed and a half-smile as he lowered the bottle to his lap. “What a great way to escape.”
Escape. That was what I wanted, and that was what I would get – before the end of the weekend. Escape from political BS, escape from social unrest, escape from the meaninglessness of existence. For much of my life, I had wanted to die, but over the last few weeks the desire had been stronger than ever before, and there was no indication of it lessening.
“Imagine how much life would suck if we didn’t have booze,” Casey said, turning his face toward me. “Seriously. All the ridiculous, useless, stupid crap they fill our minds with and no way to kill off the brain cells? How could we survive?”
Killing off the brain cells? Though it was unlikely Casey was thinking about death, his words made me think of nothing else. He continued to talk, but I was only partly listening. Remaining quiet, I kept my sight in the distance, staring absently into the trees of Norfolk Grove. Beyond the field of unkempt dying grass and weeds ahead of us, maybe 150 feet away, was a collection of oak trees, Norfolk’s idea for a forest. Their green leaves and thick branches had provided protection from the summer’s blazing sun, and seeing them I was reminded of how they had often provided escape, not just from the sun’s heat but from the reminders of what life was like outside the grove, a life in which rational thought was diminishing by the day. Though the sun was just as violent as any other August day, and escaping to their covering would bring a respite from the sweat that drenched our bodies under the open sky, I had little desire to move toward the trees as I was reminded of the teen not much older than me hanging by his neck from a rope attached to such a life-giving oak.
The photo had been all over the internet. His eyes were partly open, his face lightly blue. There was also a video recording, which was worse, depending on who you asked. Those who had done it, the ones who had beaten the kid to near death, the ones who had bound his hands behind him and strung him up, laughed and shouted, their heads covered by black ski masks, their voices suggesting youth not much different in age. The boy, supposedly a religious freak, was said to have had different social and political views than the rest. He was apparently intolerant and, because of this, he was killed by the tolerant who couldn’t tolerate him. Funny thing, though I didn’t believe in any religion or weird fantasy stuff, my views weren’t much different from his.
As I watched the scene unfold in my mind, the boy’s hanging body was replaced with mine – my lifeless eyes, my face blue, my body unmoving. Had I lived somewhere else, the boy could have easily been me. In Norfolk, it was still safe, but I didn’t expect that to last long. The heat between the political parties was rising, and it would be no surprise if it soon rivaled that of our summer sun. But I wasn’t afraid of dying. No, I wanted it. Maybe not hanging by a noose, but by some other means, some way of escaping the futility of life that was worsening by the day. Our high school had taught us that life’s meaning was found in having success, being happy, and changing our world for the better. Anyone with a functioning brain cell could tell you this was all relative. Success had no end, and everyone defined it differently. What determined a change for the better was also perceived differently, evidenced by the hanging boy. And being happy? What was the point? To live out our lives with less pain, waiting for death as the world went to hell?
About the Author
Nathan Edmundson has lived in many states throughout his lifetime but is
currently residing in Tyler, Texas and hopes to stay put. When not writing,
he works as a psychologist and enjoys nutrition and fitness, traveling,
spending time with friends and family, serving with his church, and eating
at restaurants he hasn’t yet visited.
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