Ex Nihilo by Deefective
[Prologue - The Beginning]

ex nihilo; [eks-nee-uh-loh]
- adverb, adjective. Latin.
'out of nothing'

Children have this amazing ability to concentrate when it suits them.
They can sit and watch the same thing over and over on an infinite loop, as long as they like it.
You ever watch a kid catch sight of his favourite TV show? It's a holy experience.

There's the kid, walking along, lost sinner just minding his own business. He's going to burn in hell for eternity because he spends all his time colouring and eating Play-Doh.
He hasn't seen the light yet, he hasn't been saved. And then, suddenly, a door swings open, the volume's on too high and Spongebob 2.0, God, starts calling out to him.
It doesn't matter what was on his mind before, that's behind him; old sins have passed away. Now, he is reborn. Now, the Holy Spirit and Episode 317 have permeated his lungs and he's breathing in new air, sucking up that heavenly re-direction. His feet pull him forward and you can hear the church choir echo in the background; in excelsis Deo and a pineapple under the sea.

And he starts to move, he starts to sway. He's reaching for it, reaching for the light.
His face is so close to the screen that the yellow sponge has become a canvas of color.
It is empty desert space and he can see heaven from here.

He'll back up, of course, eventually. Because his mom says it's not good for his eyes and he doesn't need to be that close and
'Honey, why don't you go outside?'
Still, he will sit there. For days, if he could.
He'll sit and watch that same bucktoothed fry cook preach the Good Word with a giggle and the voice of Thomas James Kenny.

And this is what Ruddman looks like right now. Sitting on my couch, facing the television.
He's six years old again, peering into the face of God. Except he's not watching TV, he's not watching anything at all.
His eyes are open and his pupils have taken over, turned the blue and white into a nasty oil spill; sticky, wet and everything's dead, everything's black.
I flutter my hand across his eyes.

"He's gone, man," Will tells me and he waves salvation in my face. Alter call, going once. "You wanna hurry up and get on his level?"

Ruddman hasn't moved or blinked in the last five minutes. Gray faced and maybe-breathing, he looks dead. I'm jealous.
I want to be there too, I want to be immersed head first in The Message.
So I stick out my tongue and let the droplets of holy water cleanse me, release me, put existence into my hands.
It only takes a few seconds and I'm on the couch, sitting beside both of my friends.
We're facing the preacher, the television set.

And then I blink and become born again.

So, this is my attempt at actually starting and finishing (at least, I plan to) a story.
Wish me luck, guys.