Jeremiah
Jul 15th, 2003, 08:07:41 PM
“Stop it!” The young boy shouted, pleading with his tormentors for mercy.
“Shut up, you baby!” Answered a much taller and heavier set youth. He and his comrade, a blond hared teen approximately of the same age, had been tossing the small lad between for some time. Their victim skidded from one to the other much like a pinball, colliding with an attacker just to be shoved toward the other. Though virtually harmless by physical measure, the vile game worked its wonders in keeping the boy entrapped and helpless.
“Whatcha gonna do now, Marty!” Called the second bully to his prey. “Gonna go home and cry to mommy?!”
“Just leave me alone!” In a sheer act of desperation Martin tried to run, however the outstretched leg of his older brother and primary assailant, Thomas, took the boy off his feet and sent him crashing to the floor. The child’s thin frame collided with a sizable rock, there in the tiny dirt road, which accounted for the only way in or out of their rural township. Tears formed, followed by loud, frantic cries over pain and a deep gash across his knee.
“Now look whatcha did!” Accused the corpulent Thomas.
“Me! He’s your little brother!”
“Yeah, well he woulda never been out here if you hadn’t called him!”
“I just wanted to have some fun with him! Besides how was I supposed to know the little jerk would get hurt!”
“Well next time don’t call...” His speech was cut short by the chilling presence of a man’s shadow.
“What’s going on here?” The stranger’s tone drew upon both compassion and authority. Piercing ashen eyes faltered not, carefully examining the pair.
“I....uh.....uh....I...uh...” Thomas’ stuttered, his body trembled, and he desperately kept from directly looking at his inquisitor.
The gentleman, realizing neither culprit could properly present himself, wasted no time in waiting for a reply. “I think you two had better go back home.” Again his almost bone colored pupils narrowed on the two young thugs. “Now.” With that both teens darted away, stumbling as they went before vanishing into a rustic cottage formed of clay and thatch.
Marty stared up in awe, his deliverer seemed to tower hundreds feet above him, eclipsing the sun. He watched as the kindly man steadily put forth a hand to examine his wound, but then quickly recoiled and began sliding away.
“Easy now.” Silken words issued from beneath a large brimmed, straw hat. Flowing locks of silver hair stood in sharp contrast to the fellow’s youthful and quite muscular physic. His face was vibrant and new, yet told the story of wisdom, ages old. He carried with him a long, oak staff, apparently for some other purpose besides support. A classic, oriental garb draped from his right shoulder, falling at an angle to cover the whole of him. “I won’t hurt you.”
“No.” The child resisted. “I’m not supposed ta talk ta strangers.”
“Ah, yes. Did your mom and dad tell you that?” He questioned.
“Yes.” Marty answered, timidly.
“Well, they are right, you know.” He said, reaching around to a rear pouch, dangling at his belt. “There are many bad people out there.” The stranger removed several strips of cloth from the bag. “My name is Jeremiah. What is yours?”
Pushing aside several tattered, brown tresses, the small boy spoke. “Martin, but my friends all call me Marty.”
“All right, Marty. Do you mind if I am your friend?” His sincere voice methodically worked to win the boy’s trust. “You really should let someone take a look at that...” nodding to the laceration. “...or else it might get infected.”
Somewhat reluctantly, Martin allowed Jeremiah to inspect his injury, making sure to keep wary of the newcomer’s every movement. The “Good Samaritan” immediately started tending to the mud caked and very timid young man’s knee. With skill and tender care he appeared to dress the joint. As he worked, he continued to talk with Marty.
“Tell me, why were those two doing that?”
Marty kept a firm gaze on the ground, ashamed to reply to Jeremiah’s question.
“Is it because you are smaller than they are?” The man’s second query held the grounds of a statement.
The boy’s eyes widened, shocked that his new acquaintance knew so much about him, though they had never met before. “Ye....Yes.” He managed to sputter.
“Now why would you let a silly thing like height bother you?” A slight grin appeared.
“Because, I can’t do the kinda things they do.” Marty sniffled.
“Well, why don’t you find your own kind of things to do?”
“I can’t do anything.” The boy’s voice was almost inaudible.
Jeremiah applied ever-increasing pressure to the cut. A sudden burning sensation emanated from the point of contact, coursing through Marty’s every muscle. Soon all pain had lifted.
“Do you think just because you are small you can do nothing?”
Sadness enveloped the boy.
The gray hared gentleman paused for moment. “Do you know who was the greatest Jedi Master of all?”
Marty abruptly perked up, his eyes aglow. “Yoda!”
“Exactly. Then I am sure you also know how tall, Master Yoda was.”
Several moments of silence passed. Clamping down on his lower lip with the upper row of teeth, the child strained to think of a proper height for such a great hero. “Uh...nine feet.”
Jeremiah gave hardy laugh. “Not quite. Yoda, the greatest Jedi master of them all, was less than three feet tall.”
Marty seemed horrified. “No way!”
“Yes, he was less than three feet tall. Now, you seem taller than three feet, and if Yoda could achieve such greatness, then so can you.”
Despite the cloaked man’s efforts, the boy again fell into misery. “But Yoda could use the Force...and...and...I can’t.”
Another heart felt chuckle parted Jeremiah’s lips. “My dear boy, the Force is not the only source of power in the universe.”
“It isn’t?” A spark of hope renewed itself.
“Of course not.” He placed a gentle hand upon the boy’s shoulder. “Each of us is born with talents of our own. Special gifts given to you and you alone. No one can take that away. With focus and hard work you can use those abilities to achieve anything and the only limit to your potential is you.” Jeremiah noticed a tiny bird nearby, hopping along the ground fervently hunting for food. “Do you see that sparrow over there?”
Marty nodded again.
“Do you know that all the Jedi in all the universe in all of time have not been able to achieve what that little bird can do with ease?”
“What’s that?” The boy held his breath in wonder.
“Fly.” Without warning, as if on cue, the fowl took to the air, soaring to the safety of a sapphire sky.
“Wow.”
“If that sparrow can fly without the Force, I’m sure you can go even farther than that bird ever could.”
Jeremiah rose to his feet. “Now, run along and play.” He then turned and ventured into the town’s marketplace.
Marty sat motionless, his gaze kept to the odd wise man who had bandaged his leg. “Wait a minute, Mister!” He called out. “How can I play? My leg is still...” The boy’s mouth dropped open at the stunning realization that where the bloody gash had once been, lie whole, healthy skin.
“Shut up, you baby!” Answered a much taller and heavier set youth. He and his comrade, a blond hared teen approximately of the same age, had been tossing the small lad between for some time. Their victim skidded from one to the other much like a pinball, colliding with an attacker just to be shoved toward the other. Though virtually harmless by physical measure, the vile game worked its wonders in keeping the boy entrapped and helpless.
“Whatcha gonna do now, Marty!” Called the second bully to his prey. “Gonna go home and cry to mommy?!”
“Just leave me alone!” In a sheer act of desperation Martin tried to run, however the outstretched leg of his older brother and primary assailant, Thomas, took the boy off his feet and sent him crashing to the floor. The child’s thin frame collided with a sizable rock, there in the tiny dirt road, which accounted for the only way in or out of their rural township. Tears formed, followed by loud, frantic cries over pain and a deep gash across his knee.
“Now look whatcha did!” Accused the corpulent Thomas.
“Me! He’s your little brother!”
“Yeah, well he woulda never been out here if you hadn’t called him!”
“I just wanted to have some fun with him! Besides how was I supposed to know the little jerk would get hurt!”
“Well next time don’t call...” His speech was cut short by the chilling presence of a man’s shadow.
“What’s going on here?” The stranger’s tone drew upon both compassion and authority. Piercing ashen eyes faltered not, carefully examining the pair.
“I....uh.....uh....I...uh...” Thomas’ stuttered, his body trembled, and he desperately kept from directly looking at his inquisitor.
The gentleman, realizing neither culprit could properly present himself, wasted no time in waiting for a reply. “I think you two had better go back home.” Again his almost bone colored pupils narrowed on the two young thugs. “Now.” With that both teens darted away, stumbling as they went before vanishing into a rustic cottage formed of clay and thatch.
Marty stared up in awe, his deliverer seemed to tower hundreds feet above him, eclipsing the sun. He watched as the kindly man steadily put forth a hand to examine his wound, but then quickly recoiled and began sliding away.
“Easy now.” Silken words issued from beneath a large brimmed, straw hat. Flowing locks of silver hair stood in sharp contrast to the fellow’s youthful and quite muscular physic. His face was vibrant and new, yet told the story of wisdom, ages old. He carried with him a long, oak staff, apparently for some other purpose besides support. A classic, oriental garb draped from his right shoulder, falling at an angle to cover the whole of him. “I won’t hurt you.”
“No.” The child resisted. “I’m not supposed ta talk ta strangers.”
“Ah, yes. Did your mom and dad tell you that?” He questioned.
“Yes.” Marty answered, timidly.
“Well, they are right, you know.” He said, reaching around to a rear pouch, dangling at his belt. “There are many bad people out there.” The stranger removed several strips of cloth from the bag. “My name is Jeremiah. What is yours?”
Pushing aside several tattered, brown tresses, the small boy spoke. “Martin, but my friends all call me Marty.”
“All right, Marty. Do you mind if I am your friend?” His sincere voice methodically worked to win the boy’s trust. “You really should let someone take a look at that...” nodding to the laceration. “...or else it might get infected.”
Somewhat reluctantly, Martin allowed Jeremiah to inspect his injury, making sure to keep wary of the newcomer’s every movement. The “Good Samaritan” immediately started tending to the mud caked and very timid young man’s knee. With skill and tender care he appeared to dress the joint. As he worked, he continued to talk with Marty.
“Tell me, why were those two doing that?”
Marty kept a firm gaze on the ground, ashamed to reply to Jeremiah’s question.
“Is it because you are smaller than they are?” The man’s second query held the grounds of a statement.
The boy’s eyes widened, shocked that his new acquaintance knew so much about him, though they had never met before. “Ye....Yes.” He managed to sputter.
“Now why would you let a silly thing like height bother you?” A slight grin appeared.
“Because, I can’t do the kinda things they do.” Marty sniffled.
“Well, why don’t you find your own kind of things to do?”
“I can’t do anything.” The boy’s voice was almost inaudible.
Jeremiah applied ever-increasing pressure to the cut. A sudden burning sensation emanated from the point of contact, coursing through Marty’s every muscle. Soon all pain had lifted.
“Do you think just because you are small you can do nothing?”
Sadness enveloped the boy.
The gray hared gentleman paused for moment. “Do you know who was the greatest Jedi Master of all?”
Marty abruptly perked up, his eyes aglow. “Yoda!”
“Exactly. Then I am sure you also know how tall, Master Yoda was.”
Several moments of silence passed. Clamping down on his lower lip with the upper row of teeth, the child strained to think of a proper height for such a great hero. “Uh...nine feet.”
Jeremiah gave hardy laugh. “Not quite. Yoda, the greatest Jedi master of them all, was less than three feet tall.”
Marty seemed horrified. “No way!”
“Yes, he was less than three feet tall. Now, you seem taller than three feet, and if Yoda could achieve such greatness, then so can you.”
Despite the cloaked man’s efforts, the boy again fell into misery. “But Yoda could use the Force...and...and...I can’t.”
Another heart felt chuckle parted Jeremiah’s lips. “My dear boy, the Force is not the only source of power in the universe.”
“It isn’t?” A spark of hope renewed itself.
“Of course not.” He placed a gentle hand upon the boy’s shoulder. “Each of us is born with talents of our own. Special gifts given to you and you alone. No one can take that away. With focus and hard work you can use those abilities to achieve anything and the only limit to your potential is you.” Jeremiah noticed a tiny bird nearby, hopping along the ground fervently hunting for food. “Do you see that sparrow over there?”
Marty nodded again.
“Do you know that all the Jedi in all the universe in all of time have not been able to achieve what that little bird can do with ease?”
“What’s that?” The boy held his breath in wonder.
“Fly.” Without warning, as if on cue, the fowl took to the air, soaring to the safety of a sapphire sky.
“Wow.”
“If that sparrow can fly without the Force, I’m sure you can go even farther than that bird ever could.”
Jeremiah rose to his feet. “Now, run along and play.” He then turned and ventured into the town’s marketplace.
Marty sat motionless, his gaze kept to the odd wise man who had bandaged his leg. “Wait a minute, Mister!” He called out. “How can I play? My leg is still...” The boy’s mouth dropped open at the stunning realization that where the bloody gash had once been, lie whole, healthy skin.