arel van gogh
This is a post i sent to an atheist quite a while ago. He sent me some questions and in this reply i attempted to answer him.
Here is my answer.
1) Where is the original copy of Quran? If we do not have the original, then God failed to protect it. How can you convince me the Quran was not corrupted if the original is gone?
The preservation of Quran happened in two ways, firstly, by scribing and secondly, by committing it into memory. One of the prophet scribers was Zaid b. tsabit.
The preservation of Quran happened during the reign of Caliph Abu Bakar Al-Siddiq (Quran was put into a book form for the first time). When he died it was being passed on to Caliph Usman b Affan and finally the original copy of the quran was kept by Saidatina Hafsah Binti Abu Bakar. And it was during Caliph Usman bin Affan that the Koran was copied (from the copy kept by Hafsah) and sent to Kufah, Basrah, Syam and Mecca (the original was kept in Medina ). The copy writing was done by Zait B. tsabit, Abdullah B. Zubair , Said B. `Ash and Abdurrahman bin harits b. Hisyam under strict supervision by Caliph Usman himself. Other copies that were not from the original copy were burned and destroyed.
"We have, without doubt, sent down the Message; and We will assuredly Guard it (from corruption). [Al-Qur’an 15:9]
The following is information from Institute of Islamic information and education that tells you existence of ancient scriptures of the Quran. [http://www.iiie.net/]
The historical credibility of the Qur'an is further established by the fact that one of the copies sent out by the Caliph Uthman is still in existence today. It lies in the Museum of the City of Tashkent in Uzbekistan , Central Asia . A facsimile of the mushaf in Tashkent is available at the Columbia University Library in the USA . This copy is proof that the text of the Qur’an we have in circulation today is identical with that of the time of the Prophet and his companions. A copy of the mushaf sent to Syria (duplicated before a fire in 1310AH/1892CE destroyed the Jaami' Masjid where it was housed) also exists in the Topkapi Museum in Istanbul , and an early manuscript on gazelle parchment exists in Dar al-Kutub as-Sultaniyyah in Egypt . More ancient manuscripts from all periods of Islamic history found in the Library of Congress in Washington , the Chester Beatty Museum in Dublin ( Ireland ) and the London Museum have been compared with those in Tashkent , Turkey and Egypt , with results confirming that there have not been any changes in the text from its original time of writing .
2) If the original Quran is lost, then what is the oldest copy of Quran in existence today?
At one given time hundreds thousands Muslim memorized the whole Quran perfectly word per word around the world. Should the original copy has gone the Muslim will be able to produce the 114 verses like the originals all over again. The entire Quran was memorized verbatim (word for word) by some of the Prophet’s Companions. Among them were Zaid ibn Thabit, Ubayy ibn Ka’b, Muadh ibn Jabal, and Abu Zaid. (Saheeh Al-Bukhari Vol.6, Hadith No.525.) Through the centuries the oral tradition of the entire Quran has been maintained by the professional reciters (qurraa). The following are words by some non-Muslim scholars regarding the preservation of the Quran trough memorization.
The Quran is perhaps the only book, religious or secular, that has been memorized completely by millions of people [William Graham, Beyond the Written Word , UK : Cambridge University Press, 1993, p.80.]
“…this phenomenon of Quranic recital means that the text has traversed the centuries in an unbroken living sequence of devotion. It cannot, therefore, be handled as an antiquarian thing, nor as a historical document out of a distant past. The fact of hifdh (Quranic memorization) has made the Quran a present possession through all the lapse of Muslim time and given it a human currency in every generation, never allowing its relegation to a bare authority for reference alone. [Kenneth Cragg, The Mind of the Quran, London : George Allen & Unwin, 1973, p.26.]
3) Why is the oldest known copy of Quran not written with proper Arabic syntax (i.e. proper grammar)?
Quran itself means recitation (it is not a book). It is the preservation of the Quran recitation that is most important for if the pronunciation and the Arabic is the same, naturally, the meaning remains the same too. The reason the other copies of Quran were burnt was because it was during caliph Usman b. Affan that muslim in different cities recited the Quran in different ways ensued an effort in preservation. The following is some information I obtain regarding diacritical marks of Quran. Diacritical marks were added for non-Arabs The original manuscript of the Qur’an does not have the signs indicating the vowels in Arabic script. These vowels are known as tashkil, zabar, zair, paish in Urdu and as fatah, damma and qasra in Arabic. The Arabs did not require the vowel signs and diacritical marks for correct pronunciation of the Qur’an since it was their mother tongue. For Muslims of non-Arab origin, however, it was difficult to recite the Qur’an correctly without the vowels. These marks were introduced into the Quranic script during the time of the fifth ‘Umayyad’ Caliph, Malik-ar-Marwan (66-86 Hijri/685-705 C.E.) and during the governorship of Al-Hajaj in Iraq . [http://www.islam101.com/quran/preservedQ.htm]
4) There are more than 1 versions (readings) of Quran in use in the world today! Which version (reading) do you use?
There is one and only Quran used throughout the world. The Quran that I am using is called Mas-haf Usmani. It is named after the effort that was carried out by Caliph Usman b. Affan in preserving the Quran. The name doesn’t affect the contents at all. As far as the content is concern, it is perfectly the same as what is used by other Muslims worldwide, a Quran that has 6000 over thousands ‘ayat’ and 114 verses (revealed for 23 years in Mecca and Medina combined). I also use what we call as tafseer or the translation of the Quran into languages of the world. It is of utmost beneficial for people who do not understand Arabic. While I can access to the meaning in my mother tongue, the original language of the Quran (Arabic) is neatly preserved on every page alongside its translation. And the translation is done by people who are eminent and possess the highest authority in the religion of Islam.
5) What proof did Muhammad provide to substantiate his claims of prophethood? If Muhammad did not perform any miracles, then how do I know that he was a messenger of God? If miracles are not required, then anyone can claim to be a prophet of God. I can claim to be a prophet of God too. In fact there are something like 250 new prophets, messengers, and messiahs showing up every year somewhere in the world and claiming to have some kind of connections with the spiritual world or claiming to receiving messages in their hearts etc.
From this question, it seems clear that for one to be prophet he needs to perform miracles. However, performing miracles doesn’t serve as a yes or no answer to attest prophet hood because what had happened to previous prophets preceding Prophet Muhammad who had successfully perform miracles ended up being ridiculed and accused of being sorcerer, magician and mentally disabled (Prophet Moses and Esa ( (Jesus) to name a few). There was no way for them to see the truth.
However, in Islam the greatest miracle of Prophet Muhammad is the holy Quran itself (there are other miracles but I decided to focus on Quran at the moment). It is evident that the book claims that it is the word of god and indeed it has spoken for itself. Here are some evidence.
1) It stands for 1400 years without any changes. Not even one word is added into it.
"We have, without doubt, sent down the Message; and We will assuredly Guard it (from corruption). [Al-Qur’an 15:9]
Unlike bible, the 4 gospels were written at least 40 – 100 years since the death of Jesus Christ and there is no biographical evidence to describe who those 4 bible writers are.
2) No one has had ever succeeded in composing even an ‘ayah’ like it in the history of mankind until the day of judgment. It is an unmet challenge of Quran to mankind and jinn.
Say: "If the whole of mankind and Jinns were to gather together to produce the like of this Qur'an, they could not produce the like thereof, even if they backed up each other with help and support. (Al-Quran 17:88)
The challenge is yet to be met.
3) It contains scientific knowledge that is continuously being proved by modern science for its accuracy.
“Do those who disbelieve not see that the heavens and the earth were sewn together and then We unstitched them and that We made from water every living thing? So will they not believe? (Al-Qur'an, 21:30)
And there are numerous verses talking about scientific facts.
4) Reciting the Quranic verses can never lead to boredom
A true muslim recites the Quranic verses in their 5 daily prayers for a lifetime. Other than the daily prayers there are countless others of sunnah prayers (recommended prayers) where verses from the Quran are also recited. There are thousands Muslim all around the world are putting an effort to memorize all its 114 verses (huffaz). Reciting the Quran and at the same paying a close attention to its meaning can invoke emotion. There was an incident of non-muslim lady burst into tears upon listening to the Quran even she didn’t understand a bit of it.
There comes a question why Quran is Prophet Muhammad’s miracle?
God has promised for the Quran to be preserved until the end times. This is because Prophet Muhammad is the final messenger. That means, there will be neither prophets nor new religion is going to be revealed. Then, who is going to make sure that the Muslims will stay true to the Islamic teachings? This leads to the preservation of Quran and As-Sunnah as two of utmost important references particularly for the Muslims and humankind as a whole. There is no other holy scriptures like it. (The previous one namely Thalmud, Torah and Bible had been corrupted (there had been human intervention). Quran is being revealed as a final testament.
6) How do you explain the fact that there were other prophets before Muhammad that also claimed to be last messengers. For example prophet Mani claimed to be last messenger of God in approximately 250 AD. He also claimed that bible was corrupted. It appears to me that Muhammad simply plagiarized some of the ideas from other self appointed prophets. You can try to google on Mani if you want for fun.
I would like to begin by defining plagiarize.
transitive verb : to steal and pass off (the ideas or words of another) as one's own : use (another's production) without crediting the source intransitive verb : to commit literary theft : present as new and original an idea or product derived from an existing source
The claim that says Prophet Muhammad simply plagiarized some of the ideas from other self appointed prophets and ancient books is not new. In fact, this issue was also raised 1400 years ago by the pagan Arabs. God revealed answer in Quran to silence them,
“And thou wast not (able) to recite a Book before this (Book came), nor art thou (able) to transcribe it with thy right hand: In that case, indeed, would the talkers of vanities have doubted” (Al-Quran 29:48)
The following is list of questions I created to challenge this issues.
1. What were the books (the existing sources) that he plagiarized from?
2. In what period the plagiarizing was done? And Where?
3. He must be a genius to learn it from other books and later beautifully authored his own. He must have teachers who taught him. Who were the teachers?
4. Did he have any kind of library to keep all the ancient books and document of his work? If yes, where was it?
5. Were there anyone helping him with the work of authoring the book? Who?
6. How long the plagiarizing took place? In what way the plagiarizing was done?
7. Did he have some sort of formal education that enable him to copy and later compose the Quran?
8. Where did he learn the language of other ancient books so that he was able to
Comprehend them and used that idea in his book?
9. Where did he get those books?
10. While he was accused to borrow some ideas from other books, how about the other parts of the book? Were those his original idea?
11. Why he was the only one who produced such book (holy Quran) during his time? (When the challenge came out to the unbelievers to produce an ‘ayat’, all of them were miserably fail until today).
Muslim never has to answer the above questions because there never was plagiarizing occurred. One of the reasons that the Quran was revealed in Arabic is in fact an answer that Quran was neither adapted nor adopted from one book to another. The prophet himself was an Arab and therefore it only makes sense that the Quran was revealed in a language that he understood. There was no historical evidence at that time to point that Arabic bible was available for the plagiarizing to possibly take place. Furthermore, the prophet (PBUH) was born and lived in pagan Arab community and there is no historical recount that he had extensive contact with the Christians so that he could learn from their holy book. A brief history of the Christian with the pagan arab in Mecca is the Abrahah Al-Ashram (Christian from Yemen ). His elephant army attacked Mecca to destroy kaaba. He built a church in Yemen to attract pilgrims to visit the church instead of Kaaba. God preserved it in one of his verses
1. Seest thou not how thy Lord dealt with the Companions of the Elephant? 2. Did He not make their treacherous plan go astray? 3. And He sent against them Flights of Birds, 4. Striking them with stones of baked clay. 5. Then did He make them like an empty field of stalks and straw, (of which the corn) has been eaten up. (Al-Quran 105:1-5)
Muslim believes the fact that there will never be a new prophet after Prophet Muhammad because he himself had made it clear to the Muslim that Islam had come to the perfection of religion. There is no need for another revelation. The last verse reveled of the Quran justifies this matter,
“This day have I perfected your religion for you, completed My favour upon you, and have chosen for you Islam as your religion” (Al-Quran 5:3)
Orientalists have never stopped working to create false claims on Islam and its history. However, there are some of them who are honest and openly made a statement on the authenticity of Quran. Palmer writes;
That the best of Arab writers has never succeeded in producing anything equal in merit to the Qur'an itself is not surprising. In the first place, they have agreed before-hand that it is unapproachable, and they have adopted its style as the perfect standard; any deviation from it therefore must of necessity be a defect. Again, with them this style is not spontaneous as with Muhammad and his contemporaries, but is as artificial as though Englishmen should still continue to follow Chaucer as their model, in spite of the changes which their language has undergone. With the Prophet, the style was natural, and the words were those in every-day ordinary life, while with the later Arabic authors the style is imitative and the ancient words are introduced as a literary embellishment. The natural consequence is that their attempts look laboured and unreal by the side of his impromptu and forcible eloquence.
E H Palmer (Tr.), The Qur'an, 1900, Part I, Oxford at Clarendon Press, p. lv.
arel van gogh
We have indeed revealed this (Message) in the Night of Power: And what will explain to you what the night of power is? The Night of Power is better than a thousand months. Therein come down the angels and the Spirit by Allah's permission, on every errand: Peace!...This until the rise of morn! (97:1-5)
The Night of Power in His infinite wisdom is encouraged to be searched during the odd nights of the last ten days of Ramadan. Since over fourteen centuries Muslims are striving diligently to benefit greatly from it. A rare trade indeed - pure profit and thousand times more!
Interestingly we have embraced the night for its mathematical magic but seemingly misplaced the very essence of the night. In fact, it was just another dark night. But it became the Night of Power because of what was revealed in the darkness. It is now known to us, a night better than a thousand months. The dark night is illuminating the world and the Quran is guiding the humanity ever since.
The Night of Power is celebrated powerfully. Masajid and communities celebrate the night by staying up all night, listening to lectures, reading Quran, etc. What seems to be missing though is to reflect on the Divine Words and to act upon it. Unless that is done, the real power will not be received from the Night of Power.
Ramadan visits us every year and offers us a reason to reflect on all aspect of our lives. The objects of our wants and fears far surpass the limits of human genius, energy, and mortal life. The sum of all that we need and desire .. spiritual or material, essential or superfluous .. simply exceeds our ability to attain it. What, then, is one to do? The believer turns to his or her Creator in prayer. The response is natural. Whether moved by need or hope, or faced with misfortune or danger, people instinctively call upon God. Prayer is at the center of our very being and the marrow of the Muslim way of life. For many in the English speaking world, however, this face of Islam is virtually unknown.
Dua - Supplication - Prayer is Muslim's hope for everything at all times. Let us submit ourselves and plead and plead and plead ... as He alone can relieve us of our anxieties and sufferings.
(the following is an excerpt from Dua Kumayl that was often recited by Imam Ali (may Allah be pleased with him))
by Thy majesty against which nothing can stand up
by Thy grandeur which prevails upon all things
by Thy authority which is exercised over all things
by Thy knowledge which pervades all things
O Allah! Forgive us of sins that would hinder our supplications
O Allah! Forgive us of sins that would suppress hope
O Allah! Forgive all sins that we have committed and every error that we have erred
O Allah! Accept our apologies and have pity on our intense sufferings and set us free from my heavy fetters (of evil deeds)
O Allah! You are aware of my weakness to bear even a minor affliction of this world and its consequence and adversity affecting the denizen of this earth, although such afflictions are momentary, short-lived and transient
How then can I bear the retributions and the punishments of the Hereafter which are enormous and of intensive sufferings, of prolonged period and perpetual duration, and which shall never be alleviated for those who deserve the same as those retributions will be the result of Your wrath; and Your punishment which neither the heavens nor the earth can withstand and bear!
My Lord! How can I, a weak, insignificant, humble, poor and destitute creature of Yours be able to bear them?
O' my God! My Lord! My King! And Master! Which of the matters shall I complain to You and for which of them shall I bewail and weep?
Shall I bewail for the pains and pangs of the punishment and their intensity or for the length of sufferings and their duration?
Therefore (my Lord!) If You will subject me to the penalties (of hell) in company of Your enemies and cast me with those who merited my punishments and tear me apart from Your friends and those who will be near to You, then my God, my Lord and my Master, though I may patiently bear Your punishments, how can I calmly accept being kept away from You?
I reckon that though I may patiently endure the scorching fire of the hell, yet how can I resign myself to the denial of Your pity and clemency? How can I remain in the fire while I have hopes of Your forgiveness?
So, my Lord! I look earnestly towards You and towards You, my Lord!
I have stretched forth my hands therefore, by Your honor, respond to my supplication and let me attain my prayers and, by Your bounty, frustrate not my hopes and protect me from the evils of my enemies and O' My Lord! have mercy on me whose only asset is hope and whose only weapon is lamentation.
Ameen ... Ya Rabb ... Ameen ... Ameen ...
aku pun tak tau dah berapa kali aku tukar blog add yang baru. tu belum lagi dikira beratus2 layout dan konsep yang aku cuba untuk padankan dengan selera aku yang sentiasa berubah. tapi bagi aku hasilnya tetap sama. tetap bosan, kosong dan tidak punyai apa2 yang istimewa.
aku sendiri tidak tertarik dengan kandungan yang aku paparkan. dan adakalanya aku tidak memiliki cerita untuk dikongsikan. mungkin ada, tapi penyampaian kurang berkesan atau mungkin tiada langsung (<--- satu lagi masalah aku yang terbesar ).
apa tujuan sebenarnya blog? secara spesifiknya tujuan blog aku sendiri. sebagai satu jurnal peristiwa? catatan dan rentetan harian? tempat meluah dan berkongsi rasa? @ hakikinya satu medium untuk memperkenalkan diri pada dunia digital. ntah la. mungkin jawapannya ya untuk semua persoalan tapi biarpun aku telah 'laksanakan' idea yang aku soalkan, kenapa sehingga kini aku masih tercari2 erti sebenar blog aku.
apa yang aku mahukan?
satu ruang untuk segala idea dan karya aku dapat dikongsi.
(fotografi, muzik, cerpen, skrip, sajak, lukisan)
perjalanan terkini dan akan datang
(jadual lengkap n aktiviti yang telah dan akan aku buat)
(buku, filem, drama apa2 yang mahukan
A woman is sleeping on her couch with the TV on when it suddenly starts to flicker, and she wakes up. She realizes she can see her breath it’s so cold, and she jumps up and runs for her closet. Inside she has a whole arsenal, she’s obviously a hunter. As she does her phone rings, and her answering machine picks up “Hi it’s Olivia – leave a message.” Bobby’s voice says “Olivia can you call me back? I’ve got something big.” She ignores it and picks up an EMF meter, it immediately begins humming. She grabs a gun and loads it, then heads back into the other room. Suddenly a man appears behind her, she whirls around and looks at him. “You…” she says, shocked. She shoots him and he disappears, and she quickly puts a line of salt in the doorway, but he appears right outside the salt, staring at her. “I’m sorry,” she says desperately, standing up. “I’m so sorry.” But when she turns around, he is right behind her.
“Well tell me what else it could have been,” Sam says to Dean. The boys are bickering as Bobby is busy reading. “All I know is that I was not... groped by an angel,” Dean says. “Look, Dean, why do you think this… Castiel would lie to you about it?” Sam asks. “Maybe he’s some kind of demon,” Dean suggests angrily. “Demons lie.” “A demon who’s immune to salt rounds? And Devil’s Traps? And Ruby’s knife? Dean, Lillith is scared of that thing,” Sam says. “Don’t you think that if angels were real, that some hunter, somewhere, would have seen one. At some point! Ever,” Dean says. “Yeah. You just did, Dean,” Sam says with a bit of a smile. Dean looks annoyed. “I’m trying to come up with a theory here, okay? Work with me.” “Dean, we have a theory,” Sam argues. “Yeah, one with a little less fairy dust on it, please!” Dean replies. “Look, I’m not saying I know for sure, I’m just saying that I think…” Sam begins, but Dean cuts in. “That’s the point, okay? We don’t know for sure. So I’m not going to believe that this thing is a freakin angel of the Lord because it said so!” Dean yells. “You two chuckleheads wanna keep arguing religion, or you wanna come take a look at this?” Bobby cuts in. The boys look at each other, then walk over. “I’ve got stacks of lore,” Bobby begins. “It all says an angel can snatch a soul from the pit.” “What else could do it?” Dean asks. “Airlift your ass out of the hotbox? As far as I can tell, nothing,” Bobby replies. Sam looks at Dean, who looks troubled. Sam smiles. “Dean, this is good news.” “How?” Dean replies. “Because for once, this isn’t just another round of demon crap. I mean maybe you were saved by one of the good guys, you know?” Sam says. “Okay. Say it’s true. There are angels. Then what, there’s a God?” Dean asks, looking incredulous. “At this point, Vegas money’s on yeah,” Bobby says. “Okay look, I know you’re not all choir boy about this, but this is becoming less and less about faith, and more and more about proof,” Sam says firmly. “Proof? Proof that there’s a God out there that actually gives a crap about me, personally? I’m sorry, but I’m not buying it!” Dean says. “Why not?” Sam asks. “Because why me?” Dean replies. “If there is a God out there, why would he give a crap about me?” he goes on, ignoring Sam’s interruptions. “I mean I’ve saved some people, I figure that’s made up for the stealing and the dishing chicks. But why do I deserve to get saved? I’m just a regular guy.” “Well apparently you’re a regular guy who’s important to the man upstairs,” Sam says with a smile. Dean looks at him and Bobby. “Well that creeps me out. I mean, I don’t like getting singled out at birthday parties, much less by… God.” “Okay well, too bad, Dean. Because I think he wants you to strap on your party hat,” Sam says. Dean looks awkward. “Fine. Well, what do we know about angels?” Bobby pulls out a huge stack of books. “Start reading,” he says. Dean points at Sam. “You’re gonna get me some pie,” he says, grabbing a book.
Sam pulls up to a store in the Impala, talking on his cellphone. “Yes, Dean, I’ll get the chips. Dude. When have I ever forgotten the pie? Exactly.” He suddenly sees Ruby, standing beside the store, and quickly says he has to go and hangs up. He walks over. “Is it true?” she says. “Did an angel rescue Dean?” “You heard,” he says. “Who hasn’t?” she asks. “We’re not one hundred percent sure, but I think so,” Sam replies. “Okay,” she says, staring at him. “Bye, Sam.” She starts to leave, but he grabs her arm. “What’s going on?” he asks. “Sam, they’re angels. I’m a demon. They’re not gonna care if I’m being helpful. They smite first, and then they ask questions later,” she replies. “What do you know about them?” Sam asks. “Not much. I’ve never met one, and I don’t really wanna,” she says. “All I know is that they scare the holy hell out of me. Watch yourself, Sam.” Sam laughs. “I’m not scared of angels.” She looks at him a moment, and then walks away.
Bobby and Dean are packing stuff when Sam pulls up in the Impala. Bobby comes over and leans in the window, telling him that he’s been trying to reach his friend Olivia for three days about the angel thing, and she hasn’t answered. “Olivia Lowry – hunter, right?” Sam asks. “Yeah. You guys follow me,” Bobby says, walking away. Dean makes Sam move over so he can drive, and Sam hands him the bag of food he bought. Dean looks through it and then stops. “Dude?” he says. “Yup?” Sam says. “Where’s the pie?” Dean asks, staring at Sam in surprise.
The boys and Bobby go into her house with shotguns at the ready, calling her name, but no one answers. As they go around a corner, Bobby stops, staring in horror, and then walks out of the house. The boys approach, and Sam notices a salt line. They look at the body of Olivia – the chest is ripped open. Dean goes to her open closet, and picks up something. “Olivia was rocking the EMF meter,” he says. Sam nods. “Spirit activity.” “Yeah, on steroids. I’ve never seen a ghost do this to a person,” Dean admits. Bobby walks back in, and Dean asks if he’s alright. “I called some hunters nearby,” Bobby begins. “Good, we could use the help,” Dean replies. “They ain’t answering their phones, either,” Bobby finishes. “Something’s up, huh?” Sam says. “You think?” Bobby says.
In another hunter’s home – Jed - Dean has left a message saying that they think that there’s something happening to hunters. But we see now that he is dead as well, and blood is all over, his chest is ripped open too.
Leaving Jed’s house, Dean is talking to Bobby on the phone. He tells him that Jed looks even worse than Olivia, and asks what’s going on with Bobby. Bobby says he’s checked on two more hunters. “They’ve redecorated,” he says. “In red.” “What the hell is going on here, Bobby?” Dean asks as the boys get in the Impala. Bobby says he doesn’t know, but until they figure out the boys had better stay at his place.
Sam pulls up outside a gas station and begins filling up the car, Dean is asleep inside. We see a dark shape watching Sam across the parking lot. Sam goes inside to the restrooms. He’s washing his hands when suddenly the air goes cold. He looks up to see ice crystals appearing all over the mirror. With one hand, he wipes a streak on the mirror, only to see a familiar face reflected in the mirror behind him. He whirls around. “Hi Sam,” says Victor Henriksen. “It’s been a while.” “Henriksen. Are you – did you -?” Sam begins, but Henriksen suddenly flashes in front of him, and Sam knows it’s a spirit. “I didn’t survive, if that’s what you’re asking,” Victor says. “I’m sorry,” Sam says. “I know you are,” Victor says. “Look if we’d known Lillith was coming…” Sam begins, but Victor cuts him off. “You wouldn’t have let it happen – dozens of innocent people in that police station died in your place. You did this to me. It was your fault, she was after you and I paid the price! You left us there to die!” Victor suddenly shoves Sam into the lockers behind him, continuing to beat him up and throw him around until suddenly a shotgun goes off, and he disappears as Dean bursts in.
Bobby is preparing things when his lights start flickering. He sees his breath, and hears children giggling. He hurries to grab an iron bar, and then begins to walk around his house. The radio turns on, and Bobby continues to walk. He hears more giggling, and heads toward his stairs. From the top of the stairs comes bouncing a little ball, and Bobby then turns around. Behind them are two little girls.
On the road
“Dammit, Bobby, pick up!” Dean is saying into the cellphone as the boys drive. “How’re you feeling, huh? How many fingers am I holding up?” he says to Sam. “None, I’ll be fine, Dean,” Sam replies. “Henriksen?” Dean asks. “Yup.” “Why, what did he want?” “Revenge, cause we got him killed,” Sam replies. Dean looks at him. “Sam.” “Well we did, Dean,” Sam says. “Alright, stop right there,” Dean cuts in. “Whatever the hell is going on, it’s happening to us now. I can’t get a hold of Bobby, so if you’re not thinking answers, don’t think at all.”
Bobby’s houseThe boys head in with shotguns, calling Bobby’s name. They go through the house, and find the iron bar Bobby was holding. Dean motions up the stairs –“I’ll go, you check outside.” The boys split up.
Outside, Sam walks among all the cars in the junkyard, calling Bobby. Meanwhile in the back of a car, high up on a stack of old cars, the two little girls are holding Bobby captive, one has a hand over his mouth.
Upstairs, Dean calls Bobby. A door nearby shuts, and then another one at the end of the hall opens. Dean edges forward. “Come out come out, whoever you are,” he says. Suddenly, behind him, someone appears. “Dean Winchester,” she says. “Still so bossy.” Dean turns around. “You don’t recognize me?” she says. Dean suddenly remembers - Meg. “This is what I looked like before that demon cut off my hair and dressed me like a slut,” she says. “Meg?” Dean says. “Hi,” she says with a grin. She starts to move forward, and Dean aims the gun at her, but she holds up her hands. “It’s okay. I’m not a demon.” “You’re the girl the demon possessed,” Dean says. “Meg Masters,” she says. “Nice to finally talk to you when I’m not –you know – choking. On my own blood.” She starts forward again. “It’s okay. Seriously. I’m just a college girl. Sorry – was. I was walking home one night and got jumped, by all this smoke. Next thing you know I’m a prisoner. In here.” She points to her head. “Now I was awake – I had to watch, while she murdered people.” “I’m sorry,” Dean says quietly. “Oh yeah? So sorry you had me thrown off a building?” she says. “Well we thought…” Dean begins. “No you didn’t think,” she yells. “I kept waiting, praying! I was trapped in there, screaming at you, just help me, please! You’re supposed to help people, Dean, why didn’t you help me?” “I’m sorry,” Dean says again. “Stop saying you’re sorry!” she yells, hitting him and knocking him onto the floor. “Meg – Meg…” he tries to say, but she kicks him. “We didn’t know!” he says. “No,” she says. “You just attacked. Did you ever think there was a girl in here? No. You just charged in, slashing and burning. You think you’re some kind of hero?” Dean looks at her. “No, I don’t.” She grabs his jacket. “Damn right.” He looks down at her hand and sees a strange mark on it. “Do you have any idea what it’s like – to be ridden for months by pure evil?” she goes on. “While your family has no idea what happened to you?” “We did the best we could,” Dean says, and she shoves him violently away, and continues to kick him.
Outside in the car, the two little girls continue to keep Bobby captive. “Are you scared, Bobby? We were scared, Bobby. When the monster came for us. And grabbed us tight. We couldn’t even scream. You were right there, Bobby. You were in the house – you were so close.”
Meanwhile Sam is still looking. He notices his breath in the air, and searches frantically through cars, pulling open trunks and looking inside, but nothing.
“You could’ve saved us, Bobby,” one of the little girls goes on. “You walked right past that door. The monster had us. And you didn’t find us. And now they won’t find you.”
Inside, Meg is continuing. “It wasn’t just me, Dean,” she says as he tries to pick himself up off the floor. “I had a sister. A little sister. She worshipped me. You know how little siblings are, right? How they’ll do anything for you? She was never the same after I disappeared. She just… she just got lost. And when my body was lying in the morgue – beat up, broken – do you know what that did to her?” She savagely kicks Dean again. “She killed herself! Because of you, Dean! Because all you were thinking about was your family! Your revenge and your demons! Fifty words of Latin a little sooner and I’d still be alive. My baby sister would still be alive. That blood is on your hands, Dean!” “You’re right,” Dean says, but she attacks him again anyway.
Outside, Sam finally finds the right car, and climbs up, trying to pry the door open, but the little girls throw him backwards, down onto a car windshield. He quickly hits one of them with the iron bar, and Bobby takes care of the next one.
Inside, Dean crawls through the house with Meg following him. He finally manages to get a gun out of his jacket, and rolls over to aim it at her. “Come on, Dean,” she says, smiling. “Did your brain get french-fried in Hell? You can’t shoot me with bullets.” “I’m not shooting you,” he says, and shoots an iron chandelier that is hanging on the ceiling, it drops down right on top of her, and she disappears.
“So they’re all people we know?” Sam says, once they are all back together again in Bobby’s house. “Not just know – that we couldn’t save,” Dean replies from the couch, where he is loading guns. “Hey, I saw something on Meg. Did she have a tattoo when she was alive?” “I don’t think so,” Sam says. “It was like a mark, on her hand. Almost like a brand,” Dean says. “I saw a mark too, on Henriksen,” Sam realizes. “What did it look like?” Bobby asks, and Sam draws a picture on some paper. “I may have seen this before,” Bobby says. “We gotta move. Follow me.” He hands the boys a ton of books. “Where are we going?” Sam asks. “Someplace safe, you idjit,”Bobby replies.
He takes the boys to his basement, and opens a big door. Dean and Sam exchange glances, then walk inside. On the ceiling there is a fan, in a pentagram shape. Bobby turns on the lights, and they see that there is a Devil’s trap on the floor, and weapons all over the walls. There is also beds. Sam touches the walls. “Is this…?” “Solid iron. Completely coated with salt,” Bobby replies. “One hundred percent ghost proof.” “You built a panic room?” Sam says with a grin. “I had a weekend off,” Bobby says. “Bobby,” says Dean. “You’re awesome.” He laughs and then looks at the wall. “Oh.” They all look. There is a poster of Bo Derek on the wall.
The boys are loading shotgun shells full of rock salt when Dean looks at Sam. “See, this is why I can’t get behind God. If he doesn’t exist, fine. Bad crap happens to good people. That’s how it is. No rhyme or reason, just random, horrible evil, I get it. I can roll with that. But if he is out there? What’s wrong with him? Where the hell is he while all these decent people are getting torn to shreds? How does he live with himself, you know? Why doesn’t he help.” The boys look at Bobby. “I ain’t touchin’ this one with a ten foot pole,” Bobby says firmly. “Yeah…” Dean says. “Found it,” Bobby says, changing the subject. “The symbol you saw – brand on the ghosts? Mark of the Witness.” “Witness – witness to what?” Sam asks. “The unnatural. None of them died what you’d call ordinary deaths. See, these ghosts – they were forced to rise. They woke up in agony. They’re like rabid dogs – it ain’t their fault. Someone rose ‘em. On purpose.” “Who?” Sam asks. “Do I look like I know?” Bobby says. “But whoever it was, they used a spell so powerful it left a mark. A brand on their souls. Whoever did this had big plans. It’s called the “Rising of the Witnesses”. It figures into an ancient prophecy.” “Wait wait – what book is that prophecy from?” Dean asks, walking over to join Bobby and Sam. “Well the widely distributed version’s just for tourists, you know. But, long story short – Revelations. This is a sign, boys.” “A sign of what?” the boys ask in unison. “The apocalypse,” Bobby replies. “The apocalypse?” Dean says. “Yep,” Bobby replies. “As in apocalypse apocalypse?” Dean says. “As in the four horsemen, pestilence, five-dollar-a-gallon-of-gas apocalpyse?” “That’s the one,” Bobby says. “The Rise of the Witnesses is a mile marker.” “Okay so what do we do now?” Sam asks. “Road trip,” Dean says. “Grand Canyon, Star Trek Experience… Bunny Ranch.” “First things first,” Bobby says. “How about we survive our friends out there.” “Great – any ideas except for staying in this room until Judgement Day?” Dean asks. “It’s a spell,” Bobby says. “To send the Witnesses back to rest. Should work.” “Should?” Sam asks with an unamused laugh. “Great.” “If I can translate it correctly. I think I’ve got everything we need here at the house.” “Any chance you’ve got everything we need here in this room?” Dean asks hopefully. “So you thought our luck was going to start now, all of a sudden?” Bobby replies sarcastically. “Spell’s gotta be cast over an open fire.” “The fireplace in the library,” Sam realizes. “Bingo,” Bobby says. “This is not as appealing as a… ghost-proof panic room,” Dean says. “You know?” Sam sighs.
As they load guns and get ready, Bobby says “Cover each other. Aim careful. Don’t run out of ammo until I’m done, or they’ll shred ya. Ready?” He opens the door leading out of the panic room. They edge out, guns at the ready, when suddenly they see someone sitting at the top of the stairs. “Hey Dean,” he says. It’s Ronald Resnik, from the bank. “Remember me?” “Ronald! With the uh – laser eyes!” Dean says with a grin. “Wish I could say it’s good to see you.” “I am dead because of you,” Ronald says, standing up. “You were supposed to help me!” A shotgun goes off and Ronald disappears, the boys both turn to look at Bobby. “You gotta shoot, shoot,” he says. “Don’t talk.”
They hurry to the library, where they begin setting up the books and salt lines, and start a fire. “Upstairs, linen closet,” Bobby says to Sam. “Red hex box. It’ll be heavy.” Sam takes off to get it. The two little girls reappear, and begin to talk to Bobby, but Dean shoots them and they’re gone. “Kitchen. Cutlery drawer. It’s got a false bottom,” Bobby says to Dean. “Gimlock – Opium, Wormwood.” “Opium?” Dean says incredulously. “Go!” Bobby says and Dean goes. “Bobby?” The two little girls are back. “You walked right by us,” they begin. “While that monster ate us all up. You could’ve saved us.”
Upstairs, Sam looks for the linen closet. He finally finds it and grabs the red hex box, only to have Meg appear behind him. “You know what really pisses me off, Sam,” she says. “You saw how I suffered for months. I thought you must have learned something. I thought I’d died for something.” “Meg…” Sam begins. “But what you’re doing with that demon, Ruby? How many innocent bodies has Ruby burned through for kicks? How many girls just like me? And you don’t send her back to Hell? You’re a monster!” Sam pauses for a moment, and then shoots her.
In the kitchen, Dean quickly goes through the cutlery drawer. Suddenly the doors to the kitchen close. “Dean?” Bobby yells. “I’m alright Bobby, keep working!” Dean hollers back. He continues to grab stuff from the drawer when suddenly Henriksen appears. “Victor,” Dean says. “Dean.” “I know,” Dean says. “No you don’t,” Victor says. “It’s my fault you’re dead,” Dean replies. “I left you behind. The minute I heard about that explosion I thought… I should’ve known. I should’ve protected you.” He tries to grab the shotgun behind him but it suddenly flies off the counter onto the floor and out of reach. “Uh uh. Not so fast,” Victor says. “You think you left and Lillith came and we all died in a beautiful blast of… white light? If only. Forty-five minutes. Overy forty-five minutes. Lillith said she wanted to have some fun. The secretary was first, remember her? Nancy? The virgin? Lillith filleted Nancy’s skin off piece by piece. Right in front of us… Nancy never stopped screaming. I was the last.” “Victor…” Dean begins but Victor grabs him, puts his hand on his chest. “Tell me how that’s fair. You get saved from Hell, I die?” Dean is in too much pain to answer. “Why do you deserve another chance, Dean?” Suddenly Victor turns and sees a shotgun to the side of his head, and then he’s shot. Sam drops the gun and runs over to Dean, who’s on the floor. “You alright?” “No!” Dean replies irritably, and Sam helps him up.
They join Bobby again, and then Ronald appears in front of Dean. “Come on man, I thought we were pals,” Dean says. “That’s when I was breathing,” Ronald replies. “Now I’m gonna eat you alive.” “Yeah well… I’m not a cheeseburger,” Dean says, lifting the gun, but Ronald’s gone. Bobby begins speaking in Latin, and the windows blow open, the salt begins to get blown away and Bobby frantically grabs the spell page. The spirits start appearing again, and Dean and Sam shoot at them as quickly as they can, until they run out of ammo, then they go for the iron bars. Suddenly Sam is crushed behind a dresser, and the ghosts hold it against him so he can’t move. “Sam?” Dean yells. “Cover Bobby!” Sam orders. Bobby is about to finish the spell when suddenly the Meg appears behind him, her hand on his back, and he starts yelling in pain. He drops the bowl of herbs and yells for Dean to catch it. Dean does, and “Fireplace!” Bobby yells, and Dean throws it into the fire. The fire turns blue, and immediately there is a huge blast of light, and the ghosts are gone. The boys hurry over to Bobby, but he’s fine.
Later that night, Sam and Dean are asleep, Sam on the couch and Dean on a mattress on the floor. Dean suddenly wakes up, and rolls over. There is a dark shape standing by the window. Dean walks over, and sees that it is Castiel. “Excellent job with the Witnesses,” Castiel says. He says that he was made aware of what happened. “Well thanks a lot for the angelic assistance,” Dean says sarcastically. “You know I almost got my heart ripped out of my chest!” “But you didn’t,” Castiel says calmly. “I thought angels were supposed to be guardians,” Dean says. “Fluffy wings, halos… you know. Michael Landen. Not dicks.” “Read the Bible,” Castiel says calmly. “Angels are warriors of God. I’m a soldier.” “Yeah then why didn’t you fight?” Dean asks. “I’m not here to perch on your shoulder,” Castiel says. “We had larger concerns.” “Concerns?” Dean says. “There were people getting torn to shreds down here! And by the way, while all this is going on where the hell is your boss, huh? If there is a God.” “There’s a God,” Castiel says firmly. “I’m not convinced,” Dean replies. “Cause if there’s a God then what the hell is he waiting for? Genocide? Monsters roaming the earth? The freakin apocalypse? At what point does he lift a damn finger and help the poor bastards that are stuck down here?” “The Lord works…” begins Castiel, but Dean interrupts. “If you say mysterious ways I swear I will kick your ass.” Castiel is silent. Dean looks a little surprised. “So Bobby was right. About the Witnesses. This is some kind of sign of the apocalypse?” “That’s why we’re here,” Castiel replies. “Big things afoot.” “Do I wanna know what things?” Dean asks. “I sincerely doubt it. But you need to know,” Castiel replies. “The Rising of the Witnesses is one of the sixty-six seals.” “I’m guessing that’s not a show at Sea World,” Dean says. “Those seals are being broken by Lillith,” Castiel goes on. “She did the spell,” Dean realizes. “She rose the Witnesses.” Castiel nods. “And not just here. Twenty other hunters are dead.” “Of course. She picked victims that the hunters couldn’t save, so they would barrel right after us,” Dean says. “Lillith has a certain sense of humour,” Castiel replies. “Well we put those spirits back to rest,” Dean says. “It doesn’t matter, the seal was broken,” Castiel says. Dean asks why she would break it, and Castiel says “Think of the seals as locks on a door.” “Okay – last one opens and?” Dean asks. Castiel turns to look at him. “Lucifer walks free.” Dean stares at him for a moment. “Lucifer. I thought Lucifer was just a story they told at Demon Sunday School. There’s no such thing.” “Three days ago you thought there was no such thing as me,” Castiel replies. “Why do you think we’re here, walking among you now, for the first time in two thousand years?” “To stop Lucifer,” Dean realizes. “It’s why we’ve arrived,” Castiel says. “Well. Bang up job so far,” Dean says. “Stellar work with the Witnesses. It was nice.” “We tried,” Castiel says calmly. “There are other battles. Other seals. Some we’ll win, some we’ll lose. This one, we lost. Our numbers are not unlimited.” He walks closer to Dean. “Six of my brothers died in the field this week. You think the armies of Heaven should just follow your around? There’s a bigger picture here.” He leans even closer to Dean, and Dean begins to look uncomfortable, pulling back. “You should show me some respect,” Castiel goes on. “I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in.” And then suddenly he’s gone.
Dean wakes up suddenly with a gasp. He looks at the window and sees Sam walking towards him. Dean sits up, and Sam sits down on the couch, pulling on his shirt. He looks at Dean, who is looking pale and uneasy. “You alright?” he asks. “What’s wrong, Dean?” “So, you got no problem believing in God, or angels?” Dean says, looking at him. “No, not really,” Sam replies. “So I guess that means that you believe in the Devil,” Dean says. “Why you asking me all this?” Sam asks, looking at him weird. Dean doesn’t reply, he just looks at him, shaken.
Synopsis by Deanandhisimpala
We hear harsh breathing, and then a lighter is lit. Dean is in a pine box. He calls for help, but his throat is dry from no use and his voice is raspy and quiet. He looks around as best as he can, and finally breaks the top of the coffin.
Outside, in front of a wooden cross in the ground, Dean’s hands break through the surface. He pulls himself out of the ground and slowly stands up, looking around. Everything around him is flat, like a bomb has hit the area.
Dean is walking down the road, shirt tied around his waist. He finds a gas station, and calls “Hello?” but no one answers. Finally he breaks the window on the door, and lets himself in. Once inside he grabs a water bottle and drinks it to finally soothe his dry throat. Inside, he finds a newspaper, and finds out that the month is September. He goes to a sink in the back and washes his face, then slowly pulls up his t-shirt to look at his body. He suddenly has a flash of something clawing his stomach while he was in Hell, but there is no mark on his skin. Looking confused, he drops his shirt back down and then slowly lifts one of his sleeves – there is a red handprint, like a burn, on his left shoulder.
He goes through the rest of the store, grabbing chocolate bars and water. He also grabs a quick Skin magazine, smiling to himself. While he’s getting money from the cash register, suddenly the TV turns on, but there’s only white noise. He turns it off, and the radio starts playing, then the TV turns on again. Dean quickly grabs a can of salt and begins to spread it on the windowsills, but then he hears a loud ringing sound, and it keeps getting louder until he can’t take it anymore and has to cover his ears. The windows smash in the gas station, and Dean is now on the floor. Just a suddenly, the ringing stops, and Dean slowly stands up.
Outside in the phone booth he tries to call Sam, but is told the number is not in order. He then tries Bobby, and Bobby picks up. “Yeah?” he says. “Bobby? It’s me,” Dean says. “Who’s me?” Bobby asks. “Dean,” Dean replies, only to have Bobby hang up on him. He calls back, and Bobby says “Who is this?” “Bobby listen to me,” Dean begins, but Bobby cuts in with “This ain’t funny. Call me again and I’ll kill you.” He hangs up. Dean hangs up too, and sees an old car outside. He hotwires it, and drives off.
Someone knocks on the door, and Bobby opens it up to see Dean standing outside. “Surprised?” he says. “I don’t…” Bobby begins, backing up. “Yeah, me neither,” Dean replies, coming inside. “But here I am.” Bobby suddenly attacks him with a knife, but Dean fights him off. Bobby then hits him in the face, and Dean is thrown backwards. “Bobby, Bobby it’s me!” he says desperately, putting a chair in between them. “My ass,” Bobby replies, coming at him again. “Wait! Your name is Robert Steven Singer, you became a hunter after your wife got possessed, you’re about the closest thing I have to a father!” Dean says quickly. Bobby pauses. “Bobby… it’s me,” Dean says again. Bobby slowly comes forward and touches him on the shoulder, but then raises the knife again. Dean blocks it and holds his arm. “I’m not a shapeshifter!” he says. “Then you’re a revenant!” Bobby argues, fighting back. Dean shoves him off, and he has the knife now. “Alright, if I was either, could I do this with a silver knife?” Dean asks, and cuts his arm. Bobby stares. “Dean?” he says in shock. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Dean replies. Bobby comes forward and hugs him, and Dean hugs him back. “It’s good to see you, boy,” Bobby says, smiling at him as he pulls back. “Yeah you too,” Dean says. “But… how did you bust out?” Bobby asks. “I dunno,” Dean replies, “I just – I just woke up in a pine box…” He is suddenly splashed in the face with holy water. “I’m not a demon either, you know,” he says. “Sorry,” Bobby replies, lowering his holy water flask. “Can’t be too careful.”
Bobby and Dean are walking through the house. “That don’t make a lick of sense,” Bobby says. “Dean, your chest was ravaged. Your insides were slop. And you’ve been buried four months! Even if you could slip out of Hell and back into your meat suit…” “I know,” Dean interrupts, drying off his face with a towel. “I should look like a Thriller video reject.” Bobby asks him what he remembers, and Dean replies “Not much. I remember I was a hellhound’s chew toy. Then… lights out. Then I come to, six feet under. That’s it.” Bobby sits down. “Sam’s number’s not working, he’s not picking up,” Dean begins. “Ah, he’s alive, as far as I know,” Bobby says. “Good,” Dean says, looking relieved, but then he stops. “What do you mean, as faras you know?” “I haven’t talked to him for months,” Bobby admits. “You’re kidding, you just let him go off by himself?” Dean looks shocked. “He was dead-set on it,” Bobby replies, standing up again. “Bobby, you should’ve been looking after him,” Dean says. “I tried,” Bobby says. “These last months haven’t been exactly easy you know, for him or me. We had to bury you.” “Why did you bury me, anyway?” Dean asks. “I wanted you salted and burned, usual drill,” Bobby begins. “But Sam wouldn’t have it.” “Well I’m glad he won that one,” Dean says. “He said you’d need a body when he got you back home somehow,” Bobby goes on. “That’s about all he said.” “What do you mean?” Dean asks. “He was quiet. Real quiet. Then… he just took off,” Bobby tells him. “Wouldn’t return my calls… I tried to find him, but… he don’t want to be found.” “Aw, dammit, Sammy,” Dean rubs his head, frustrated. “What?” Bobby asks. “Oh, he got me home okay,” Dean replies. “But whatever he did, it is bad mojo.” “What makes you so sure?” “You should’ve seen the gravesite. It was like a nuke went off. And then there was this force, this presence… it blew me past me at a fill-up joint. And then this.” He pulls up his shirt sleeve and shows Bobby the hand print. “What in hell?” Bobby says, shocked. “It looks like a demon just yanked me out. Or rode me out,” Dean says. “But why?” Bobby wonders. “To hold up their end of the bargain,” Dean says, looking upset. “You think Sam made a deal?” Bobby asks. “It’s what I would’ve done,” Dean says quietly.
Later, Dean calls the cellphone company and gets them to turn on the GPS on Sam’s cellphone, then goes to the website. “Hey Bobby?” he says, picking up an empty liquor bottle. “What did you do at the liquor store? Your parents out of town or something?” “Like I said,” Bobby says. “Last few months… ain’t been all that easy.” Dean turns back to the computer, and looks at the screen. “Sam’s in Pontaic, Illinois,” he says. “Right where you were planted!” Bobby realizes. “Right where I popped up – a hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?” Dean says.
Motel, Pontiac, Illinois
Dean and Bobby go to Sam’s door and knock, and it’s opened by a girl. They stare at each other. “So where is it?” she asks. “Where’s what?” Dean asks. “The pizza? That takes two guys to deliver?” she says sarcastically. “I think we got the wrong room,” Dean says, starting to back away, when suddenly Sam appears behind the girl. “Is…” he begins, then stops in shock. The two boys stare at each other. “Heya, Sammy,” Dean says, smiling. He starts forward, only to have Sam attack him with a knife. Bobby yanks Sam off, and Sam yells “Who are you?” “Like you didn’t do this?” Dean yells back. “Do what?” Sam replies. “It’s him, it’s him, Sam,” Bobby says, holding Sam back. “I’ve been through this already, it’s really him.” “What…” Sam begins, staring. “I know,” Dean says with a little smile. “I look fantastic, huh?” Sam suddenly pulls him into a hug, and Dean hugs him back. When they finally pull back, the girl asks, “So are you two like… together?” “What?” Sam says, staring at her. “Oh no… no. He’s my brother.” “Oh… got it, I guess…” she says. “I should… probably go.” “Yeah, yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Sorry,” Sam says.
She walks out of the room – “So call me,” she says, turning back. “Yeah… yeah,” Sam says, leaning on the door. “Sure thing, Kathy.” “Kristy,” she says, looking crushed. “Right,” Sam says, looking awkward. She walks away. Sam goes back into the room and sits on the bed. “So tell me, what did it cost?” Dean asks, as he and Bobby stare at Sam. “The girl?” Sam says, with a smirk. “I don’t pay, Dean.” “That’s not funny, Sam. To bring me back,” Dean says. “What did it cost? Was it just your soul, or something worse?” “You think I made a deal?” Sam asks. “That’s exactly what we think,” Bobby puts in. “Well I didn’t,” Sam replies. “Don’t lie to me,” Dean says, staring at Sam. “I’m not lying,” Sam says, putting on his shoes. “So what now, I’m off the hook and you’re on? Is that it?” Dean asks, moving closer. “You’re some demon’s bitch boy? I didn’t want to be saved like this.” Sam stands up, looking upset. “Dean I wish I had done it, alright?” Dean grabs the front of his shirt. “There’s no other way this could’ve gone down. Now tell the truth!” “I tried everything, that’s the truth!” Sam says, pushing Dean off of him. “I tried opening the Devil’s Gate, hell I tried to bargain, Dean, but no demon would deal, alright? You were rotting in Hell for months. For months, and I couldn’t stop it. So I’m sorry it wasn’t me, alright? Dean, I’m sorry.” “It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean replies, looking shocked. “You don’t have to apologize, I believe you.” There’s silence for a minute, and then Bobby says “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that Sam’s soul is still intact, but it does raise a sticky question.” “If he didn’t pull me out, then what did?” Dean says, voicing all their thoughts.
Sam hands them all beer bottles as they sit down. “So what were you doing around here, if you weren’t digging me out of my grave?”Dean asks. “Well once I figured out I couldn’t save you, I started hunting down Lillith,” Sam explains. “Trying to get some payback.” “All by yourself,” Bobby says. “Who do you think you are, your old man?” “Uh… I’m sorry Bobby, I should’ve called. I was pretty messed up,” Sam replies. Dean gets up and holds up a girl’s bra. “Oh yeah. I really feel your pain.” “Anyways,” Sam says, looking awkward, “I was checking these demons out in Tennessee, and out of nowhere they took a hard left, booked up here.” “When?” Dean asks. “Yesterday morning,” Sam replies, taking a drink of beer. “When I busted out,” Dean says, looking at Bobby. “You think these demons are ‘cause of you?” Bobby asks. “Why?” Sam wonders. “Well I don’t know, some bad ass demon drags me out, and now this? It’s gotta be connected somehow,” Dean says. “How you feeling, anyway?” Bobby asks, looking at Dean. “I feel a little hungry,” Dean admits. “No, I mean… do you feel like yourself,” Bobby corrects. “Anything strange, or different?” “Or demonic?” Dean says. “Bobby, how many times do I have to prove I’m me?” “Yeah well listen – no demon’s letting you loose out of the goodness of their heart,” Bobby says firmly. “So they gotta have something nasty planned.” “I feel fine,” Dean says. “Look we don’t know what they’re planning. But we’ve got a pile of questions, and no shovel,” Sam puts in. “We need help.” “I know a psychic. Few hours from here,” Bobby says. “Something this big? Maybe she’s heard the other side talking.” “Well yeah it’s worth a shot,” Dean says, looking hopeful. Bobby stands up. “Be right back.” Dean stands up too, but Sam stops him. “Hey wait. You probably want this back.” He removes Dean’s amulet from around his neck and hands it to him. Dean looks at it in his hand for a moment, then says “Thanks.” “Don’t mention it,” Sam says. As Dean puts it on, Sam asks “Hey Dean, what was it like?” “What, Hell?” Dean says. “I dunno. I – I must’ve blacked it out. I don’t remember a damn thing.” Sam smiles. “Thank God for that.” “Yeah,” Dean agrees.
In the bathroom, he stares at himself in the mirror, and suddenly gets flashes of Hell again, himself screaming and everything red.
As they leave the motel, Bobby says “She’s about four hours down the interstate. Try to keep up.” He gets in his car. Sam and Dean head for the Impala. “I assume you’ll wanna drive?” Sam says, tossing Dean the keys. “Ohhh I almost forgot! Hey sweetheart, you miss me?” Dean says, stroking the car on his way by. He gets in, looking thrilled, then suddenly stares at something in front of him. An iPod is attached to the radio. “What the hell is that?” he says to Sam. “That’s an iPod jack,” Sam says, smiling a little. “You were supposed to take care of her, not douche her up,” Dean says angrily. “Dean, I thought it was my car,” Sam replies. Dean stares at him, then turns on the car only to hear soft rock music. “Really?” he says, staring at Sam. Sam shrugs awkwardly. Dean yanks the iPod off and throws it in the back seat, looking murderous.
On the road, Dean says “There’s still one thing that’s bothering me. The night that I bit it – or got bit – how did you make it out? I thought Lillith was gonna kill you.” “Well she tried. She couldn’t,” Sam replies. “She fired this like… burning light at me, and it didn’t give me a scratch. Like I was immune or something.” “Immune?” Dean repeats. “Yeah. I dunno who was more surprised, her or me,” Sam goes on. “She left pretty fast after that.” “Huh,” Dean says. “What about Ruby? Where’s she?” “Dead, for now,” Sam replies. “So… you been using your freaky ESP stuff?” Dean asks. “No,” Sam says. “Sure about that?” Dean says, looking disbelieving. “Now that you’ve got immunity, whatever the hell that is… just wondering what other weirdo crack you got going on.” “Nothing, Dean you didn’t want me to go down that road, so I didn’t go down that road. I mean it was practically you’re dying wish,” Sam replies firmly. “Well let’s keep it that way,” Dean says.
Pamela opens the door, and hugs Bobby, looking very pleased and lifting him right off his feet. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Bobby says, grinning. She smiles and looks at the boys. “So, these the boys?” “Sam, Dean, this is Pamela Barnes. Best damn psychic in the state,” Bobby introduces them. She looks them up and down and smiles. “Dean Winchester. Out of the fire and back into the frying pan, huh? Makes you a rare individual.” “If you say so,” Dean says. “Come on in,” she says, letting them walk past her. “So, you hear anything?” Bobby asks. “Well, I ouijied my way through a dozen spirits, no one seems to know who broke your boy out, or why,” she says. “So what’s next?” Bobby asks. “Well, a séance I think,” she replies. “See if we can see who did the deed.” “You’re not gonna summon the damn thing here,” Bobby says. “No, I just wanna get a sneek peek at it. Like a crystal ball without the crystal,” she says, smiling. “I’m game,” Dean says.
As Pamela walks around, setting stuff up, she kneels down and Dean sees a tattoo on her lower back that says “Jesse forever”. He nudges Sam to look, then says “Who’s Jesse?” She laughs. “Well it wasn’t forever.” “His loss,” Dean replies. “Might be your gain,” she says, smiling at him and walking by. Dean looks at Sam happily. “Dude, I am so in,” he says. “Yeah she’ll eat you alive,” Sam says. “Hey, I just got outta jail. Bring it!” Dean whispers. Pamela walks by again. “You’re invited too, grumpy,” she says to Sam. As soon as she’s gone Dean points at Sam. “You are not invited.”
When everything is ready, they sit around the table. “Alright,” Pamela says. “Take each other’s hands… and I need to touch something our mystery monster touched,” she says to Dean. “Whoa!” Dean says, jumping. “It didn’t touch me there!” She laughs. “My mistake.” Dean looks at Bobby and Sam, unsure, and then shrugs out of his shirt on one side and pulls up the sleeve so she can touch the red hand mark. “Okay,” she says, closing her eyes. “I invoke, conjure and command you. Appear unto me before this circle.” She continues to chant it. As she chants, the TV behind her turns on. Suddenly she stops. “Castiel? No, Castiel I don’t scare easy.” “Castiel?”Dean says. “It’s name. It’s whispering to me, warning me to turn back,” Pamela replies without opening her eyes. “I conjure and command you, show me your face,” she goes on, and the table begins to shake. “Maybe we should stop,” Bobby says. “I’ve almost got it,” she says, and continues to chant. Suddenly the candle flames shoot up high, and Pamela begins to scream. Her eyes are a burning white, and blood begins to flow down her face. The light disappers, and she collapses. “Call 911!” Bobby yells, and Sam runs off to do so. Dean crouches down beside Bobby and Pamela. Her eyes are black and bloody. “I can’t see!” she cries. “I can’t see!”
The waitress is just leaving from taking Dean’s order, and Sam comes over. “What did Bobby say?” Dean asks. “Pam’s stable,” Sam says. “And out of ICU.” “And blind, because of us,” Dean says. “We still have no clue what we’re dealing with,” Sam says. “That’s not entirely true,” Dean replies. “We’ve got a name, Castiel or whatever – with the right mumbo jumbo we can summon him, bring him back to us.” “You’re crazy, absolutely not,” Sam says. “We’ll work him over, I mean after what he did?” Dean argues. “Pam took a peek at him, and her eyes burned out of her skull. And you wanna have a face to face…” Sam begins. “You got a better idea?” Dean asks. “Yeah, as a matter of fact I do. I followed some demons to town, right? So we go find them. Someone’s gotta know something about something.” The waitress comes back and gives them their food, then she sits down. The boys stare at her. “You angling for a tip?” Dean asks. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Thought you were looking for us.” Her eyes turn black. The other customers stand up, their eyes are black too. A big guy goes over and stands in front of the door so they can’t leave. The waitress looks at Dean. “Dean. To Hell and back. Aren’t you a lucky duck.” “That’s me,” Dean says flatly. “So you get to just stroll out of the pit, huh? Tell me – what makes you so special?” “I like to think it’s because of my perky nipples,” Dean says with a smile. “I don’t know. It wasn’t my doing, I dunno who pulled me out.” “Right. You don’t.” The waitress looks disbelieving. “No, I don’t,” Dean says angrily. “Lying’s a sin, you know,” she says. Dean stares at her. “I’m not lying.” She looks at Sam, and Sam glares at her. “But I’d like to know, so if you wouldn’t mind enlightening me, Flo,” Dean says. “Mind your tongue with me, boy,” she says, looking back at him. “I’ll drag you back to Hell myself.” Sam starts to make a move, but Dean holds up his hand. “No you won’t,” he says. “No?” she says. “No. Cause if you were you’d have done it already,” Dean goes on. “Fact is, you don’t know who cut me loose. And you’re just as spooked as we are. And you’re looking for answers. Maybe it was some turbo-charged spirit. Or… Godzilla. Or some big boss demon. But I’m guessing at your paygrade they don’t tell you squat. Cause whoever it was, they want me out. And they’re a lot stronger than you. So go ahead, send me back. But don’t come crawling to me when they show up on your doorstep with vaseline and a fire hose.” “I’m gonna reach down your throat and rip out your lungs,” she says, glaring at him. Dean leans close to her, and then he slaps her across the face, twice. She just sits there. “That’s what I thought,” Dean says. “Let’s go, Sam.” They stand up, and Dean pulls out a bill and gives it to her. “For the pie,” he says.
As they leave the diner, Dean says “Holy crap that was close!” He says that there’s three of them probably more, and they only have one knife between them. “I’ve been killing a lot more demons than that lately,” Sam says. “Not anymore, the smarter brother’s back in town,” Dean says. “Dean, we’ve gotta take them. They are dangerous,” Sam argues. “They’re scared,” Dean replies. “Okay? Scared of whatever had the juice to yank me out. We’re dealing with a bad mofo here, one job at a time.”
Back at the motel, Dean is asleep on one of the beds with a book in his lap. Sam eases out of the room quietly, and takes the Impala.
Back in the motel, as Dean is sleeping, the television turns on, then the radio. Dean wakes up, and stares around for a second before lunging for his shotgun at the side of the bed. He can’t see anything, but he aims at the door until the ringing starts again, and he’s forced to cover his ears. The windows start to shatter, and as Dean tries to stay out of the way of them the mirror above the bed breaks. Dean is laying on the ground holding his ears, which are bleeding, until suddenly Bobby breaks into the room, yelling his name.
On the road
Bobby is driving, Dean is in the passenger seat. “How you doing, kid?” Bobby asks, as Dean is wiping blood off the side of his neck. “Aside from the church bells ringing in my head,” Dean says. “Just peachy.” He calls Sam’s cellphone.
“Hey,” Sam says, picking up. “What are you doing?” Dean asks. “Couldn’t sleep, went to get a burger,” Sam says. He’s sitting in the Impala. “In my car?” Dean says irritably. “Force of habit, sorry,” Sam says. “What are you doing?” “Well, Bobby’s back,” Dean begins, “and we’re going to grab a beer.” Bobby gives him a look, but Dean holds up his hand. “Alright well, spill some for me, huh?” Sam says. “Done,” Dean replies. “I’ll catch you later.” They hang up. Sam looks out the window, he is sitting in front of the diner they were in earlier.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell him?” Bobby asks. “Cause he’d just try to stop us,” Dean says. “From what?” Bobby asks. “Summoning this thing,” Dean says. “It’s time we face it head on.” “You can’t be serious,” Bobby begins. “As a heart attack,” Dean replies. “That’s how I do it, baby.” “We don’t know what it is! It could be a demon, it could be anything,” Bobby says. “That’s why we gotta be ready for anything,” Dean says, pulling out the knife. “We got the big-time magic knife. You got an arsenal in the trunk.” “This is a bad idea,” Bobby says. “I couldn’t agree more, but what other choice do we have?” Dean asks. “We could choose life,” Bobby replies. “Bobby, whatever this is, whatever it wants, it’s after me, that much we know, right?” Dean says. “I can either get caught with my pants down again, or we can make our stand.” “Dean,” Bobby says, “We could use Sam for this.” “He’s better off where he is,” Dean replies.
Sam carefully gets into the diner, it’s all dark except for a few light up signs. He goes in a little further and sees a man laying on the ground, and at closer glance he has bloody hands. Sam carefully rolls him over and sees that his eyes are all bloody and black. Suddenly, someone jumps on Sam. They fight for a bit until Sam finally gets the upperhand, and he pushes them off. It’s the female demon from earlier, and her eyes are all bloody. “Your eyes,” Sam says. “I can still smell your soul a mile away,” she says coldly. “He was here,” Sam says. “You saw it.” “I saw it,” she says, nodding. “What was it?” Sam asks. “It’s the end,” she sobs. “We’re dead. We’re all dead.” “What did you see?” Sam asks. “Go to Hell,” she says. “Funny,” Sam says. “I was gonna say the same thing to you.” He holds out his hand, and without saying anything, the demon slowly begins to come out of her mouth – but not like an exorcism, it’s coming out slowly and pooling on the ground at her feet. She falls to the ground, and the demon disappears. Sam walks over to the girl and feels for a pulse, but there isn’t one. “Dammit,” he says quietly. He hears something, and looks up, to see the girl from earlier –Kristy – walk into the diner. “Getting pretty slick there, Sam. Better all the time,” she says. “What the hell’s going on around here, Ruby?” Sam asks. “I wish I knew,” she says. “We were thinking some high-level demon pulled Dean out?” Sam suggests. “No way,” she says. “Human souls don’t just walk out of Hell and back into their bodies easy. This guy bleeds –the ground quakes – it’s cosmic. No demon can swing that. Not Lillith. Not anybody.” “Then what can?” Sam asks. “Nothing I’ve ever seen before,” she says.
In an old barn
Dean and Bobby are preparing the summoning ritual. “That’s a hell of an art project you got going there,” Dean says, about the symbols Bobby has drawn all over the barn. “Talismans from every faith on the globe,” Bobby replies. “How you doing?” “Stakes, iron, silver, salt, knife,” Dean says, pointing at all the things he has laid out on the table. “We’re pretty much set to kill anything I’ve ever heard of.” “This is still a bad idea,” Bobby says quietly. “Yeah, Bobby, I heard you the first ten times,” Dean says. “Whaddya say we ring the dinner bell?” Bobby begins the ritual, speaking in Latin the summons.
“So. Million dollar question. You gonna tell Dean about what we’re doing?” Ruby asks as her and Sam sit in a booth in the diner. “Yeah, I just gotta figure out the right way to say it,” Sam replies. “Look, I just need time, that’s all.” “Sam, he’s gonna find out, and if it’s not from you, he’s gonna be pissed,” Ruby says. “Oh, he’s gonna be pissed anyway,” Sam says. “He’s so hard-headed about this psychic stuff he’ll just try and stop me.” “Look. Maybe I’ll just take a step back for a while,” she says. “I mean I’m not exactly in your brother’s fan club. But he is your brother. And I’m not gonna come between you.” “I don’t know if what I’m doing is right,” Sam begins. “Hell, I don’t even know if I trust you.” “Thanks,” she says, angrily. “What I do know is that I’m saving people,” Sam keeps going. “And stopping demons. And that feels good. I wanna keep going.”
Bobby is sitting down, swinging his foot, waiting. Dean is playing with the knife impatiently. “You sure you did the ritual right?” he asks. Bobby just looks at him. “Sorry,” Dean says. “Touchy touchy, huh?” At that moment, the roof starts to shake, the shingles banging against the rafters. “Wishful thinking, but maybe it’s just the wind,”Dean says. Suddenly the lights shatter, and the barn door blows open. A man slowly walks in. They fire rock salt at him, but he keeps coming. Dropping the gun, Dean picks up the knife and turns around. “Who are you?” he asks. “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition,” the man answers. “Yeah. Thanks for that,” Dean says, and then stabs the knife into the man’s chest. The man doesn’t even flinch, he just pulls it out and drops it. Bobby comes at him with an iron bar, but he grabs Bobby’s arm, puts his hand over Bobby’s head, and Bobby slowly falls to the ground. “We need to talk, Dean,” he says. “Alone.”
Dean kneels over Bobby’s body, looking scared. “Your friend’s alive,” the man says. “Who are you?” Dean asks. “Castiel,” he replies. “Yeah I figured that much, I mean what are you?” Dean asks, glaring at him. “I’m an angel of the Lord,” Castiel replies, looking at Dean. Dean stands up. “Get the hell outta here. There’s no such thing.” “This is your problem, Dean,” Castiel says, turning to look at him. “You have no faith.” Suddenly light flashes, and Dean can see black wings unfurling from Castiel’s back. But they are only shadows, against the barn wall. When the light is gone, the wings are gone. “Well some angel you are,” Dean says. “You burned out that poor woman’s eyes.” “I warned her not to spy on my true form,” Castiel says, moving forward. “It can be… overwhelming to humans. So can my real voice. You already knew that.” “You mean the gas station and the motel,” Dean realizes. “That was you talking?” Castiel nods, and Dean makes a face. “Buddy, next time lower the volume.” “It was my mistake,” Castiel says. “Certain people – special people – can perceive my true visage, I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong.” “And what visage are you in now?” Dean asks. “What, holy tax accountant?” “This, this is a vessel,” Castiel says, gesturing to his long coat and tie. “You’re possessing some poor bastard?” Dean says incredulously. “He’s a devout man, he actually prayed for this,” Castiel replied. “Look pal, I’m not buying what you’re selling. So who are you really?” Dean asks. “I told you,” he says. “Right. And why would an angel – rescue me from Hell?” Dean asks. “Good things do happen, Dean,” Castiel says, walking closer. “Not in my experience,” Dean says. “What’s the matter?” Castiel says, staring at Dean. “You don’t think you deserve to be saved?” “Why did you do it?” Dean says, ignoring Castiel’s question. “Because God commanded it,” Castiel replies. “Because we have work for you.”
Synopsis by Deanandhisimpala
He was in the first third grade class I taught at Saint Mary's School in Morris, Minn. All 34 of my students were dear to me, but Mark Eklund was one in a million. Very neat in appearance, but had that happy-to-be-alive attitude that made even his occasional mischievousness delightful.
Mark talked incessantly. I had to remind him again and again that talking without permission was not acceptable. What impressed me so much, though, was his sincere response every time I had to correct him for misbehaving. "Thank you for correcting me, Sister!" I didn't know what to make of it at first, but before long I became accustomed to hearing it many times a day.
One morning my patience was growing thin when Mark talked once too often, and then I made a novice-teacher's mistake. I looked at him and said, "If you say one more word, I am going to tape your mouth shut!"
It wasn't ten seconds later when Chuck blurted out, "Mark is talking again." I hadn't asked any of the students to help me watch Mark, but since I had stated the punishment in front of the class, I had to act on it.
I remember the scene as if it had occurred this morning. I walked to my desk, very deliberately opened my drawer and took out a roll of masking tape. Without saying a word, I proceeded to Mark's desk, tore off two pieces of tape and made a big X with them over his mouth. I then returned to the front of the room. As I glanced at Mark to see how he was doing he winked at me. That did it! I started laughing. The class cheered as I walked back to Mark's desk, removed the tape and shrugged my shoulders. His first words were, "Thank you for correcting me, Sister."
At the end of the year I was asked to teach junior-high math. The years flew by, and before I knew it Mark was in my classroom again. He was more handsome than ever and just as polite. Since he had to listen carefully to my instructions in the "new math," he did not talk as much in ninth grade as he had in the third.
One Friday, things just didn't feel right. We had worked hard on a new concept all week, and I sensed that the students were frowning, frustrated with themselves - and edgy with one another. I had to stop this crankiness before it got out of hand. So I asked them to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name. Then I told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down.
It took the remainder of the class period to finish the assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed me the papers. Charlie smiled. Mark said, "Thank you for teaching me, Sister. Have a good weekend."
That Saturday, I wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and I listed what everyone else had said about that individual. On Monday I gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. "Really?" I heard whispered. "I never knew that meant anything to anyone!" "I didn't know others liked me so much!"
No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. I never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn't matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another again.
That group of students moved on. Several years later, after I returned from vacation, my parents met me at the airport. As we were driving home, Mother asked me the usual questions about the trip, the weather, and my experiences in general. There was a light lull in the conversation. Mother gave Dad a side-ways glance and simply says, "Dad?" My father cleared his throat as he usually did before something important. "The Eklunds called last night," he began. "Really?" I said. "I haven't heard from them in years. I wonder how Mark is."
Dad responded quietly. "Mark was killed in Vietnam," he said. "The funeral is tomorrow, and his parents would like it if you could attend."
I had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. Mark looked so handsome, so mature. All I could think at that moment was, Mark, I would give all the masking tape in the world if only you would talk to me.
The church was packed with Mark's friends. The pastor said the usual prayers, and the bugler played taps. One by one those who loved Mark took a last walk by the coffin and sprinkled it with holy water.
I was the last one to bless the coffin. As I stood there, one of the soldiers who had acted as pallbearer came up to me. "Were you Mark's math teacher?" he asked. I nodded as I continued to stare at the coffin. "Mark talked about you a lot," he said.
After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates headed to Chucks farmhouse for lunch. Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting for me. "We want to show you something," his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket. "They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it."
Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. I knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which I had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said about him. "Thank you so much for doing that." Mark's mother said. "As you can see, Mark treasured it."
Mark's classmates started to gather around us. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, "I still have my list. It's in the top drawer of my desk at home." Chuck's wife said, "Chuck asked me to put this in our wedding album." "I have mine too," Marilyn said. "It's in my diary." Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. "I carry this with me at all times," Vicki said without batting an eyelash. "I think we all saved our lists."
That's when I finally sat down and cried. I cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.
The more hurt and pain you have gone thru in life, the stronger and morebeautiful your heart will be.....
One day a young man was standing in the middle of the town proclaiming that he had the most beautiful heart in the whole valley.
A large crowd gathered and they all admired his heart for it was perfect. There was not a mark or a flaw in it. Yes, they all agreed it truly was the most beautiful heart they had ever seen. The young man was very proud and boasted more loudly about his beautiful heart.
Suddenly, an old man appeared at the front of the crowd and said, "Why your heart is not nearly as beautiful as mine." The crowd and the young man looked at the old man's heart. It was beating strongly, but full of scars, it had places where pieces had been removed and other pieces put in, but they didn't fit quite right and there were several jagged edges. In fact, in some places there were deep gouges where whole pieces missing.
The people stared. How can he say his heart is more beautiful?? they thought. The young man looked at the old man's heart and saw its state and laughed. "You must be joking," he said.
"Compare your heart with mine, mine is perfect and yours is a mess of scars and tears."
"Yes," said the old man, "Yours is perfect looking but I would never trade with you. You see, every scar represents a person to whom I have given my love - I tear out a piece of my heart and give it to them, and often they give me a piece of their heart which fits into the empty place in my heart, but because the pieces aren't exact, I have some rough edges, which I cherish, because they remind me of the love we shared. Sometimes I have given pieces of my heart away, and the other person hasn't returned a piece of his heart to me. These are the empty gouges - giving love is taking a chance. Although these gouges are painful, they stay open, reminding me of the love I have for these people too, and I hope someday they may return and fill the space I have waiting. So now do you see what true beauty is?"
The young man stood silently with tears running down his cheeks. He walked up to the old man, reached into his perfect young and beautiful heart, and ripped a piece out. He offered it to the old man with trembling hands.
The old man took his offering, placed it in his heart and then took a piece from his old scarred heart and placed it in the wound in the young man's heart. It fit, but not perfectly, as there were some jagged edges.
The young man looked at his heart, not perfect anymore but more beautiful than ever, since love from the old man's heart flowed into his.
They embraced and walked away side by side
Normally atheists will say i dont have answers for everything. dont ask me who create the universe. i dont know. but i belive we can just go along well with our life without god. we dont need god. and they say god is man-made. it cant be validated by science.most of the time they wil turn to nature and say nature creates everything.
Therefore, suddenly questions were streaming into my head when i try to think they way atheists do that is how is it possible for nature to create everything. below are my questions. these questions are based on an atheist respond when she said "human needs to be creative to survive"
1) How do we know there is such a thing as 'creative'?
2) Perhaps because our intellect tells us, but how intellect knows that it should tell us to be creative?
3) Where does intellect come from anyway?
4) Perhaps, nature create intellect thus lead to creativity, but how does nature know that it should create intellect and later inspires human to be creative?
5) Perhaps, nature wants us to survive, but how does nature know that we should survive?
6) Where does nature come from anyway?
7) Where does nature get its ability to know that human should have intellect and later come up with something that we call creative?
8) How does nature know it suppose to know everything and later produced anything and everything that we can see through our eyes on this earth?
8) Why nature doesn't create intellect to other creatures?
9) Perhaps certain animals have certain level of IQ but how nature knows not to give other creatures to have intellect like human's?
10) Perhaps nature doesn't want other creatures to overpower human, but how nature knows?
11) Seems like nature has its own way of thinking that enables it to put things in place. Does that mean nature work through some kind of framework of organization?
12) Does that mean there is something out there that inspires nature to organize things so that everything will be well-organized? Or nature does it on its own? But how does nature knows?
13) When nature has created everything for us on this earth, will it somehow provide anything after we die? Like some sort of different course of nature?
14) Why nature wants us to die anyway?
15) Why nature chooses me and you to live this life and when the time comes we die and turn to dust and that’s it?
16) Does nature want us to just enjoy our life while it lasts? Is that a purpose that nature wants us to fulfill? (That doesn’t sound so motivating)
17) Nature has created something that is superbly beneficial to human such as intellect and creativity but in the end nature wants us to die and turn to dust and that’s it?
-this is d exact reply letter my fren sent to an atheist. (they r actually havin thz talk about God n stuff) n i guess spreading the knowledge to others is a gud thg.
Our senses are not limited in a way we substitute function of a particular senses to another function of which physiologically it can’t perform. What I’m trying to say to you is that the ability of those senses itself is limited. Our senses are not ready to identify or detect something that is out of its ability. God can’t be smelled like you would smell a rose or listened to like you would listen to Beethoven. For example, science has discovered that whales communicate to each other in a unique way that can’t be heard by human but through sonar machine. I was talking about this kind of limitation. And we are not even dealing with whales; we are talking about supreme power.
I found a question in a website long time ago; if you don’t believe in god try to create something like the human ear that serves as an astounding transducer, converting sound energy to mechanical energy to a nerve impulse which is transmitted to the brain (end of quotation). Don’t revert to nature as a last resort because nature itself is created by god whose possesses supreme intellect as you have mentioned it.
You said why choose a method that did not rely on limited humans to convey Her message to the world. This brings us to the need for prophets or god’s messengers. God revealed his messages to prophet which was human that you can see, hear, smell and touch. Prophet Muhammad was the final messenger preaching words of god for 23 years and left behind a divine revelation which is uncorrupted Quran for 1400 years now. Islam is not a new religion. The prophet preached the same as what the previous prophets had done which is to worship only one true god and not to associate him with anything. i.c Prophet Moses, Prophet Esa (translated to Jesus in English), Prophet Abraham etc. There were countless other prophets but Muslims are obliged to know only 25 which are clearly mentioned in the Quran.
You said humans have a tendency to screw things up. You are absolutely right. It happens when human leaves divine guidance behind and take things on their own, they have a tendency to screw things up. Human needs guidance. Perhaps Thomas Jefferson said his neighbour didn’t pick people pocket or breaks anybody legs but as you have mentioned it yourself, human have a tendency to screw things up.
You said, Christian pointing the finger at Islam is very much the pot calling the kettle black. Well, I would like to suggest a better idea, Christian pointing finger at Islam is very much empty vessels make the most noise or screeching wheels gets replaced. That’s why Prophet Muhammad was being sent as a final messenger; to correct things.
"Mischief has appeared on land and sea because of (the meed) that the hands of men have earned, that ((Allah)) may give them a taste of some of their deeds: in order that they may turn back (from Evil)."
You claimed mischief appeared on land and sea well before the hands of men did anything. In this case, I don’t want to argue with you which comes first is it chicken or egg. Also, you call them “so called” believers. They can’t be true believers if they commit such crime.
You said god is not coming out of hiding to stop any of the evil committed by Her children. You don’t expect at the moment the perpetrator committed a crime suddenly the sky split into two and lasers shot him down from heaven do you? (I’m sorry to say something like this). That explains the reality of judgment day and existence of heaven and hell. As I have told you even an atomic size of evil deed won’t go unnoticed. And again that’s the purpose of god sending religion to people (it needs to be the one true religion) as a guide for people to live their life up to the highest standard of morality. People committed that crime because they think nobody is going to question his/her deeds be it good or bad. In other words, they don’t believe in god. On the contrary, they are people who are going to fight crimes for justice. Like you and I (is it me or I).
You said I can’t claim with any certainty what is going to happen in the hereafter. Nor can I claim with certainty that there even is a hereafter. You can tell that I will reply to you that I have Quran as a guide but before I am able to say that you quickly claim all so called Scripture is the speculations of men. I must say that we can never know how does it feel to lie dead in grave and what is going on in there because no dead people so far has raised and tell us the news. Therefore, again, this brings us to the purpose of prophets of which things about the hereafter were revealed to him and now it has been being preserved in Quran for 1400 years now. Because Quran is a reminder.
138. Here is a plain statement to men, a guidance and instruction to those who fear Allah.
(Surah 3. Al ‘Imran Ayat 138)There are lots of things in the Quran that can tell you about everything. Please have a copy of authoritative translation of the Quran and read it on its entirety. Reading it won’t hypnotize you to revert to Islam. Read is as you would any other literary works (There is no human intervention in Quran). Read it for the sake of knowing not for judging. I say this because, I feel like if I present to you another verse it will end up to be another crap for you.You also said I am not going to read the entire Quran when I already know there is at least one verse that is false. You use the world “at least” (logical fallacy). This already explains your attitude on Quran even before you read it. I don’t want to argue on that. There is no compulsion in religion. It is ok if you need Golden Rule. It is obligatory for prophets to preach to people but it is up to the people whether they want to believe it or not. And I have also tried. As Quran reveals it,
256. Let there be no compulsion in religion: Truth stands out clear from Error: whoever rejects evil and believes in Allah hath grasped the most trustworthy hand-hold, that never breaks. And Allah heareth and knoweth all things.
(Surah 2. Al-Baqara Ayat 256).
Peace between us? Indeed, there is peace between us because Quran reveals it,
13. O mankind! We created you from a single (pair) of a male and a female, and made you into nations and tribes, that ye may know each other (not that ye may despise (each other). Verily the most honoured of you in the sight of Allah is (he who is) the most righteous of you. And Allah has full knowledge and is well acquainted (with all things). (Surah 49. Al-Hujurat Ayat 13)
P/s Do you believe in god?