Surrounding it, was a company of their brothers, who watched it carefully, while keeping at bay, a horde of devils. Aboard the craft were several individuals and families, leaving their homes and jobs to settle a broad. The plane was to stop in france, then travel on to an airport, not far from Jerusalem.
While Floyd had been around people long enough to know, that a riot was about to kick off in the city below them, still he couldn't quite figure out the need for some-100 of them. There were only 1,000-some devils, who were hooting at an egging on members a motorcycle gang, who had simply ridden into town for a concert, when some clown-haired...Floyd wasn't sure what...anyway, clown was having it out with some other ... person, and during the altercation, one of them accidently knocked over a motorcycle - which of course fell onto another motorcycle...
The two, somehow made it out of there, long enough for one of them to get on the call and "send in the clowns" (title of a Judy Collins song). Not two minutes later, several old vans pull up, and some really vicious looking clowns pour out.
Still, Floyd didn't understand why the big fuss. After all, what was taking place, was typical - devils, being devils, egging on the lost. A few seconds later, it hit him, as to why his CO had called them all together. And to think, the lost thought the Lord distant, all about rules, and only saving preachers, geeks and old ladies.
In the foray, a mountain of a man had just knocked a clown out cold, his hairy fist breaking the jaw of another. Around him, devils urged him to take the head bozo's life. While the same was going on all about them, many of the hundred moved in, running off the devils who had been taking bets in how many seconds it would take mountain to finish off clownie, then move onto busting up another freak.
The devils' fun busted again. Mad, but their only option was to move off for one or more entertainments going on nearby. That wasn't hard to find. Two clownies were pounding each other, because the one had supposedly cast his/her eyes upon a third. And it wasn't even about that. Clownie #3 had only been there to deliver an 8-ball to clownie #2 - who, by the way, had no intention of sharing the substance. Nuh-uh, luv-a'la-week could buy/hustle his/her own supply. In an alley, across the street, a drunk - barely able to even stay standing - was pulling down his pants, in order to take a dump; some devils headed over there - to them, that was like lilacs in may.
Mountain man blinked, a queried expression washed over his face. Glancing down, his hand moved up to brush off something scaley from the front of his leather jacket. Mountain, backed away, walked over to his overturned bike, picked it up, fired it up, and rode away.
In a little church, a few miles outside the city - being a Wednesday night - a Bible study was in progress. The small group, although a bit leery at their unexpected visitor, graciously gave him space. Mountain had been inside a Bible church a long time ago; he'd been five, maybe six. Here and there, over the next thirty-some years, fragments of Scripture being read, his grandma paying attention, would cross his mind, but then would break up into bits and be swallowed by ugly birds. This time, a single dove sat upon a nearby branch, the uglies could only, impotently, cawk at a distance.
Mountain, arose from the back pew, and went Forward.
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