IT IS COMING.

A new comic series created by Derik Hefner & David R. Wagoner My story began two thousand years ago in Jerusalem, on the day that changed the calendars. I was young. Brash. Irreverent. He had the whole world in His sway... still does, in name at least. But he didn't have me. Not then, anyway. The whole town was out that day. Some were weeping at the sight of their hero, the famed miracle worker from Nazareth, beaten to a pulp and carrying the instrument of His own destruction on His back. Others were celebrating the execution of the Jewish rabble-rouser. The rest were there for no more reason than the mere spectacle of it all... but we were all there. No absentees that day. And I had a front row seat. He passed my shop, so close I could touch him. And I did. "Move along, man! Why so sluggish! Go on, now!" I was ruthless, an insolent cad, rushing this mess of a man along... but as he looked up at me with bloodshot eyes through a mingled veil of Roman thorns and Jewish spittle, He spoke in a hoarse whisper that drowned out the throngs around us. He should have been angry. He had every right to be. But anger isn't what I heard. It was majesty. It was the command of a King, a command that wouldn't fall to the ground unheeded. "I go, but you shall tarry till I return." The words still echo like thunder every time I look at the mark. Burned into my chest by nothing more than the power of His words, the Chai is a symbol of life. To most that's a positive, but I'll be honest... after a couple thousand years, you start to realize that immortality isn't all it's cracked up to be. It's just more time to deteriorate. A never-ending entropy of the human condition, as all the pain... all the guilt... every flaw, every dark desire... festers and grows. A man casts a long shadow living in a never-ending sunset. You could say I've been around a little since that day. When you outlive everyone you've ever known, a journal becomes your best friend. Once experiences see paper you know they'll live right alongside you, even after the memories are dead and buried in your mind. I don't know how many I've filled up. Too many to count. Once the pages are full, I drop them off in whatever nearby library I can find. There must be thousands of them by now. I don't know if there's a country left in the world that doesn't have a book with my name on it stuffed away on a high shelf somewhere in a dark, cobweb infested corner. Wonder if anyone's ever found any. Heh. They wouldn't know what to make of them even if they did. Some of it reads like pure fantasy... some of it doesn't even take place in this world. I don't imagine they have too much importance other than being old, anyway. Just the ramblings of one man. So here I am. The 21st Century. Same old world. The scenery's changed a bit, but people are still people. A wiser man than me once said, "There's nothing new under the sun." But what happens when the sun starts burning dark? I've seen my people evicted from their homeland; scattered, slaughtered and persecuted, nearly wiped from the face of the earth, and more than once. How many more times will I have to suffer through the pain of genocide, only to be forced to remain here as a ghost in the shadow of my countrymen's grief? How long until my sentence is served, and my penance is paid? I've learned a lot over the centuries. I've learned that most everything comes full circle. We were all born with our eyes closed. And most of us leave the way we came.
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