doob 4: The Immortal’s Fall
Andre walked briskly through the snowy streets, eyes fixed on the looming silhouette of the church ahead. He paid no heed to the cars screeching to avoid him—he was Jesus Christ, after all, immortal, untouched by mortal dangers. The winter chill bit at his cheeks, each gust of wind carrying crystalline flakes that swirled around him in a silent ballet.
He recalled a recent tweet from President Petro Poroshenko bragging about the church’s grand renovation. Online photos showed gilded domes and immaculate walls, a place worthy of a pilgrimage. But when Andre finally stood at the threshold, disappointment seized his heart. The paint was chipped, the walls dull, and the air smelled of stale incense rather than the promised aroma of fresh varnish.
Still, he believed this was where he needed to be—where his faithful awaited. He climbed the chipped stone steps and tried the door, expecting a solemn caretaker or a band of devoted followers to greet him. Locked. He pounded his fist against the heavy wooden surface, his knocks echoing in the empty, snow-covered courtyard. No one answered.
Andre’s breath clouded in the cold air as he turned to stare at the silent church façade. Something inside him stirred—a fiery mix of determination and desperation. The voice of Satan’s taunt from Scripture rang in his mind: “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down, for He will command His angels concerning you…”
He decided to test his faith.
With a burst of energy, Andre scrambled onto a ledge, about two meters above the ground. His footing was precarious on the icy stone, but he didn’t hesitate. Shutting his eyes in devout conviction, he let himself fall backward, arms stretched wide as though expecting the gentle embrace of heavenly wings.
The impact with the frozen earth knocked the breath from his lungs. Pain radiated from his back, snow clinging to his coat. For a moment, he lay stunned, staring up at the iron-gray sky. No angels, no divine cradle. Just cold reality and a dull ache.
As he sat up, an amused cackle drifted through the air. An old woman, bent with age and swathed in a tattered scarf, was sweeping the snow off the church walkway. Her broom scratched the cobblestones in a slow, steady rhythm. She paused to watch him, lips curled into a mocking smile.
Andre’s cheeks burned with equal parts indignation and embarrassment. He staggered to his feet, determined not to let doubt creep into his mind. He was the Christ returned, yet the mortal world seemed blind to it.
Still thrumming with adrenaline, he circled the building, shouting “Glory to Jesus Christ!” at the top of his lungs. The air carried his voice far beyond the church’s barren yard. Whenever the traffic light halted a line of cars, Andre darted up to the windows, tapping the glass and yelling “Glory to Jesus Christ!” Some drivers gawked; others rolled their eyes or glowered at him through half-open windows before the light turned green again.
Before long, fatigue and the biting cold overwhelmed his fervor. Exhausted, he slumped against the church’s locked doors and closed his eyes. Snow drifted over his shoulders in gentle flakes, and he drifted into a fitful sleep filled with half-formed dreams of angels and falling stars.
When he woke, the first thing he noticed was warmth. A figure was standing over him, blocking the icy wind. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he realized it was a young woman, her breath visible in the frigid air as she regarded him with a mix of concern and curiosity.
In that moment, the church’s shabby exterior, the mocking laughter of the old lady, and his failed leap of faith all faded into the background. Andre felt something shift in his soul—a silent hint that maybe she was the one he had been waiting for, the next sign in this ever-evolving tapestry of destiny.
And so, with the snow still softly falling around them, Andre—Jesus Christ—stirred from slumber, eager to discover what new revelation this stranger might bring.
Read doob 3: 420.bible/bookdoob3
Read doob 1: 420.bible/bookdoob1
