THE WAY OF ALL FLESH by Nicki Benson

The figure facing the small group of men on the sun-drenched hillside wore raiment of the purest white. Her hair hung like a silken curtain to her waist and beyond. She was young and yet not so, for if her eyes sparkled with childlike innocence they also held the wisdom of many generations.

She gestured for silence. Her gaze swept the gathering; all felt that it settled briefly on his face, and his face alone.

“I go now to the place my father has prepared for me,” she said. “As this mortal body has been made whole, so shall all flesh be renewed at the end of days.”

She held up a hand in farewell. On the underside of her wrist could be seen a livid red mark.

The air seemed to shimmer, then she was gone.

The men began to drift away. All but one, who stood with his head bowed in shame. How could he have doubted her?

At length he made his way back to the village. There he sought out the follower who most agreed would now become their spokesman.

“I suppose we should have expected she’d have one last surprise up her sleeve,” he said. “But I’m not sure the world’s quite ready for news like that. I’d be tempted to…you know, when we get round to finding someone who can write all this down…”

“Way ahead of you, Thomas.”