punished for your own." The words came from the mouths of the Nephilim as one voice. Clearly the Cherub's voice wasn't meant for human ears.
"What are your sins?"
"We didn't care enough." The statement trailed off into sadness.
"I don't understand?"
"We let you do what you wanted to do. We were negligent."
"What are our sins?"
"You forgot grace."
"Grace?"
"The bond between the creator and the created."
Jethro had never thought about it before, and in that realization understood the problem.
"Respect," the Nephilim said.
Something he'd rarely cared about. Who respected a porn star? Who respected a crackhead? He didn't.
"You have none."
"Yeah." He lowered his head. "So."
"J-dog, give us a sign—ssst."
"You've come to kill us."
Jethro looked up at the mischievous smile on the Cherub's face. “There are no secrets here.”
"We know," the Nephilim continued. "The choice is yours. It always has been."
"What choice do I have?" he asked spreading his arms.
"The choice between Hell on Earth or the Big Rock Candy Mountain."
"But what about—"
"—Iowa? What about those you left behind?"
"Yes. I owe them."
"You owe them nothing. Your sugar-coated memory conveniently forgot the reasons you'd left. Your father. Uncle Jerry. Billy Jimmison. You've turned it into a Big Rock Candy Mountain."
Uncle Jerry. A memory of alcohol, hurried breathing, a struggle and the roughness of denim against Jethro's naked buttocks. Billy Jimmison who'd waited for him behind the mailboxes with a two-by-four. And his father who'd—
"Nothing that was is as it was."
"How could I have forgotten?" he gasped. Why'd I have to remember? A small tired part of him pointed out that the memories had been hidden for a reason.
"Snap crackle pop," mimicked all hundred Nephilim.
Jethro wiped tears away from his cheeks with his palms. "Yeah. That's it. Snap crackle pop."
"The choice is yours."
"Why do I have to choose?"
"Respect. Grace."
It took a moment, but Jethro finally nodded, and as he did, his shoulders sagged in defeat. "Yeah, I understand." He turned his back on the Cherub and the Nephilim. He trudged up the stairs, past the purple people, past the pick-up-stick bodies, up the next flight of stairs and through the hanging yellow men. The stepladder was where he'd left it. He climbed up the bottom two rungs, draped the noose around his neck and tightened it. The yellow man nearest him opened his eyes. Blackened rotting orbs appraised him. "Would you die for our sins?"
"J-dog. Where the fuck are you? Is it in there?"
"Yes," he said to both the Nephilim and the government man. Jethro stepped up one more rung, then shoved off. The stepladder fell one way, and his body the other. When he reached the end of the rope his neck snapped, the crack followed by hundreds of automatic weapons as they opened fire on the floor below.
A second, a minute, an hour, or an epoch later, Jethro found himself standing in the open door of a train, chug-chugging towards an immense purple candy mountain. Lemonade springs bubbled through the rocks. Streams of alcohol meandered into a lake of ginger ale. Birds and bees buzzed the lollipop trees.
Respect. Grace. Yeah. He'd finally understood. The government men wanted to kill the Cherub to save the earth. The Cherubs wanted humanity to die to save themselves. Everyone had their own reasons to kill everyone else. What they'd all forgotten was selflessness.
The train slowed as it came to the last stop. Looking at the Big Rock Candy Mountain before him, Jethro knew he'd made the right decision. After all, if he hadn't, he'd never have ended up at the heaven he'd created for himself so long ago. He stepped off the train onto a cool mint sidewalk, his heart filled with the wonder of discovery and the awe of a wish fulfilled, little boy turned pornstar turned crackhead turned rock candy angel.
***
Story Notes: I wrote this story for Sean O’Bannon, a friend of mine, Hollywood Screenwriter, and resident of Ventura. We’ve tried to work together on many occasions but just been too busy to pull it off. To make up for this I remodeled him into the character of Snake Foreskin. The title and theme of the story comes of course from the old song Big Rock Candy Mountain. There exists so much imagery in that old folk song that it screamed to be used. Having a drug addict who has visions or can see things is nothing new. But having a drug addict who has visions or can see things who was a porn star hasn’t been done before. The whole idea of using an ex-porn star as