Good Intentions

by Irene Smith

"Just a minute, friend. You don't want to do that."

I paused with my hand on the door to the movie theater. The marquee announced a triple X, triple feature. Top of the bill was "The Devil in Miss Jones," one of my all-time favorites. I guess we all like to see our name in lights, don't we?

"I said, you don't want to do that." The speaker, a large, beefy-looking woman with a blue and white polka-dot print dress, stood off to the side of the front steps, clutching a Bible. An enquiring look from me was all she needed. "Yes, I'm talking to you friend."

She pointed at the building. "That place is full of Godless blasphemies; things no Christian should ever see."

I tried to be nice. "I'm not a Christian." I turned again to go inside.

"Nonsense," she said. Her face dripped with sweat and her dress sported a large wet patch under each arm where perspiration had soaked through. She pulled a large handkerchief out of her sleeve, like a magician performing a trick, and wiped her face. "We are all Christians under the skin. Some just haven't found out yet."

"Whatever." I wasn't about to argue with her. "I think I'll take my chances anyway." I turned and reached for the handle again.

Faster than I would have thought possible, she lashed out with the Bible and smacked me soundly on the hand. "Jesus saves!"

Why is it that those who shout most loudly about Christ so often seem to understand so little of his teachings? I cradled my injured hand close to my chest and looked at her. Her face had turned bright red and she was breathing rapidly. She wiped her face again. "Listen, friend, you must accept Jesus as your savior or you will go straight to hell."

I backed up as she approached, stopping only when I felt the railing behind me. She advanced, waving the Bible in the air for emphasis. "Do you accept Jesus as your savior?" She moved closer, waved the Bible directly under my nose and repeated, "Do you accept Jesus as your savior?"

I have nothing personal against Jesus, mind you but I'd had enough. I pointed one finger at her and said, "Do you honestly believe that the simple act of accepting Jesus as your savior will keep you out of hell?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Good," I said as flames burst from the tip of my finger and set her ablaze. "Now you can find out for yourself." As her hair burst into flame and her face melted into an unrecognizable lump, I transported myself back to hell to await her arrival.

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