Noah J. Craig

Noah J. Craig is an author and a poet who hopes that his words will glorify the ultimate Author. Originally from New England, he currently lives in Henderson, Nevada. If he’s not writing or reading or drinking coffee, he is most likely halfway up a mountain wishing he had more storage space on his camera. You can visit him online at noahjcraig.com.

An Excerpt from “The Last Word”

They called him Enoch.

He had a gift—no one knew exactly what it was, but they knew who he was and what he did and called it a gift.

He felt its burden. The weight of a word, in judgement or in mercy. But he was just the messenger—everyone knew that. He spoke what was given to him to speak. He carried the words around with in his satchel. He lifted the words out and tossed them to the recipients. Words they must accept, because they couldn’t change the words. They could never change the words, only hear them. So they listened, sometimes in fear, in expectation, in dread, in anticipation.

Prophet.

Priest.

Punisher.

They couldn’t decide what to call Enoch other than his name. Because he was different things to them at different times. One word would by joyful and the next be disastrous. Black or white. Gray. Gray words sometimes hurt the most.

But Enoch was the son of a prostitute.

They drove Enoch away. Banned from his own town. Given over to the wolves. Or so they thought.

For it was only by the wolves that Enoch’s words grew teeth. Only by the wolves were words packed into sentences. Only by the wolves did Enoch learn how to carry the satchel. The satchel, once a cow, had been cracked by time and dirt. A single flap guarded its trove. Enoch never knew the secrets beforehand. He was just the messenger.

“Do you believe in God?” Enoch once asked a poor boy from a nearby village. The boy looked confused and said, “What is God?”

Enoch had reached into the satchel and fished around for the right word. He handed it to the boy. “He made everything.”

“Oh, I see. He’s the one who made me poor.”
“He’s the one who offers you riches.”
Enoch had given the boy several more words. The boy had trouble hearing. But Enoch was a roamer. Never in one village for too long, lest they hear and not understand, lest they grow accustomed to the words and forget.

They called him Enoch but I called him desperate.

Read more of “The Last Word” in Solum Journal Fall 2022.