(Short Story) Kill God Please
Kill god please.
It was a request I had no clue how one could genuinely ask so sincerely for. What kind of person looks another dead in the eye and asks for the impossible? Are they selfish? Are they stupid? Can they die?
Except you. Not you. One so selfless and intelligent, always watching the sky and declaring the clouds in your grasp. Holding you in my arms, even now, with blood pouring from your mouth, you’re still smiling, still touching my cheek, your eyes still say it’s gonna be alright. So why?
Why ask me to do the impossible?
You don’t answer. You can’t answer. That request is the last set of words that will ever leave your lips. Now alone, now stewing, I turn to the man with blood on his hands. Victim of cowardice, of rage not his own, I pity you. I hate you.
Taking the broken shower pole from the trashcan in this lonely, pathetic alley, I make a request of my own.
“Don’t move.”
…
The quietness of the apartment dulls my senses, save for sight. My eyes burn like wildfire against the blue light as I scan the screen, again and again, for every page and search result I can find. All philosophical bullshit. Kill from within, beat faith to death with your own indifference. Fine platitudes, but I need blood if I wanna be done. The mouse in my hand cracks. God, oh god, show me your face. Raise your hand in the crowd and let us put an end to this.
Nonsense. Don’t ask a narcissist to sign their own death warrant. You’re only gonna be met with disappointment. Gritting teeth, I click another result. The page is amateur, hardly the work of a web designer, but the contents are, indeed, enlightening.
“What is a god?”
…
What is a god? Some would say it’s a fabrication, others an idea in need of protection and praise. In truth, regardless of your proclivities, we are all praying to a god of some kind. Feeling agitated? Good, you should be.
A god is no more than a belief, ideals made manifest in the wake of disbelief in personhood. Gods are merely humans who refuse to be human. They are not those who are cast out from humankind for their differences, or those who revoke their human-essence to become monsters.
They are ego, in the simplest, most hateful definition.
God of humanity, god of death, god of war, god of wealth, god of greed, god of lust. They all vie to be the one and only meaning for life, for a hope to create order, for a chance to be ruler of a world they can look upon as a reflection of themselves.
They are simple. That makes them powerful.
Why complicate yourself in the tangles of betterment and understanding of others? Give your life to me and I’ll lead you to heaven.
My heaven.
We who choose to be human, who choose to delve into those untangle able depths, stand in arms, and assuage this wish for simple answers.
There will be no heaven for us heathens, but neither will we allow ourselves to fall to hell. We will make our home together, in each other.
We who are weaker than the gods, but all the more unkillable.
…
Heads on pikes. Sitting in the city center. Slurs on tags stapled on their foreheads. Pots for pissing in just under them. The stench is a smell of victory. Till they’re eradicated, we will hold the smell of their rot in our hearts and minds. Staring up, deep into their open, empty eye sockets, I feel the fire they’ve left behind. Fire…fire…these bastards who wish for fire…I step into the center, surrounded by these long, stone spears, speaking for a world free of the undesirable. I stand between them all, and scream my desire from the very bottom of my soul. Some turn their heads, some scream, some seem unphased. Some take out their phones, some chuckle, some call me a monster, or worse. They all freeze when they see what I raise to the sky.
“I’ll be leaving, and taking your god with me!”
I feel the grenade in my hand as it explodes, destroying everything I knew as real.
…
A little girl, holding her mother’s head, walks the streets of a city on fire. The sounds of people screaming, scavenging, and hurting. So much hurting. Maybe she’s hurting too. She isn’t sure. She soon enters the city’s center, broken stone under her feet. Her eyes are fixed on the destroyed monument, the city’s heart. This place, when it stopped beating, she can’t help but feel that not a single thing changed. She collapsed, her body too tired to keep moving. Perhaps it didn’t matter where, but she was so tired, so very tired.
As her eyes became wobbly, she saw the drawings. The hundreds of drawings, of a woman holding a grenade. Deep in her soul, a pain, a rage, she called out to anyone who may hear.
Kill god please.