The wave washes over me like a dark emotion as I try to fight through it. I’ve been swimming in this forgotten sea for what feels like eternity. This is my life defined.
I see land ahead. It’s been there, just out of reach, for some time. I just can’t get any closer and I can not keep going anymore. I see salvation, but no matter how hard I try, I just can’t make it. I have been battered sensless while adrift in this stormy sea. The next wave that comes, will be the last.
My eyes begin to tear. I hear it swelling the instant before the wave hits me. The sheer force that hits disorients me, and I’m not sure which way is up, as I plunge under. I struggle to find my way back to the surface, but soon realize that it is useless. Darkness is creeping in around the edges, as the air I gulped begins to wane. I let go of everything and slip away into the backwaters of my mind…
I remember precisely the day that I realized that God is dead, that God doesn’t exist, that God was simply a human construct. He was just a bigger version of the boogeyman, made to keep fear instilled in men’s hearts so they would succumb to society’s wishes. It was the same day that I learned that man is nothing more than a beast without hope of redemption.
That day, my Grandmother, a God-fearing woman who attended church with the fervor of a revival-style baptist, was killed. Actually, she wasn’t just killed, she was utterly destroyed, leaving behind a hole that tore through all of us that knew her.
She was on her way to a church bake sale they were having for the homeless. She had made half a gross of Snickerdoodles for the charity event. The reason I recall this is that I was there when she made them. I tried to take a few behind her back, but like all Grandmas, she had eyes in the back of her head. The wooden spoon flashed through the air, connected with my knuckles, and the pain exploded through me.
“Jesus Christ!”
Being a man of 13 worldly years, I had heard and said this many times, just never around anyone it should not have been used in front of. It was the first and last time I would swear in front of that woman.
“Don’t you take the Lord’s name in vain in this house, boy!”
CRACK!!!!! went the spoon on the other hand. The pain ripped through me once more.
“Those cookies are for the church! Don’t steal from God. That shows up in the ledger when you meet St. Peter.” Her eyes narrowed as she said this, staring right into my soul. Tears welled up in my eyes.
I tore out of the room so mad at her I could spit nails, but I did not want to start an argument, mainly because I knew I had no chance. I had watched her dismantle both my grandfather and my father for years without even breaking stride from preparing a meal. She would cut you with her tongue worse than any blade. She wasn’t a mean person, but she used guilt like a weapon, and she was a master.
I went to the bathroom and ran cold water over the two red welts rising up on my knuckles. All the respect and guilt pounded into me over the years wouldn’t let me go back out and scream at her. The only thing I could think to do was storm out of the bathroom as fast as I could, grab my sister, and head for home.
“STOP!” Her voice boomed out and froze us both in our tracks. “Come back here.”
We both slowly turned away from the door and proceeded back to the kitchen. I did not want to make eye contact with her, but she hooked her finger up under my chin and brought me face to face with her. The look of anger tinged with pity is burned into me head forever. Then she did the unexpected. She reached over to the rack and picked up the two biggest cookies and wrapped them in napkins, then handed one to each of us.
“I want you both to take one of these with you, not that you deserve them, you especially,” my eyes lowered back down, “but I want you to have and enjoy them. They’ll keep you warm on the walk home.”
She the hugged my sister tight, kissed her cheek gently, and told her to wait outside, because she wanted to talk to me for a moment. I watched my sister close the door behind herself and our eyes met. A huge smile stretched across her face, and even though she made no sound, I could her her stupid sing-song voice chiming out ‘Ha-ha, you’re in trou-ble.’
As I stood the balefully in front of my grandmother listening to her speech I’ve heard in my head about a thousand times, all I can now see is the flashing of lights and the muffled tears of everyone around me. Her mouth continues to form the words I can no longer hear, while the chatter of police band radios blast out scattershot information.
Can’t… I-I’m trying…I’m standing outside the house of my Grandmother’s friend now. She had gone to pick her friend up for the bake sale.
This hurts too much
Then What occured next was the death of many things, the least of which was my faith in an all powerful force for good for justice.
Sadie, her friend, was not waiting outside to be picked up when she arrived. My graThe victim parked the vehicle and proceeded to the door, whereupon she found the entrance to the domicile ajar, the police reports would later say. Mrs. Parker dialed emergency on her cell phone device and entered the residence.
According to blood splatter analysis, she would have arrived in the dining room where she most likely surprised the assailant. The blood patterns showed that the first wound, a non-lethal abdominal slash, was most likely caused by her startling the assailant. She was then thrown on to the table they devised from the 911 tape.
The reports then go on to descibe how the animal…tore
Tore her apart. Mine and my sister’s childhood, along with the feeling of safety that this God (HA!) fearing community had carried for years, were smashed into a thousand pieces. This woman, a leader in that community, was taken away so callously- so viciously!- that everyone’s faith was torn to the ground. My Grandfather died spiritually with his wife that day. Physically, he followed her to the here and after a short eight weeks later. The doctor said it was heart failure. In more than one way, he was correct.
I’m not sure why this memory is flooding my head right now. I’m in the middle of a dream. Can you think about things while you dream, or are they just part of the dream? My thoughts are cut short on this because as I sit here in my house that is just off-post from the military instillation I am stationed at, I look outside and see that Armageddon has come to Earth. Everything is destroyed, wiped out by some unknown cataclysm. I’d say it was the Hand of God, but I don’t believe in that anymore, not since that day.
The roof of my house is on fire. The wind has kicked up and is tearing it from it’s moorings. I can hear the boards and beams groan as they are twisted violently thsi way and that. I stand up from the table and look around. My wife and child are gone, and now I can’t remember the last time I saw them. I am glad though, that they aren’t here to witness the end of the world with me.
I walk out the front door just as the roof gives way and is sucked up into the funnel cloud that was pulling on it. It used to be such a joke seeing the picture of the bum carrying the sign, “The end is nigh.” Now it was all I could picture, and there was no humor in it.
The sky turns a brilliant purple as a streak of lightning fired across the horizon. What looks like a ghostly hand begins to part the clouds. A primordial fear takes hold of me, paralyzing me so that I can’t look away. The magnitude of what is occuring is beginning to dawn on me. I am, quite literally, about to meet my maker.
The Hand rends the sky in two, unleashing energy of which the colors I can’t describe.
I pull my sidearm out of it’s holster and take aim.
The Face of God breaks through the clouds.
I had always thought as a child, from all the stories I had heard, that when a man would see the Almighty he would go into genuflection and histrionics. He would lose total self-control and beg for forgiveness for all sin. It seemed inevitable for a creation of God, one made in His own image, by recognizing it’s creator and the absolute majesty of the Throne, that he would instantly bow and grovel. Guess I was wrong.
The hammer slammed home and I watched as the round jumped from the barrel in that parabolic arc, and flew like a fat bumblebee towards the target. The next round followed right behind it in an orderly fashion. The bullets continued to rip through the air heading towards the Supreme One. His face belies the fact that he is stunned that anything so insignifigant as a man would attack him in such an egregious manner.
My body seizes up and I am no longer under my own control. God’s Eyes show his utter contempt for me as I feel my arm begin to bend, bringing the weapon’s muzzle up to my temple. I can smell the flesh begin to sear from the white hot metal. The smell mixes with the gunpowder and creates a nauseating aroma.
The smile that creeps on to His Lips would probably bring one to mine if I still had any control over my functions. My finger begins to constrict around the trigger, and, mercifully, my eyes are allowed to close.
KRA-KOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!
