"Mind over madness!"
This was his declaration as his left fist pounded
his brow above his closed eyes;
His right fist, white knuckled and tremoring, clutching his blood-stained bible...
As if survival had long since been
a martyrs dream...
lost within its torn and tattered pages.
He cried out, "God! FATHER!Savior! Why art thou so idle? Are no more than an idol?!"
Eyes now tightly closed,
But not for the effort to keep them shut.
But because by now,
they'd been beaten till swollen closed.
He half wept, half laughed,
maniacly as he bent down...
and with his left hand nearly shattered
beneath the weight of his fit of rage...
And the pressure of his terror stricken assault
on his own countenance.
He let out a shivering breath into the freezing air...
And as, mercilessly, winter's dawn greeted him with the promise of yet another day...
Yet another moment in this state of ruin...
He saw in his minds eye-now the only eye open-
the end of this audacious rendezvous with self...
This quest to secretly boycott his own faith.
As he gripped his broken hand around the stock of his rifle
His eyes still closed tightly in a mock effort
to force a reply from God...
His God...
The God he accused of being idle...
And he smiled the smile of a man
already hopeless and a half-dead ghost, whispering;
as if after his screaming and howling and weeping with utter disdain,
Now, he could restore some amount of calm
to the hostile event he'd made
of his self prescribed final prayer...
Now...
As he smiled that sick smile that
only angels understood, and only demons
knew to fear...
He whispered...
"I know...I know...It's my own doing...of course it is...for I am alone here with You O God...
And there's noone to blame for my having made a mockery of You...as if to reduce You,
My only Father, my only friend, to a worthless, dead, silent idol...."
Then he picked up the rifle...
And as his face traded in his sufferers smile
for the empty countenance of a dead man...
As he turned suddenly,
from desperate and maniacal
to utterly empty inside...
Then finally became a blazing fire-
though hardly alive-
With his eyes opened... wide open now...
He tossed aside his blood-stained bible...
And spit into the abyss...
Far below the cliff's edge on which he daily woke...
And he wondrered...
He wondered why?
He wondered, for what sins and from whose hands came such despair?
Then abruptly,
Finally ready, and finished wondering,
he let his last teardrop fall from his minds eye... It fell slowly...Silent...Certain...
He let it fall...
And lifting rifle,
He took aim... and shot rapidfire into a
night full of Ghosts and Suicidal Angels...
It was a...
Big
Bang.

written by Brosha the Skrybe of Christ
(AF Kindred)
05/11/2018Copyright©05/02/2019
© A.F. Kindred/Brosha the Skrybe