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Burn
Topic Started: Oct 18 2016, 05:26 PM (38 Views)
GOD
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A bead of sweat slowly drips down your forehead on this unusually hot fall day as you find yourself standing before an old derelict two family house. The porch sags beneath its own weight like the flesh of an elderly person, the second floor balcony looks like it could collapse at anytime.

You do not wonder how you arrived here or even whose home this is, you only feel obliged to make your way carefully up the steps. The old forest green paint of the railing peels off on the palms of your hands as you grip, staining your skin slightly.


Once I was like you.

Despite the warm air the heat of my breath sends a deep shiver running up and down your spine.

I was mortal.

I had a family.

A wife.

A child.

A mother.

A father.

Like you I was so very human.

So very alive.


My shadow opens the front door for you to the darkened home, a fowl stench stings your nostrils as the hot air escapes from within.

But father was not the loving sort.

He knew what I was.

He feared what I would become.

So he beat me.

Demeaned me.

Tried to make me feel less than human.

But in the end, Dante, my father gave me the strength I needed to ascend.

Through his petty human emotions, he showed me how weak and feeble you all are.

You and your kind, my children, are so unwilling to let go.

You constantly torture yourselves with the past.

Always looking back.

Never looking forward.

Never prepared for when life happens and your world falls apart.

My human father prepared me for that despite his intentions.

So when the moment of my ascension came.

I knew exactly what I must do.


Slowly you step through the door way, the stench becoming more familiar as stale and dried whiskey in the old brown carpet. There across from you on a floral patterned love seat is a man sprawled with a still half full bottle of his foul drink laying half in his hand and half on the ground. You squint your eyes in the darkness as you take each careful step to not wake him only to realize-

He is our father.


For too long I allowed my human emotions to drive me.

I allowed myself to feel pain.

Heartache.

Desperation.

Petty desires drove my every action.

Though I preached the word of God, I lived the life of a sinner.

But it was in a single moment.

A single action.

That everything changed.


We reach out for the man, our father when suddenly he starts to cough and gag, choking on his own vomit. We hesitate, panic, reaching for the nearby cordless phone on the coffee table when something comes over us. We drop the cordless phone onto the brown carpet and just watch, hypnotized by the sight of our once strong, powerful, angry father now laying in a puddle of his own piss and vomit.

Slowly dying.

He begins to convulse and gurgle as the remnants of last night’s dinner spill from his mouth, still we stare unblinking, unfeeling, the realization hitting us like a freight train.


I could have saved him, Dante.

Eventually his body goes limp, the stench coming from him becomes overpowering but our stomach stays strong as a new feeling washes over us.

But why save someone who does not wish to be saved?

Why waste the effort fighting for someone who will not fight for themselves?

Why should I intervene?

Why should I be bothered with the trials and tribulations of my children?

You are all so selfish.

So heartless.

Killing each other for trinkets.

Petty beliefs.

For nothing, ultimately and then you look to me for salvation.

As I stood there watching my father choke to death I realized who and what I was.

I am GOD!

I give life!

I can take life!

I am all powerful!

And you, my son, my poor mis-guided son.

You have a chance, an opportunity much like I did not so long ago.

You too could ascend.

You were put on this Earth by me, a vessel of righteous anger.

You could be my holy wrath.

My archangel.

You could be the weapon I use to wipe away the non-believers.


We look to the left of our now dead father at the crumpled pack of cigarettes lying next to him. We reach out with our cold, granite like hand and scoop them up along with the chrome zippo lighter beside it. With one hand we dump the pack of cigarettes out on top of him, with the other we strike the lighter and watch the dancing flame.

I tell you this because I believe in you, Dante.

Even though I know you do not believe in me.

You see me as just another man.

Another opponent.

Someone to be dealt with and forgotten.

But I implore you to not disregard me as you would disregard Ironclad.

I am more than flesh and blood.

More than someone like Ironclad could ever hope to be.

There is no helping someone like him.

There is no salvation for someone like him.

He was dead the day he was born, walking through life like a zombie.

No purpose.

No calling.

He exists to waste oxygen and resources.

Someone like Ironclad, they have no place in our world.

Nothing to give.

Nothing to offer.

Even if he came to me begging for salvation, offering me his very life.

I would refute him.

Cast him out with the rest of his sickening kind.

To watch him suffocate on his own vomit.

And burn.


We drop the lighter onto the couch, the flames instantly igniting the old floral fabric of the cushion. We feel something of a smile creeping cross our lips as we look from the empty vessel that called himself our father to the small tube television sitting on his coffee table.

There in the glass we see the stony reflection of our pale white face, large smile and empty black eyes.


That fate does not have to be yours as well.

You could take my hand.

Rise up with me above the lowly mortals.

Above the likes of Ironclad.

Together we could cleanse this Earth of his kind.

Wash away the stain their existence creates.

We could watch from our throne as Ironclad and his ilk waste away.

Squabbling among themselves for meaningless accolades.

While we achieve true enlightenment.

True immortality.

You and those who wish to saved can join me in paradise.

Free of all the trials and tribulations of your meaningless lives.

Free of the incompetence of men like Ironclad.

Free of their ignorance.

Free of their sins.

Free to live how we deem fit instead of meandering in the mud with the dregs of society.


There is a strange comfort in our reflection as the home around us is engulfed in flames. It’s almost as if the fire warms us instead of burns us, comforts us, keeps us safe, consoles us.

You are my son more so than this cretin Ironclad.

The rightful savior.

Of course you could always be the martyr.

My only begotten son who must pay for all their sins.

Nailed to a cross bleeding to death as men like Ironclad cheer on the mayhem.

Burn for them.

Live for me.


The fire rises around us until even the reflection is gone and all that is left is the heat.

Will you be saved?
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