Ought God be feared?
Or pitied?
To have formed us
In divine likeness,
She sought to love herself.
She tired of being alone.
So from the dust we arose.
And we
Could not make her happy.
So what then is God
If not abdication
And abandonment?
A damning silence
From beyond the stars
Watching our suffering
With such knowing.
Listen,
She is begging
For our forgiveness.
Dividing flesh from spirit
Requires precise incisions.
Quick and defined strokes
Setting souls free,
Though—
More often than not,
Most, I admit,
Go quite unwillingly.
Morgan stared into the deep darkness, watching massive tentacle-like arms breach and retreat back into the infernal vortex. He never felt so aware of his own insignificance as he did in that moment.
“Okay,” he answered, “who are you?”
“How can you know the unknowable? Or apprehend a god? Can a mote of dust lay hold the heavens? Can you devour entire worlds? Two more left.” Its voice echoed across the galaxy, shaking heaven and earth.
“That’s bullshit! That’s not an answer!” Morgan shouted.
“Rebuke me again, and you will have never existed.”
“What does that mean?”
“You will have never been born, never lived, and never been known. Whatever pitiful sentiments anchor you to this life will have never been. Your thread will be plucked from the Great Tapestry. One.”
“No! Please! That wasn’t a question!”
“You have asked, and We have answered. The bargain is kept. You have one more question.”
“I need a moment to think.”
“I have eternity.”
Morgan wracked his brain. His first question resulted in more questions. His second was an accident. The last question had to be carefully woven if he were to find some way to stop the entity from tearing apart the universe.
“Okay . . .”
And so, the black smoke rises, and the sky falls, and those who’ve drawn heaven down upon our heads dare not look up. Cowards and curs fault sin beyond the chapel step and disregard the unsettled bones preying within the holy sanctuary.
O, that we might blot out our forebearers and cast off their crimes. Is there no justice in Heaven? Has God been so struck blind? Do not the angels watch in wonder and rally to our cry?
Divine stars! Align yourselves against the wicked of this age who, with braids of gold, fashion a noose for us all. Let them sway as leaves in their gallow groves. Or let the rattling rebuke of their little god empty their thoughts and bid them sleep and sleep forevermore.
These are the ghosts that wander through the infinite corridors of a divergent, and admittedly, unsound mind. Some belong to a troubled past, others arise from social decay, while others are utterly fabricated. I speak them into being, bring them out for examination, and in doing so, unintentionally examine and critique myself.
Continue reading “The Inevitable Introduction”
Void Engineer 