Short Stories
My Savior
I see the clouds in the distance closing the gates to heaven, hear the angels' moans carry through the wind. Their cry's tears crashing over my head, dripping down my face. I could be crying. God thrashes the trees with the mighty blow with his hand, making the trees bend almost to the ground. The taste of the fish's home on my tongue. The waves crash against the shore, attempting to escape God's crying pain. I could drown. My feet linger on the cliff's hands, about to close on me, protect me. I could die. Brick by brick, the wall of freedom falls, trembling from God's voice, shacking open to the ocean's month. His hands grab the cliff and attempt to rattle this chosen tree to drop a convenient cherry. I wish I was the cherry. His teeth gnawed at the wall I stood silently on, thinking of why did God didn't pick me.
I kept wondering and pondering: why couldn't God be prosecuted for murder; how does he do everything; how does he know everything. Everything has a plan, but he just sits there watching us like we are the performance, and he is the audience. But I didn't hear the applause, nor the cries of the audience when my father died in my arms. I saw my father's eyes drop, my father's soul vanished, and I saw my father's last tear.
The gate opened, angles flew down destroying the earth with their lighting swords, chopping and drilling the Earth's still crust. They grabbed at the ground, at everything they could touch. They destroyed what they received. As the angles crashed down, a second at a time, I could hear their war cries, the booming of their destructive power. Their unmerciful power. The angles lashed and their war cries rolled, making it almost impossible to think.
I took a step closer to God's plan, to my destiny only to hear God's angles screaming in my ear. With that I stopped, there it was. The gasp I've been waiting for. The emotional connection with my audience. If only my father had this gasp. I took a step farther to fulfill my destiny, to jump into the ocean's tomb, to create my own grave. Only this step kept me from that. But the angles stopped me, God released the cliff, stopped the thrashing, and stop the crying pain. Everything stopped. I could hear nothing, feel nothing. And there before me, walking on my wanted grave, was God. He walked over to my side and grabbed me. I peered into his eyes to see my sins looking back at me. This was God. I could see no evil in his soul.
I kept wondering and pondering: why couldn't God be prosecuted for murder; how does he do everything; how does he know everything. Everything has a plan, but he just sits there watching us like we are the performance, and he is the audience. But I didn't hear the applause, nor the cries of the audience when my father died in my arms. I saw my father's eyes drop, my father's soul vanished, and I saw my father's last tear.
The gate opened, angles flew down destroying the earth with their lighting swords, chopping and drilling the Earth's still crust. They grabbed at the ground, at everything they could touch. They destroyed what they received. As the angles crashed down, a second at a time, I could hear their war cries, the booming of their destructive power. Their unmerciful power. The angles lashed and their war cries rolled, making it almost impossible to think.
I took a step closer to God's plan, to my destiny only to hear God's angles screaming in my ear. With that I stopped, there it was. The gasp I've been waiting for. The emotional connection with my audience. If only my father had this gasp. I took a step farther to fulfill my destiny, to jump into the ocean's tomb, to create my own grave. Only this step kept me from that. But the angles stopped me, God released the cliff, stopped the thrashing, and stop the crying pain. Everything stopped. I could hear nothing, feel nothing. And there before me, walking on my wanted grave, was God. He walked over to my side and grabbed me. I peered into his eyes to see my sins looking back at me. This was God. I could see no evil in his soul.