Dear You: Sincerely, Me

Ann sat at her desk, reading the next two letters. She raised her thermos full of Red Cat wine to her lips as she read. She could focus better when she was slightly tipsy. She smiled at the wine touched her tongue. She swirled the liquid around before swallowing and smiling, picking up the top letter and reading.

Dear Preacher,

I am an atheist, ever since I learned how to speak for myself. My family are strict Christians but... I'm not. I believe that the sky is blue because science made it that way, that the only thing set in stone is the past, that no one is guided by some superior being. I believe that every man has the power to control his own destiny. I don't believe in God, or that his son was Jesus. I don't believe in Heaven or Hell. I don't believe in angels or divine beings. I believe that we control our lives, our thoughts and our choices. I am not fueled by prayers or churches. I do not have a spiritual direction. I believe in life, I believe in making the most of that life and I believe in death. For what good is it to pray to someone who never listens? It'd be like asking a deaf man to listen to the sounds of an orchestra playing or a blind man to see the sun rising over the horizon.

When I told my parents that I wouldn't be going to church ever again, they sent me to you.

"If you don't believe, then God with damn you to Hell." you said to me. You looked me in the eyes and honestly told me that I was going to Hell. For not believing in a fictional character. You were asking me to put my beliefs in someone who you have no proof exists. Why don't you ask me to believe in Barney and accept the Teletubbies as my own personal savior while you're at it? I'm sorry but I can't do it. I refuse to. I wish you could understand. I won't tell you that you're wrong because these are your beliefs and beliefs are never wrong. But I choose to believe in something I can hear, smell, touch, see, something that I can love and kiss, hold, lose. I cannot touch God, cannot love God or have a child with him (see, I'm not Virgin Mary). I cannot believe in the one you pray to, for He does not exist. To me, in any shape, any form.

Sincerely,
You Cannot Save Me

She remembered when her own paster told her she was a sinning whore for getting pregnant before she was married. He hated her anyway, she thought with a grimace and shook her past off. She had Derek now and Adabella was the best thing to ever happen to her. She picked up the next letter and began to read.