Death, Blood and Prayers

Death speaks with silence

”It wasn't God's fault that your father is dead, by the way, my condolences.” the voice said again. I turned around, forgetting to say amen and do the sign of the cross in front of me. I stood up properly and saw that I had been right, it was a man.

”How can it not be God's fault. He made him die before his time?” I had tears in my eyes while I said that. I was on the verge of crying.

”It was his time, think nothing more of it” he said and looked me into my eyes. He was a handsome man with his black hair and his piercing eyes. He seemed to be kind.

”How can you be so cold?” I then asked feeling the heat from an upcoming argument.

”I don't believe in God or destiny, I lost the ability to believe a long time ago.” He said, twisting the subject towards something else than my father's death.
”How can you not believe in God?” I asked him. All I had even been taught was that God was in everything and that he controlled the life and death of us all.

”Give me a reason to believe...” I looked at him, he was admiring the church. I noticed that he kept looking at the cross.

”Give me a reason to believe and I'll believe...” he said again.

”I can't, belief is in the eye or hand of the believer.” he smiled to me when I had said that.

”Philosophical...” he said almost wondering.

”Let me hear then... what is your point of view on death?” I looked at him.

”My view is simple, either we've been good and go to heaven, or we've been bad and then go the hell” I said looking at him.

”But oh it can be so much more, and at some point, we all go to hell” his words had frightened me a bit, but maybe he was right.

”What do you mean by 'Death can be so much more?” I asked him wondering. He looks at me.

”Want to find out for yourself?”