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literature

Here Lies the Dead

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By miistical
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When the evangelicals had preached the brimstone to the choir, you had thought they were ridiculous. Every sermon that ended in fire and the blaze was waved away, as if your own hand was that of God's. As the preaches infected your neighbors, their whispers shuttered behind closed blinds, you continued to tend to your garden.

You had refused the notion of God and you would not be swayed.

When the news casters reported hurricane spikes, you blamed the weather. What you could not blame the weather, you blamed humanity. You blamed governments and the people who ran them—you sought science in place of faith, and no one could blame you, though they tried. 

They had tried to rattle your bones, but you were not dead. They had tried to set your skin alight with divinity, but what was a God to a non-believer? They had tried to halt your march, but you had an army to feed.

Apocalypse was such a big word, so long ago. It was the end of the world; apocalypse meant that only the tattered remains of that which was once something were left. Such a long word with such a long, endless meaning. It was an eternity of lightning strikes, of collapsing buildings, of forests burned too quickly to recover—it was an eternity of God's wrath in the body of a human, and both were just as vengeful as the other.

When the end was called the End for the first time, you had considered the stars. You had looked through the papers and the news, seen the corruption that was humanity. You had seen the photographs of dead children and thought, 'The apocalypse already begun.'

And knowing of the scourge, you, at long last, shed your skin. Buildings were raided, people were slaughtered, countries fell to ruin. When the people did not heed the fire, there was a flood; when they did not heed the flood, there was a storm; when they did not heed the storm, Death cracked open the ground and the Earth quaked.

Mother that she was, the Earth opened for the fire beneath her skin and punished her children.

Through it all, through the acid on your tongue and the smoke in your lungs, you continued on. The apocalypse, in all its splendor, had come and gone. All that was left was ashes and mortar and the small, sad bones.

You took an eye to the city that raised you as God, and then set it on fire. You watched it slowly burn white, watched it simmer to a red - watched as the smoke curled into the sky.

Turning, you left with Noah on your back, your eyes wide and all-seeing. And as you got further and further from the brimstone that bore you, you smiled.

'What a thing,' you thought, 'to watch the world burn.'
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Muggle-Gem-Princess's avatar
Sounds like a criticism towards the early version of the Bible, but other than that, I adore the imagery you created in this story.