Posts tagged contest entry

“So, it’s over?”

“I think so.”

“But I love…”

“Don’t say it.”

“But it’s true.”

“It will fade.”

“No, it won’t.”

“Yes, it will.”

“You can’t know…”

“Yes, I can”

“How can you?”

“It’s all nature”

“Love isn’t science.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Then how can…”

“Chemicals and memories.”

“What? That’s it?”

“They all fade.”

“I love you.”

“It’ll go away.”

“Like you are.”

“It’s not easy.”

“Doesn’t seem hard.”

“I’ll regret this.”

“Then, please stay.”

“I can’t Jonathan.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

“Stay, please stay.”

“Jonathan I can’t…”

“April dammit please!”

“I’m not yours.”

“But I’m yours.”

“Not any more.”

I was born an atheist and raised a Christian; Lutheran to be more precise, a happy medium between my mother’s Baptist fears and my father’s catholic guilt. We prayed before dinner and we prayed before bed. Prayer seemed odd to me as a child, you’re not allowed to pray for specific things like money, good Christmas presents, or a nice tweed jacket. You could however pray for abstract things, like strength. My mother prayed for that a lot and maybe it was my fault. I was very open about my distrust in the system that is religion. Still, I prayed. I prayed for the abstract things, understanding of God, knowledge of God, and faith in God. All things I just never had.

See, I may have had suspicions about Heaven, but Hell was a fact of life for me. God was a maybe, the Devil was definitive. There was no way I wouldn’t be going to Hell, so I prayed more. I wanted to believe, but I couldn’t. It didn’t make sense to me then, and it doesn’t now, but I still remember the fear. The fear that only a child can have; fear without boundaries or logic fear for the sake of being afraid. Finally I asked for help. My parents told me I did believe in God. This didn’t help. My preacher was a better source of advice; he told me the story of doubting Thomas. He told me everyone should have a lapse of faith, and that I was a bright kid for having one so young.

I told my preacher about the praying. How I would do it anytime a non-believing thought would pop into my head and he thought this was a good idea. He told me that God loved me and that prayer was the right thing to do, but it wasn’t the only thing I should be doing. He told me to stop bringing my game boy to church, to listen instead of playing tic-tac-toe with my sister on the church’s programs. I did that, still nothing. I went back to him and he encouraged me to read the Bible. I did. It pushed me further away from Christ.

Eventually I understood what I was, an atheist, but that didn’t mean my preacher didn’t give good advice. Prayer is nothing without trying. Praying for something, even something abstract, is not enough. You have to strive for it. You have to try. You have to move your hands and you have to move your feet. Prayers will not be answered while you’re in bed, they’ll be answered while you’re trying to get what you want.

They were like two birds crashing. They met, fell and put a dent into rock bottom. Deep enough in the hole to make a grave. They needed their drugs and she knew how to get them. She put her mouth on a dealer and it got them both enough. She cry more than she’s ever cried. He stole, because he was too much of a junkie to be a dealer. She slept with dealers without any tears. She knew she lost her value. He had a gun and used it once. He died in jail and left her alone. She was dirty and got a disease too big for the free clinics and died a few years later from a cold.