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He seethed. If his mind had any room for clear thinking, that was the only word that would seem relevant to his condition - seethed. He sat on his knees, staring at his hands with maddened, unblinking, bloodshot eyes.
He stared into his palms, flexing his fingers into claws, and stretching them out again, time and time again. But what he looked at was not what he saw. His mind was filled with violent fury. Images of bloodsoaked knives, burning flesh and eyes gouged from their sockets. The images came from the terrifying desire within him to hurt something, to kill something - to make someone PAY! His torment had gone on too long, cost him too much. He could take it no longer. He needed an outlet.
Once, Steve had been indiscernable to any other God-fearing man of the world. Married with two children. A great job pulling in a more than fair wage. A loving family, 2 holidays a year, all the trimmings. In one word, he had happiness. Steve was a religious man, and attributed his love of God to the happiness his life brought him. In tough times he prayed, and he almost always made an effort to go to church on sundays. He often referred to his favorite biblical quotes and was ever failthful to his wife and family. Steve was a good man.
Such the good man he was that when his mother died in a terrible bus accident, that he did not blame God for taking her away. Instead he prayed to God that she had been taken to a better place. He grieved her loss, but did not love God any less for it. Who was he to question God? But unknown to him, his strife had only yet begun. His youngest and brightest son, Timmy, was diagnosed with leukaemia only scant months after Steve's mother passed away. He was given three months. Three months. Steve prayed with trembling hands for salvation; a compatible donor, a cure, a miracle, but none came. Three months came, and three months went, and Steve was left another family member short.
Again, Steve prayed to God that his son had gone on to a better place, a paradise. More now than ever he needed to believe that there was a purpose to it all, that his son had not lived his years in vain. He began to attend church more regularly, and was consoled by the clergy therein, helped to keep to the true path.
But life was to stike more blows against his faith. Still only a few months following the tragic death of his younger son, his elder son, David, was arrested on suspicion of raping a 17 year old girl. Steve begged his son for the truth, and David fervently denied any involvement. But in spite of his denial, David took his own life while cooped in his prison cell.
Overcome with guilt and grief, Steve sought the consolation of the church once more. He read obsessviely of the story of Job. A happy man whose faith was tested by God by taking everything away from him. Steve told himself he was as strong as Job, and could withstand the tests on his faith. But his faith neglected his marriage, and when his wife filed for divorce, the last remaining part of his family was destroyed.
At this point, Steve no longer saw the point of attending the church. God was everywhere, and could hear his prayers no better in a church than he could in the solace of his own home. Some months later, he gathered up the courage to write a letter of apology to his now ex-wife, explaining how he had tried to keep faith through adversity, at the ultimate cost of what he held dear. The letter was long, some 15 pages of detailed self-pity. He put a lot of effort into it, and so was surprised when only a few days later, he received a reply from his ex-wife, less than a page in length.
He sat on the sofa in the lounge, and read the letter.
===========
Dear Steve,
You fool. You absolute fool. Do you even see what has come to pass? Our family has been decimated. There is nothing left of it. I know your mother's passing was hard to deal with, but she lived many happy years, and perhaps it was her time - though obviously not in the way anyone would have wished. But our children? First Timmy is cruely taken from us, and then David is lost in the worst way I can imagine. They were just KIDS, Steve! They didn't deserve to die! What sort of God takes away children from the love of their parents, what's more, what sort of God does so in the manner we have experienced?
But rather than lament God for his judgement, you worship him ever more for it. The worse our lives got, the more you prayed, and the more you prayed, the more tragedy we were burdoned with.
Know now that I did not leave you because you neglected me. I left you because you placed your faith with the God that killed our children, rather than with your family, where it belonged. I can't touch God, Steve, and so I can't blame him. But I can blame you.
I can blame you and say that our children our dead because of you. I hate you.
Don't ever write to me again.
Sue
===========
Steve read the letter several times in the ensuing minutes. At first he felt utterly numb. The words wouldn't penetrate his brain, he couldn't comprehend what he was seeing.
But slowly he felt the temperature of his blood rise. He couldn't deny that he saw some degree of truth in what he read. His faith in the church had kept him from seeing the torment his family was going through. While he prayed by the altar, he forgot about the family that did not join him in his prayers, in a way he ignored their plight completely. He ignored everyone's pain but his own. He was selfish in the worst possible way.
DAMN! What a fool he was!
Maybe Sue couldn't blame God, but by Christ and Hellfire Steve could. How could God blind him to his family's pain? Testing his faith was one thing, but manipulating him into standing by while his family burned was something else entirely.
He felt sick, and his vision blurred. He slid off the sofa and fell to his knees, staring at his hands as they flexed into claws and back again. He ground his teeth together and allowed tears to flow past his grieving eyes.
He remained like that for a long time, some hours. But his rage did not falter, dissipate. He wanted to storm into the church and tear the clergy limb from limb. Their "guidance" had destroyed him, led him to absolute despair, and he craved vengeance.
But at the last, he knew that he could not do this. Even now he could not renounce God, could not become the weapon of the devil. His rage worsened as the impotency of his fury sank in. He needed an outlet, his heart wanted blood - would settle for nothing less. And so he curled his hands into claws again, and ground his nails into his own skin, peeling it back and watching with inane satisfaction as the blood left his body.
2 days later, concerned neighbours called the police to break into his home, where they found Steve, naked as the day he was born, looking like he had been ravaged by a pack of wolves. He still lived, that much was obvious enough, but he was covered head to toe in deep scratches, and lied in his lounge by the sofa in a pool of his own blood.
Steve was taken away, and left in the care of the state for the rest of his days. His scars never fully healed, and he lost his left arm at the elbow, and his sight was irreprable due to the scratches deep into the eyeballs. He was the blind, one armed madman. Kept in a room where nothing could harm him, not even his remaining hand, which was kept strapped across his chest in a straight jacket, ever in the pose of a claw, ready to harm anything should it gain release.
But it never did. Steve spent the rest of his days sat in the corner, cursing about prophets of doom and the end of the world. His faith broken like a twig.
He stared into his palms, flexing his fingers into claws, and stretching them out again, time and time again. But what he looked at was not what he saw. His mind was filled with violent fury. Images of bloodsoaked knives, burning flesh and eyes gouged from their sockets. The images came from the terrifying desire within him to hurt something, to kill something - to make someone PAY! His torment had gone on too long, cost him too much. He could take it no longer. He needed an outlet.
Once, Steve had been indiscernable to any other God-fearing man of the world. Married with two children. A great job pulling in a more than fair wage. A loving family, 2 holidays a year, all the trimmings. In one word, he had happiness. Steve was a religious man, and attributed his love of God to the happiness his life brought him. In tough times he prayed, and he almost always made an effort to go to church on sundays. He often referred to his favorite biblical quotes and was ever failthful to his wife and family. Steve was a good man.
Such the good man he was that when his mother died in a terrible bus accident, that he did not blame God for taking her away. Instead he prayed to God that she had been taken to a better place. He grieved her loss, but did not love God any less for it. Who was he to question God? But unknown to him, his strife had only yet begun. His youngest and brightest son, Timmy, was diagnosed with leukaemia only scant months after Steve's mother passed away. He was given three months. Three months. Steve prayed with trembling hands for salvation; a compatible donor, a cure, a miracle, but none came. Three months came, and three months went, and Steve was left another family member short.
Again, Steve prayed to God that his son had gone on to a better place, a paradise. More now than ever he needed to believe that there was a purpose to it all, that his son had not lived his years in vain. He began to attend church more regularly, and was consoled by the clergy therein, helped to keep to the true path.
But life was to stike more blows against his faith. Still only a few months following the tragic death of his younger son, his elder son, David, was arrested on suspicion of raping a 17 year old girl. Steve begged his son for the truth, and David fervently denied any involvement. But in spite of his denial, David took his own life while cooped in his prison cell.
Overcome with guilt and grief, Steve sought the consolation of the church once more. He read obsessviely of the story of Job. A happy man whose faith was tested by God by taking everything away from him. Steve told himself he was as strong as Job, and could withstand the tests on his faith. But his faith neglected his marriage, and when his wife filed for divorce, the last remaining part of his family was destroyed.
At this point, Steve no longer saw the point of attending the church. God was everywhere, and could hear his prayers no better in a church than he could in the solace of his own home. Some months later, he gathered up the courage to write a letter of apology to his now ex-wife, explaining how he had tried to keep faith through adversity, at the ultimate cost of what he held dear. The letter was long, some 15 pages of detailed self-pity. He put a lot of effort into it, and so was surprised when only a few days later, he received a reply from his ex-wife, less than a page in length.
He sat on the sofa in the lounge, and read the letter.
===========
Dear Steve,
You fool. You absolute fool. Do you even see what has come to pass? Our family has been decimated. There is nothing left of it. I know your mother's passing was hard to deal with, but she lived many happy years, and perhaps it was her time - though obviously not in the way anyone would have wished. But our children? First Timmy is cruely taken from us, and then David is lost in the worst way I can imagine. They were just KIDS, Steve! They didn't deserve to die! What sort of God takes away children from the love of their parents, what's more, what sort of God does so in the manner we have experienced?
But rather than lament God for his judgement, you worship him ever more for it. The worse our lives got, the more you prayed, and the more you prayed, the more tragedy we were burdoned with.
Know now that I did not leave you because you neglected me. I left you because you placed your faith with the God that killed our children, rather than with your family, where it belonged. I can't touch God, Steve, and so I can't blame him. But I can blame you.
I can blame you and say that our children our dead because of you. I hate you.
Don't ever write to me again.
Sue
===========
Steve read the letter several times in the ensuing minutes. At first he felt utterly numb. The words wouldn't penetrate his brain, he couldn't comprehend what he was seeing.
But slowly he felt the temperature of his blood rise. He couldn't deny that he saw some degree of truth in what he read. His faith in the church had kept him from seeing the torment his family was going through. While he prayed by the altar, he forgot about the family that did not join him in his prayers, in a way he ignored their plight completely. He ignored everyone's pain but his own. He was selfish in the worst possible way.
DAMN! What a fool he was!
Maybe Sue couldn't blame God, but by Christ and Hellfire Steve could. How could God blind him to his family's pain? Testing his faith was one thing, but manipulating him into standing by while his family burned was something else entirely.
He felt sick, and his vision blurred. He slid off the sofa and fell to his knees, staring at his hands as they flexed into claws and back again. He ground his teeth together and allowed tears to flow past his grieving eyes.
He remained like that for a long time, some hours. But his rage did not falter, dissipate. He wanted to storm into the church and tear the clergy limb from limb. Their "guidance" had destroyed him, led him to absolute despair, and he craved vengeance.
But at the last, he knew that he could not do this. Even now he could not renounce God, could not become the weapon of the devil. His rage worsened as the impotency of his fury sank in. He needed an outlet, his heart wanted blood - would settle for nothing less. And so he curled his hands into claws again, and ground his nails into his own skin, peeling it back and watching with inane satisfaction as the blood left his body.
2 days later, concerned neighbours called the police to break into his home, where they found Steve, naked as the day he was born, looking like he had been ravaged by a pack of wolves. He still lived, that much was obvious enough, but he was covered head to toe in deep scratches, and lied in his lounge by the sofa in a pool of his own blood.
Steve was taken away, and left in the care of the state for the rest of his days. His scars never fully healed, and he lost his left arm at the elbow, and his sight was irreprable due to the scratches deep into the eyeballs. He was the blind, one armed madman. Kept in a room where nothing could harm him, not even his remaining hand, which was kept strapped across his chest in a straight jacket, ever in the pose of a claw, ready to harm anything should it gain release.
But it never did. Steve spent the rest of his days sat in the corner, cursing about prophets of doom and the end of the world. His faith broken like a twig.
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Both are good.
XYU is better
:P
XYU is better
:P
i thought this was about rage against the machine :(
Just a song, and the story reminds me of it.
Its angry.
Its angry.
OK, I have no idea what on earth you're talking about.
Nice one. Or not.
Mary didn't wanna know.....I am made of Shamrocks, of stern stuff......
Reminds me of it.
Mary didn't wanna know.....I am made of Shamrocks, of stern stuff......
Reminds me of it.
That was very good, you squalid peasant.
Insane Bartender wrote:
> Know now that I did not leave you because you neglected me. I left you
> because you placed your faith with the God that killed our children,
> rather than with your family, where it belonged. I can't touch God,
> Steve, and so I can't blame him. But I can blame you.
Couldn't agree more with that bit.
Insane Bartender wrote:
> Know now that I did not leave you because you neglected me. I left you
> because you placed your faith with the God that killed our children,
> rather than with your family, where it belonged. I can't touch God,
> Steve, and so I can't blame him. But I can blame you.
Couldn't agree more with that bit.
I've had the same problem until recently. I find if I write all about bad things, then the words just flow.
A good dark tale.
I'd write something in this forum, but I've been suffering from acute writer's block for several months.
Doubt is my master. Can't shake that demon off. Need more faith.
I'd write something in this forum, but I've been suffering from acute writer's block for several months.
Doubt is my master. Can't shake that demon off. Need more faith.
Twas good. If a little poncy with big words and stuff.
[/sarcasm]
Enjoyed it. Cheers
[/sarcasm]
Enjoyed it. Cheers
Insane Bartender wrote:
> I don't even fancy myself as an author...
You should. Your good.
(gah I keep rhyming or illeterating things today. Its really annoyying me now.)
> I don't even fancy myself as an author...
You should. Your good.
(gah I keep rhyming or illeterating things today. Its really annoyying me now.)
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