Post by Xoudian on Mar 22, 2017 16:41:35 GMT 8
He was dead. I'd known him for all my life, and now he's been struck down in his youth. He'd say that he had gone to a better place. I'd say he'd gone six feet into the ground. I must admit, I'm not too perturbed by what happened. I'm better off without him. Now that he's out of the way, I can finally see what he was standing in front of the whole time; A snake, rearing its head to strike, yet colourful and pretty. A wondrous sight to see.
I did not do it myself, of course. I would never have the heart to do it. I had known him since I was three. He was the same age as me. He had short, bowl cut hair, sky blue eyes and radiant white skin. He always wore pure white clothes. Shirts. Jackets. Christmas jumpers. Trousers. Even his shoes. All brilliant shades of grey to white. It almost gave him a heavenly glow. Not a speck of dirt touched his perfect face. He stood up straight and paid attention. He walked with a proud stride, yet bowed his head and spoke to others in a modest fashion. His voice was soft and calm, like an angel's. He always did what he was told, and offered help when not asked. The whole family loved him. In fact, they were the ones who introduced him to me.
Just as December took it's first steps into the year, he was escorted through the door by my mother. His perfect smile and shining white teeth already cutting a hole in my heart, nestling themselves within. He had the smooth features of a ventriloquist's dummy, his mouth opening and closing at the puppeteer's whim.
Being the stupid child I was, I welcomed him into my home. We played with cars, ran around the house and bounced on the bed. We also talked about what we wanted for Christmas. I said I wanted a bike, a remote controlled car and a train set. He said he wanted the same, but he also said that he was going to get them from Santa.
That was the first seed he sowed, in what would become a bountiful crop of lies.
I stood above his grave, his mangled body directly under my feet. On his tombstone read his name, followed by the acronym "R.I.P.", Rest In Peace. At my request, they had decorated it with a snake, coiling around the borders of the grave, baring its fangs.
Rest in peace, I scoff. There could be no rest for the dead. Death is the ceasing of a life that could've been better lived. If they lived on in some form, they would live in a state of constant regret and guilt.
I was feeling a little to warm, so I unzipped my jacket. Curious, I took out my phone to check the temperature. Sixteen degrees, and it's the middle of Galway winter. The world just keeps getting hotter, doesn't it? I thought. I once asked Father John about that. I was around eleven years old. It was just after mass, and most families had left. I had seen what has been happening to the global temperature, and wanted to stay back to ask the priest what he thought was going on.
"Father, why would God be heating up the Earth so much?" I asked.
"He's just making it more comfortable for us, pet."
My friend was there, and he chimed in.
"I'm very thankful that He's doing that. It's no fun when it's all chilly here."
Father John turned to him and frowned.
"You shouldn't be ungrateful for the cold, my boy. Without it, you wouldn't be able to appreciate the warmth."
"You're right father. I shouldn't be ungrateful for the cold." My friend parroted.
"Come on." He said to me. "Your mother is waiting for us."
We thanked the priest for the sermon and left for the car. During the drive home, I tossed the conversation around in my mind. Something about it just didn't sit right with me. If God is warming the Earth up for those of us who are cold, what of the people living in hotter countries? Aren't they warm enough? And what about the animals? Doesn't a warmer climate alter their ecosystem? Nothing about it seemed like a good idea. And what about the ice caps? The polar bears?
Just as I was starting to question whether God had anything to do with this at all, my friend piped up.
"Don't listen to those scientists." He said. "They're all atheists trying to convert you to their sinful ways."
"But what about the people in hotter countries? And the animals?"
"God has a plan for them too."
"What is it?"
"Only God knows."
Like a ball python disguised as a tree root, the thought that there was order put my mind at ease. It always used to. I was a fool then, all because of his influence. He kept my mind soft as clay, easily mouldable by whomever saw fit to change it, ready for its journey into the kiln.
I left the church grounds and came to the road. The road snaked around the front and sides of the church like a boa constrictor, gearing up to squeeze its prey to death. We were here when it happened. When my friend's life came to a screeching halt. I was fifteen, approaching sixteen. Already, I could see that his "words of wisdom" were snake oil, trickling from his mouth with a translucent red hue.
It was after Sunday mass. For the past hour I had fairy tales drilled into my head as if they were historical accounts, and my friend was loving it. It never struck me as annoying before, but today it was. I had been looking into more about the world recently. I had been learning about war, evolution and the big bang theory. A few days before I had asked my friend when the world began. He told me it was 6000 years ago, with the creation of Adam and Eve. When I told him what I had learned about fossils, he blurted out the same old lie, "Don't listen to those scientists. They're all atheists trying to convert you to their sinful ways."
I had been seething about that ever since then. When Sunday finally reared its ugly head, I knew it was time for me to face the python.
"How did the universe come into being?" I asked him as we were heading for the car.
"God created it out of nothing." He responded, continuing to face forward.
"But how do you know that?"
"It is written in the Bible."
"But who wrote the Bible?"
"Many people, all under direction from God."
"But how do you know that?"
"It is written in the Bible", he repeated.
But what if they were lying? How do you know that these men didn't make things up to secure their place in history? To manipulate the gullible populace into respecting them as a messenger from a holy being?
"It is written in the Bible.", he said, unhesitantly.
I was getting frustrated. We were about to cross the road to the car park when I put my hand out to stop him and turn him to me.
"If God created the world 6000 years ago, how come archaeologists are finding fossils that date back millions of years?" I was almost shouting at him. "How can you still defend your lies when you have that evidence hanging over your head!?"
"It is written in the Bible" his lips moved again like clockwork.
"Stop saying that!" I screamed. I pushed him, somewhat lightly, taking much effort not to shove him to the ground. The push left him standing in the middle of the road. I made my way quickly to the other side, glancing briefly at his distraught face. My mother was about to say something from the driver's seat of our car, when we heard the screeching of wheels and a sickening thud. We all stopped to stare gaping-mouthed at the grizzly scene.
His mangled body lay on the road like a puppet whose strings had been cut. His blood splattered over the snaking road. The vehicle that struck him was the local bookmobile, the driver had stepped out to stare wide-eyed at what he had done.
The snake had strangled its prey.
I did not do it myself, of course. I would never have the heart to do it. I had known him since I was three. He was the same age as me. He had short, bowl cut hair, sky blue eyes and radiant white skin. He always wore pure white clothes. Shirts. Jackets. Christmas jumpers. Trousers. Even his shoes. All brilliant shades of grey to white. It almost gave him a heavenly glow. Not a speck of dirt touched his perfect face. He stood up straight and paid attention. He walked with a proud stride, yet bowed his head and spoke to others in a modest fashion. His voice was soft and calm, like an angel's. He always did what he was told, and offered help when not asked. The whole family loved him. In fact, they were the ones who introduced him to me.
Just as December took it's first steps into the year, he was escorted through the door by my mother. His perfect smile and shining white teeth already cutting a hole in my heart, nestling themselves within. He had the smooth features of a ventriloquist's dummy, his mouth opening and closing at the puppeteer's whim.
Being the stupid child I was, I welcomed him into my home. We played with cars, ran around the house and bounced on the bed. We also talked about what we wanted for Christmas. I said I wanted a bike, a remote controlled car and a train set. He said he wanted the same, but he also said that he was going to get them from Santa.
That was the first seed he sowed, in what would become a bountiful crop of lies.
I stood above his grave, his mangled body directly under my feet. On his tombstone read his name, followed by the acronym "R.I.P.", Rest In Peace. At my request, they had decorated it with a snake, coiling around the borders of the grave, baring its fangs.
Rest in peace, I scoff. There could be no rest for the dead. Death is the ceasing of a life that could've been better lived. If they lived on in some form, they would live in a state of constant regret and guilt.
I was feeling a little to warm, so I unzipped my jacket. Curious, I took out my phone to check the temperature. Sixteen degrees, and it's the middle of Galway winter. The world just keeps getting hotter, doesn't it? I thought. I once asked Father John about that. I was around eleven years old. It was just after mass, and most families had left. I had seen what has been happening to the global temperature, and wanted to stay back to ask the priest what he thought was going on.
"Father, why would God be heating up the Earth so much?" I asked.
"He's just making it more comfortable for us, pet."
My friend was there, and he chimed in.
"I'm very thankful that He's doing that. It's no fun when it's all chilly here."
Father John turned to him and frowned.
"You shouldn't be ungrateful for the cold, my boy. Without it, you wouldn't be able to appreciate the warmth."
"You're right father. I shouldn't be ungrateful for the cold." My friend parroted.
"Come on." He said to me. "Your mother is waiting for us."
We thanked the priest for the sermon and left for the car. During the drive home, I tossed the conversation around in my mind. Something about it just didn't sit right with me. If God is warming the Earth up for those of us who are cold, what of the people living in hotter countries? Aren't they warm enough? And what about the animals? Doesn't a warmer climate alter their ecosystem? Nothing about it seemed like a good idea. And what about the ice caps? The polar bears?
Just as I was starting to question whether God had anything to do with this at all, my friend piped up.
"Don't listen to those scientists." He said. "They're all atheists trying to convert you to their sinful ways."
"But what about the people in hotter countries? And the animals?"
"God has a plan for them too."
"What is it?"
"Only God knows."
Like a ball python disguised as a tree root, the thought that there was order put my mind at ease. It always used to. I was a fool then, all because of his influence. He kept my mind soft as clay, easily mouldable by whomever saw fit to change it, ready for its journey into the kiln.
I left the church grounds and came to the road. The road snaked around the front and sides of the church like a boa constrictor, gearing up to squeeze its prey to death. We were here when it happened. When my friend's life came to a screeching halt. I was fifteen, approaching sixteen. Already, I could see that his "words of wisdom" were snake oil, trickling from his mouth with a translucent red hue.
It was after Sunday mass. For the past hour I had fairy tales drilled into my head as if they were historical accounts, and my friend was loving it. It never struck me as annoying before, but today it was. I had been looking into more about the world recently. I had been learning about war, evolution and the big bang theory. A few days before I had asked my friend when the world began. He told me it was 6000 years ago, with the creation of Adam and Eve. When I told him what I had learned about fossils, he blurted out the same old lie, "Don't listen to those scientists. They're all atheists trying to convert you to their sinful ways."
I had been seething about that ever since then. When Sunday finally reared its ugly head, I knew it was time for me to face the python.
"How did the universe come into being?" I asked him as we were heading for the car.
"God created it out of nothing." He responded, continuing to face forward.
"But how do you know that?"
"It is written in the Bible."
"But who wrote the Bible?"
"Many people, all under direction from God."
"But how do you know that?"
"It is written in the Bible", he repeated.
But what if they were lying? How do you know that these men didn't make things up to secure their place in history? To manipulate the gullible populace into respecting them as a messenger from a holy being?
"It is written in the Bible.", he said, unhesitantly.
I was getting frustrated. We were about to cross the road to the car park when I put my hand out to stop him and turn him to me.
"If God created the world 6000 years ago, how come archaeologists are finding fossils that date back millions of years?" I was almost shouting at him. "How can you still defend your lies when you have that evidence hanging over your head!?"
"It is written in the Bible" his lips moved again like clockwork.
"Stop saying that!" I screamed. I pushed him, somewhat lightly, taking much effort not to shove him to the ground. The push left him standing in the middle of the road. I made my way quickly to the other side, glancing briefly at his distraught face. My mother was about to say something from the driver's seat of our car, when we heard the screeching of wheels and a sickening thud. We all stopped to stare gaping-mouthed at the grizzly scene.
His mangled body lay on the road like a puppet whose strings had been cut. His blood splattered over the snaking road. The vehicle that struck him was the local bookmobile, the driver had stepped out to stare wide-eyed at what he had done.
The snake had strangled its prey.