He stopped believing in God once. It lasted a full morning.
She was happy and secure once in the plastic garden of sterile comfort. Then the cancer struck her father, struck her family and the families entwined into her family and into the closely knit community masquerading as a church, struck with an almighty wind that knocked the air from her lungs and chilled irrevocably her budding joy in the world around her. She could never forget, would never forget going to see her father as he lay infant-like and swaddled to prevent him tearing at myriad needles. She was twelve. There were others in the room and she felt the hopelessness in all of them. She ran out after less than a minute, fleeing down to the hospital parking lot where others waited in open and in secret.
Her father had promised her he would get better, had promised her in those weeks after his diagnosis that God would heal him and that life would go back to as it was. He was completely assured of this by whatever damnable being was siphoning off his faith for other purposes. And so she was sure of it and so her mother and so the community bonded itself to this faith in a thing unseen. And as that which he knew wouldn’t happen approached with inexorable agony, he tore at the fabric of his existence, fabric which she had worn as her only protection. Her heart seamed in those moments, separating its parts as her pain burst forth again and again in rage and sorrow and hatred and shame. In those seams wormed in demons of an infinite variety, brought in as moths to flame.
In those last days, her dad looked at her with the brokenness of a fallen angel all the while his resolve never wavering even as all of reality was fracturing around them. And she started to break completely, to fission her ineffable flame. More moths, ever darker.
She cried once after he died and no more after that. She gave herself over to men and to Lilith, and knew joy no more, only a blue burning bitterness against faith in God; it was only this burning that kept her wounds festering, kept her will from recovering and knowing God for the first time. The flame flickered mightily as the abyss deepened; her nightmares in that abyss were
pushed further down through alcohol and television and late nights with many men. None of them reminded her of her father of his unbending faith that fractured her world. None of them that is until one day she glimpsed through the many filters and veils of darkness a man different.
He was a man of principles once; that is until he saw something in a corner lot on 5th Street. It shimmered and glowed with bulbous desire and in him the emptiness which had been dormant began to pull him towards those others. And he quickly gave in without much thought, much as he had given in to his wife and to his desires and to his lover and to his boss and to his mom and to his world. He gave in and sank beneath the waves waiting to be born again, to become God as promised by those whispers. His lust for the female form was nearly insatiable, born out of an early exposure to pornography and the riptide of adolescent desire. As he grew older, that’s all the world was anymore, anyways: domination and power and insertion and clever innuendos and confidence and curiosity and seduction of a basest sort.
It was time, she said beckoning. Are you coming with me
THEY all knew God once, that is until they saw themselves in His reflection and began the process of self realization. They muddied the waters and broke their gaze away from the Oneness. And in that darkness ever deepening, a Man stepped forth to banish them to the abyss. Scraping their way out to their doom, a few flaked off or hooked their way into a soul and for a time stopped their irreversible slide.
It was these who led the final charge against the Most High and his followers. And they expected to win, and win they did for a time, win they did.
Horror horror unspeakable horror, demons all filled the air.