God

God says that it takes a tragedy to bring out the best in someone, that is his plan. A tragedy the likes of a bathtub oversaturated with blood from the wrists of a girl you used to call your world, not to be too specific. However, it'd be silly to call her your world now. When she went, drowning in fluids that once pumped through her strong and valiant heart, so went your world. She isn't here to have the honor of being your world, nor is there even a world to have the esteem to be. At this point, you should probably just go home.

True, leaving her seems to bring a sickening feeling to your stomach, the kind you get when you think you're going to puke on a roller coaster, but you never do. Though, staying brings a sickening feeling that ultimately does cause you to puke, and so you do. God scoffs at you, of course. Your weakness is what brings sickness to his soul, nothing can quite bring unease to his stomach. He speaks to you, strong and secure. He contrasts your disgusting disposition of groveling and drifting without cause.

"You've got a ways to go before you can simply leave, my friend."

His eyes pierce through yours, reading your every thought. You needn't respond. He knows with confidence what you will say next. You are in his hands, and while they are good hands, he seems to have an innate hatred for you that you cannot explain. He blames you, though you cannot fathom for what. With disinterest, he shifts from your view as you use the countertop to heave yourself to the toilet, plopping down onto the seat and doing your best to take five.

The corpse in the bathtub makes things problematic, but you manage. Gaining some strength you stand and attempt to look at her again, this time without retching all over the floor. You think to yourself,

Perhaps if I impress God, he'll get me out of this mess?

God, fully aware of your inner struggle, chuckles.

"Strength will get you out of this bathroom. I am simply here to-"

He stops abruptly, your racing thoughts cutting him off precipitously. You look down at the cadaver, floating ever so gracefully in what feels like a bottomless pit of red contained by a slick, white, antithetical sheet of fiberglass. How ironic that she chose the weakest material in the house to house such an incandescent statement. It is a statement, after all, direct to God. That's why he's here. His time is more valuable than this, but such a puissant act of disrespect was bound to catch his attention. He adores life, indeed.

"Observe." He finishes, miffed.

Still staring like a man staring at a corpse, you take a blood-caked hand and run it through your hair. The viscous liquid keeping it down, you take a step back, followed by a few in quick succession. Must have lost your balance. The floor is wet. Back at the counter, you place a hand on it to shift some of your weight and gain some semblance of comfort. With a gesture, you attempt to rub your eyes, but you find a pair of glasses obstructs such a feat.

You'll just take them off, obviously. They'll just get in your way. You aren't sure how, but they will, certainly. After all, this is the kind of strength God was talking about. Dead girlfriend? Lack of sight? Both things you'll overcome, with strength. On that note, you remove your glasses and set them on the grainy copper surface, an odd choice for a countertop. You always thought it was ugly, but she simply adored it and you simply adored her.

You sigh deeply, you know what comes next. You don't dare look back at her, lest this cycle continue. Turning toward the door, God throws a compliment your way.

"Now you're getting the hang of it. Be strong, like she would have wanted."

That throws you off. Would she have really wanted you to abandon her here like this? Was this not some sort of cry for help? An impulsive action taken when she had no outlet, no rope to pull herself from the tar pit of disconsolation and panic?

"No, of course not. It was an incandescent message, remember?"

God is certain. You are certain.

"Alright, let's get you out of here."

God smiles as you reach for the handle. Dread washes over you, but like an ocean wave that simply comes with the tide, as God's certainty quickly causes it to wash away. You turn the handle and open the door, cold air rushing to rendezvous with your face. The feeling of your eyelids being harassed by unfamiliar air hits you hard, no longer guarded by the thick layer of glass that granted you proper vision. Maybe you should have kept your glasses on.

As you step through the doorway, no thoughts come to mind, but your body kicks in some sort of reflex and you immediately make your way to the bedroom at the end of the hall. The smell of incense grows as you approach the door to your natural resting place, though now it feels like a crypt, violated by the chill that pervades the air. The door creaks open and you step into yet another nausea inducing environment. Too much nostalgia to really think about, so you simply choose to block it all out. With a quick search of the room, shifting through old mail and dirty clothes, you finally find what you're looking for on the edge of one of the bed's many pillows.

An envelope, simply addressed to My Love. Oddly, the envelope is opened. Not as if it was never sealed in the first place, but as if it had already been breached. Blood stained fingerprints also line the side of the envelope that hangs ever so slightly off the edge of the pillow. As you reach for the paper, a loud buzz causes you to violently convulse for a moment before falling onto the floor. Frantically, you scatter about the room, scouring your surroundings for the source of the abrasive noise.

God scolds you for deviating from his plan, though he understands your pitiful curiosity. He allows this deviation from his brilliant clockwork once and for but a moment. You soon discover the source of the sound, a cell phone. Yours, not hers. Its face reads Mom and the message it displays reads:

Call me, please! I am worried!

You consider answering her, lifting her woes so that she may be at a peace you cannot achieve. Human nature breeds such kindness, you feel, but God is angry now. His patience you are now testing. Assertively, he guides you in the right direction. He points to an ornate, oak dresser on the other side of the room.

"Shall we proceed?"

In no rush to displease him, you quickly drop the phone, erasing it from your mind. As you approach the dresser, you notice the large, black revolver resting on its side. A single bullet sits adjacent to the barrel.

"That is strength."

God is right. Fear of death is the ultimate obstruction to the magnificent procedure he has in store. You put your hand on the weapon. It is cold and heavy, the real weight lying in the decision you must make, however. She wouldn't have wanted it this way, but you aren't really making the choices anymore, are you?

God, comfortingly, reassures you.

"Be strong. You haven't got many more options. However, weakness is certainly one, Supposing you're willing to disappoint her."

You open the cylinder and give it a jovial little spin, letting out a sound that rivals a whimper more so than a laugh. Placing the single bullet in one of the many chambers, giving it another spin for good measure and slamming it back into place, you pull back the hammer and place the barrel against your temple.

You can't really tell if it's cold sweat rolling down your face or a single tear, bearing the weight of beautiful incandescence turned misinterpreted tragedy. Now, by the grace of God, you might never have to know. As a single finger slides down the trigger, more and more pressure is applied to your cold, metal fate. Russian Roulette isn't very fun when it's just one person, you think. Your finger reaches the end of its tireless journey and God smiles. You smile wider.

Click.

God is good.

Unless that was the wrong outcome? You don't tread too long on the thought, as your relief and not exploded head are assaulted by the sound of God's voice, more proud than you've ever heard it.

"Now you are ready. You are strong."

Overjoyed, you instantly run for your coat. You can leave. You are strong. The world is in your hands now, God has returned to you the reigns of your own life, the reigns you dropped into that deep pit of red so long ago.

Maybe it was because you were running so fast, but you hit the side of a table on the way to the coat rack and fall flat on your face. With a groan, you bring yourself to your feet, rubbing your sore head. It wasn't your clumsiness, the table was clearly there, you just didn't see it.

Of course.

Your glasses.

You might as well just go get them. No harm should come of it, you are strong now.

You rush to the bathroom, ready to repair your perception and head off into the big blue world, ready to live again. Entering the abnormally warm room, a familiar wave of nausea rushes to your head. You place a hand on the counter, maintaining your balance. You look up into the mirror, par for the course. You see God there, his face your own. Weathered and defeated, he pleads for you to take your glasses and leave. Despite your better judgement, the judgement of what you have decided to perceive as God himself, as unfamiliar a coping method as that is, you take a quick look at her, hopefully just one last time.

As she lays, peacefully, her now pale face shines in the presence of the dingy tile walls that tower over her and protect her from the rest of the world. Your jaw can't help but drop, denial gripping you once more.

God says that it takes a tragedy to bring out the best in someone, that is his plan. A tragedy the likes of a bathtub oversaturated with blood from the wrists of a girl you used to call your world, not to be too specific.

Author's Note

This story involves suicide, so steer clear if that bothers you or whatever. The grammar is probably garbage. My bad if it sucks, don't be hesitant to let me know. Enjoy I guess.

Reviews

[Inject Positivity]

This was dark, and I would say very thought provoking... The story telling and the overall style of writing... I think the way you have described it, was very powerful... The darkness and sad tone really takes the reader to a different world... I loved the presentation of it and how you have used the dialogues... A very good write frnd...

Sincerely
Dhiman