He had been abandoned. God was not the end be all to every question in one's life, but he really needed to hear God's voice. When all the voices told him he was worthless, he needed the voice that told him he was not. Instead he was often met with silence. Why how he been rejected? The priest told him to pray. He had been praying for the last two years 'n half. They told him to have faith in God's plan. He had faith and this is why silence hurt so much. Standing at the edge of the balcony railing he was trying to ignore the voice of the Devil that had replaced God's own words. Surely that's what this voice had to be. The voice that told him he was meaningless. He would respond to this voice and tell him he was not. The devil would laugh and ask him, [i]why did God remain silent?[/i] He would respond with hesitation, that this was some sort of test. Some sort of trial. Only to be laughed at once again. Is it a trial or is that God doesn't value your existence. That's not true. Holding onto a sense of false hope. Blind betrayal. God doesn't value you. Doesn't care. Why else would he have taken your job? Or the woman you loved? God doesn't care. No one cares. They never cared. You are a worthless piece of space. Why do you think God has gone silent? To test you? Is that what you think? I think not. Because he finds you a worthless piece of shit. Shut up! Stop! That's not true. Just because you say it doesn't make it not true. Look down. Look at the city of London. You think those people care. You must be so tired of trying to find answers that no one will answer. Not God. Not them. Not even you. You must be so tired of living this existence without a single person willing to give you pity or sympathy. Why else would the priesthood turned you down? It would be better if you had never been given an existence. And I know what you're thinking; if that were true then why did God make me in the first place? To make you suffer. To make you miserable. God always has the poorest jokes. Go on ahead. Go. Give up. Because the world would do better without you. [h1]S[/h1] [h1]I[/h1] [h1]L[/h1] [h1]E[/h1] [h1]N[/h1] [h1]C[/h1] [h1]E[/h1] Awake. Pierced by a cacophony of chaos in D minor. The sound of sirens whir like dizzying melodies of vertigo. Oddly numb. A light shines in his eyes like the sun is readily at your grasp. Their mouths move, though words hardly escape. When the words are heard it seems to come from some other dimension. Existing elsewhere. Voices coming after. [i]"Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"[/i] Only to answer with nothingness. A gasp of air as you try to talk. Something had shielded him from this mistake. He knew somewhere greater that he was not going to die. Every person at some point battling something knows when they are to live or when they are to die. What had stopped him? Had he not been as abandoned as he thought? Did he deserve forgiveness? [i]"Can you tell me where it hurts?"[/i] [i]"Stay with us okay. We're going to get you to the hospital."[/i] [h1]S[/h1] [h1]I[/h1] [h1]L[/h1] [h1]E[/h1] [h1]N[/h1] [h1]C[/h1] [h1]E[/h1] His nails dig into the sheets of the ambulance gurney. The sound of their equipment jostling around. As sirens continue to whir. Chaos number 2 in major A. [i]"We have a 29 year old white male en route. Possible head injury...."[/i] For a moment he lost their voice. Instead the chirping of birds. The scent of grass. When he comes around, one of the individuals grabs his hand. [i]"You're going to be okay. Just stay with us,"[/i] A human touch that felt like a promise. To be forgiven. To be saved. To be worth something. Worth an existence. Sheets. Nails digging into the fabric of the sheets. To be digging into soil and dirt that collected underneath his nails. Names from somewhere else calling his names. But sirens became whispering of leaves, the whirring in his mind began as birds chirping. When he opened his eyes again he looked around. Was this heaven? He wondered to himself. White leaves like diamonds hung overhead, on a grass of crystal. Had he been forgiven? Except this was not the heaven he was use to seeing depicted in paintings and murals. A part of him knew he hadn't passed on, nut another part wondered why he had been spared. How did he then get here? How did any of this make sense? How did you make sense of this? [@Majoras End]