Tiltilla
12-12-2016, 02:16 PM
((OOC: Hullo! Before starting the story, could I ask for some feedback when you're done? I have been trying to get in the habit of writing again, but it's been years since I've tinkered with prose. I am so rusty!))
The words had been burned in my mind over the years. How many times had I thought it cruel? The only unforgivable sin?
His fingers were cold. That also burned in my mind. I could feel it even now, icy digits so light that I once thought it was a bug scurrying under my clothes as I slept.
I was wrong.
Why can he shed his guilt, but the shame marked me for years?
Her body pressed against mind, crushing the air from my lungs, twisting my arm as she taunts me again, 'I can use as much force as I deem fit to make you obey. THAT'S the law.' She leaves bruises. Strips my leg of skin. Threatens me under promise of pain until I am quiet and still.
Why can she shed her guilt, but I wince at mistakes? When I expect pain when a voice is raised?
Why is surrender less forgivable than torment?
It doesn't matter, I remind myself, sinking deeper into the tub.
The water was so dark now. So warm.
My wrist still throbbed, but the pain was slowly fading.
Everything was fading.
"Suicide is the only unforgivable sin."
Well, mom, if you 'forgive' your way into heaven, then I will gladly take hell.
My eyes slip shut, and I am gleefully aware it's for the last time
—-
God, the light is blinding!
"Only for a moment." A powerful voice answered calmly, and I have to shield my eyes with one hand, trying to blink away the white spots. Slowly, the world comes to focus around me, and my confusion only grew.
I was in a... Room? A palace? It was changing with each passing moment, ancient columns of stone and mortar replaced with crisp and modern lines, one style fading to another so fluidly that it almost seemed strange to question how.
There was hardly a moment to get used to the strange room, before the arched ceiling above broke into a thousand shards of vividly colored light, another blinding flash before I became all-too aware of the thousands of forms overhead, gliding, swooping, and diving above.
My throat goes dry, eyes transfixed on the figures. My body goes cold with dread as I remember my death, the peace that filled me before now replaced with a horrific fear of what might be denied.
Above is heaven.
I must be -
"You're not going to hell."
My head jerks down, for the first time noticing a plainly dressed man standing just a few feet away.
At a glance, there wasn't anything about him which screamed authority. He wore a simple robe, bound at the waist with a length of rough cord. Deceptively simple clothes, juxtaposed against a man who was impossible to forget.
His hair was long, dark, and densely curled, creating a mane which framed a face almost too handsome to be real. His eyes seemed almost black, just for a moment, before catching the light and sparkling with hues of gold and mahogany. Colors of churned earth. Of dark forests with the sun peaking between branches. The colors of life.
It was his radiance, more than his appearance, which drew my attention. Emotions waved off of him. Power. Compassion. Warmth. I felt tiny before him, but mighty. Filled with something deeper than faith.
Before me, in his almighty grace and wisdom, God himself sank to his knees. One hand, so gentle that for a moment I almost forgot the power which this figure held, cupped my palm and traced one finger along the trench in my wrist - the one which had ultimately stolen my life. He paused at every tiny scar cutting across the deep wound, the years of pain that I had inflicted upon myself.
Dark eyes glistened slightly, and He heaved a powerful sigh. Around me, heaven itself quaked and darkened, in my surprise I nearly tore my hand back.
God would not release me so easily.
Instead, he raised my fingertips to press against his forehead.
I stood awkwardly still, transfixed in my awe as angels glided above us, arms burdened with robes, strips of linen, and a small tub of water scented with a perfume which roused feelings of excitement and joy - feelings I hadn't experienced in years.
"I don't unders-" My voice froze in my throat, my eyes raising to follow one of hundreds of angels as they swirled above, humming a hymn that I was sure I had never heard before, but knew as well as I my Earthly name. The song was older than man, older than Earth, a gift to those who earned God's praise.
"What have I done to earn this?" I demand, my breath coming hard and sharp, and tears filling my eyes at the beauty and grace which I surely couldn't deserve. This had to be a cruel deceit, to allow me to experience Heaven, before being thrust into hell with fellow my fellow sinners.
My lip trembled slightly, and I struggled to contain what little composure I still possessed. Don't cry. A part of me scolded, You would stand before God and weep?
The fingers cupping my wrist loosen slightly and reflexively I glance down, meeting God's gaze, His eyes brimmed with tears. Like my own. "God kneels before you, and weeps." He releases my arm, bowing his head once more.
A chair slid under me, and hands urged me to sit. Nervously I gripped the arms of the seat, any peace drown by a surge of shame and unworthiness.
"No." God spoke again, voice edged with warning. He waited a long moment, for the swell of self-loathing to fade, before dipping the edge of one of the linen sheets into the water and lifting my foot to wipe the dirt of Earth away. With each slow motion, I could feel the weight of my life lifting. The pain lessening. My scars, both literal and not, fading slowly back to the perfection He had intended.
"My child." His voice boomed once more, filled with regret and pain, "Forgive me, my dear child."
My feet clean from the sin of Earth, God gestured for me to rise, so that my deathly shroud could be replaced with immaculate white robes, draped lightly over my broad shoulders.
"Father..." The dread and shame ebbed away, but curiosity still remained, "I sinned. I stole the life which you gave."
God shook his head, rising to His feet once more, "I feel no anger for children who return to me by their own hand. Only grief." God doesn't look at me, His eyes instead gazing into the endless expanse of Heaven. "There are demons more malicious than my fallen children. For some, it is the humans who have turned from me." He pauses, knowing well of the torment I had faced when alive. Memories come easily. The pain of beatings. Hands I did not welcome to touch my body. Mockery where I sought aid. Betrayal.
Pain usually followed such thoughts, but God had washed such things away. Left behind was only the knowledge of the wrong which had been done, a testament to what I had endured.
"For you." He continued, quickly earning my attention again, "Those demons attacked all. It stilled laughter. Bred self-loathing. Hid your worth. Shut out even my love."
Mighty arms drew me closer, wrapping around me in a protective hug. "You fought your war. Valiantly. Courageously. You stand before me as a casualty, one who I welcome to my kingdom."
I found tears again touching my eyes, but this time I did nothing to stop myself from sobbing into God's shoulder, clutching Him with all of my might. For the first time in my existence, I felt forgiveness, love, and acceptance.
——-
Days pass. Decades pass. It is all the same. Time flips and folds into itself, marked only by comparison to Earth.
I visit Earth often, though, dressed in the gold and white robes gifted to me when I entered the Kingdom. On my head sits a delicate wreath of light, marking me a soldier in His name. It was only fitting, I thought, that a soldier in life would continue such work.
Our weapons lay across Earth. Little things, which worldly warriors may not even notice. I am partial to the pills, miracles which hadn't yet existed when I was alive. A simple brush of my hands as the healers - no, pharmacists - packaged their wares, and the medicine became a shield or a sword. Into it I poured strength, to battle longer. Harder. To beat back sadness and woe.
Others found their own way. Some soldiers worked intricately, lifting the spirit of one who shines brightly, knowing that their joy may spread to those who need it.
Many inspired new doctors, guiding their paths to aid others.
Some, though they belong to our division, fill the role of a muse. Inspiring. Aiding in creation. They spend months, sometimes years, refining the gifted. Though I once didn't understand the practice, their cunning is clear in the results. Thousands of our charges, inspired and compelled. Strengthened by stories much like their own, to continue fighting.
We are all soldiers in our own right, but sometimes we fail. One of the charges falls, a casualty to their demons. On those days, heaven darkens as God mourns his wounded child.
But, on better days, the warriors return to us as victors in their battles. They greet us as old friends and allies in a war hard fought, and join us as honored veterans.
Those days I long for, to see God beam with pride at his children.
His warriors.
The words had been burned in my mind over the years. How many times had I thought it cruel? The only unforgivable sin?
His fingers were cold. That also burned in my mind. I could feel it even now, icy digits so light that I once thought it was a bug scurrying under my clothes as I slept.
I was wrong.
Why can he shed his guilt, but the shame marked me for years?
Her body pressed against mind, crushing the air from my lungs, twisting my arm as she taunts me again, 'I can use as much force as I deem fit to make you obey. THAT'S the law.' She leaves bruises. Strips my leg of skin. Threatens me under promise of pain until I am quiet and still.
Why can she shed her guilt, but I wince at mistakes? When I expect pain when a voice is raised?
Why is surrender less forgivable than torment?
It doesn't matter, I remind myself, sinking deeper into the tub.
The water was so dark now. So warm.
My wrist still throbbed, but the pain was slowly fading.
Everything was fading.
"Suicide is the only unforgivable sin."
Well, mom, if you 'forgive' your way into heaven, then I will gladly take hell.
My eyes slip shut, and I am gleefully aware it's for the last time
—-
God, the light is blinding!
"Only for a moment." A powerful voice answered calmly, and I have to shield my eyes with one hand, trying to blink away the white spots. Slowly, the world comes to focus around me, and my confusion only grew.
I was in a... Room? A palace? It was changing with each passing moment, ancient columns of stone and mortar replaced with crisp and modern lines, one style fading to another so fluidly that it almost seemed strange to question how.
There was hardly a moment to get used to the strange room, before the arched ceiling above broke into a thousand shards of vividly colored light, another blinding flash before I became all-too aware of the thousands of forms overhead, gliding, swooping, and diving above.
My throat goes dry, eyes transfixed on the figures. My body goes cold with dread as I remember my death, the peace that filled me before now replaced with a horrific fear of what might be denied.
Above is heaven.
I must be -
"You're not going to hell."
My head jerks down, for the first time noticing a plainly dressed man standing just a few feet away.
At a glance, there wasn't anything about him which screamed authority. He wore a simple robe, bound at the waist with a length of rough cord. Deceptively simple clothes, juxtaposed against a man who was impossible to forget.
His hair was long, dark, and densely curled, creating a mane which framed a face almost too handsome to be real. His eyes seemed almost black, just for a moment, before catching the light and sparkling with hues of gold and mahogany. Colors of churned earth. Of dark forests with the sun peaking between branches. The colors of life.
It was his radiance, more than his appearance, which drew my attention. Emotions waved off of him. Power. Compassion. Warmth. I felt tiny before him, but mighty. Filled with something deeper than faith.
Before me, in his almighty grace and wisdom, God himself sank to his knees. One hand, so gentle that for a moment I almost forgot the power which this figure held, cupped my palm and traced one finger along the trench in my wrist - the one which had ultimately stolen my life. He paused at every tiny scar cutting across the deep wound, the years of pain that I had inflicted upon myself.
Dark eyes glistened slightly, and He heaved a powerful sigh. Around me, heaven itself quaked and darkened, in my surprise I nearly tore my hand back.
God would not release me so easily.
Instead, he raised my fingertips to press against his forehead.
I stood awkwardly still, transfixed in my awe as angels glided above us, arms burdened with robes, strips of linen, and a small tub of water scented with a perfume which roused feelings of excitement and joy - feelings I hadn't experienced in years.
"I don't unders-" My voice froze in my throat, my eyes raising to follow one of hundreds of angels as they swirled above, humming a hymn that I was sure I had never heard before, but knew as well as I my Earthly name. The song was older than man, older than Earth, a gift to those who earned God's praise.
"What have I done to earn this?" I demand, my breath coming hard and sharp, and tears filling my eyes at the beauty and grace which I surely couldn't deserve. This had to be a cruel deceit, to allow me to experience Heaven, before being thrust into hell with fellow my fellow sinners.
My lip trembled slightly, and I struggled to contain what little composure I still possessed. Don't cry. A part of me scolded, You would stand before God and weep?
The fingers cupping my wrist loosen slightly and reflexively I glance down, meeting God's gaze, His eyes brimmed with tears. Like my own. "God kneels before you, and weeps." He releases my arm, bowing his head once more.
A chair slid under me, and hands urged me to sit. Nervously I gripped the arms of the seat, any peace drown by a surge of shame and unworthiness.
"No." God spoke again, voice edged with warning. He waited a long moment, for the swell of self-loathing to fade, before dipping the edge of one of the linen sheets into the water and lifting my foot to wipe the dirt of Earth away. With each slow motion, I could feel the weight of my life lifting. The pain lessening. My scars, both literal and not, fading slowly back to the perfection He had intended.
"My child." His voice boomed once more, filled with regret and pain, "Forgive me, my dear child."
My feet clean from the sin of Earth, God gestured for me to rise, so that my deathly shroud could be replaced with immaculate white robes, draped lightly over my broad shoulders.
"Father..." The dread and shame ebbed away, but curiosity still remained, "I sinned. I stole the life which you gave."
God shook his head, rising to His feet once more, "I feel no anger for children who return to me by their own hand. Only grief." God doesn't look at me, His eyes instead gazing into the endless expanse of Heaven. "There are demons more malicious than my fallen children. For some, it is the humans who have turned from me." He pauses, knowing well of the torment I had faced when alive. Memories come easily. The pain of beatings. Hands I did not welcome to touch my body. Mockery where I sought aid. Betrayal.
Pain usually followed such thoughts, but God had washed such things away. Left behind was only the knowledge of the wrong which had been done, a testament to what I had endured.
"For you." He continued, quickly earning my attention again, "Those demons attacked all. It stilled laughter. Bred self-loathing. Hid your worth. Shut out even my love."
Mighty arms drew me closer, wrapping around me in a protective hug. "You fought your war. Valiantly. Courageously. You stand before me as a casualty, one who I welcome to my kingdom."
I found tears again touching my eyes, but this time I did nothing to stop myself from sobbing into God's shoulder, clutching Him with all of my might. For the first time in my existence, I felt forgiveness, love, and acceptance.
——-
Days pass. Decades pass. It is all the same. Time flips and folds into itself, marked only by comparison to Earth.
I visit Earth often, though, dressed in the gold and white robes gifted to me when I entered the Kingdom. On my head sits a delicate wreath of light, marking me a soldier in His name. It was only fitting, I thought, that a soldier in life would continue such work.
Our weapons lay across Earth. Little things, which worldly warriors may not even notice. I am partial to the pills, miracles which hadn't yet existed when I was alive. A simple brush of my hands as the healers - no, pharmacists - packaged their wares, and the medicine became a shield or a sword. Into it I poured strength, to battle longer. Harder. To beat back sadness and woe.
Others found their own way. Some soldiers worked intricately, lifting the spirit of one who shines brightly, knowing that their joy may spread to those who need it.
Many inspired new doctors, guiding their paths to aid others.
Some, though they belong to our division, fill the role of a muse. Inspiring. Aiding in creation. They spend months, sometimes years, refining the gifted. Though I once didn't understand the practice, their cunning is clear in the results. Thousands of our charges, inspired and compelled. Strengthened by stories much like their own, to continue fighting.
We are all soldiers in our own right, but sometimes we fail. One of the charges falls, a casualty to their demons. On those days, heaven darkens as God mourns his wounded child.
But, on better days, the warriors return to us as victors in their battles. They greet us as old friends and allies in a war hard fought, and join us as honored veterans.
Those days I long for, to see God beam with pride at his children.
His warriors.