God Was Real

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic


What is God was one of us? He was just a stranger who caught the bus. He wasn't all-powerful, he wasn't the mighty god you imagined. He was just a man.

Submitted: September 22, 2017

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Submitted: September 22, 2017

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The train rocked from side to side. Just enough for everyone to sway lightly. But he was motionless, a fixed point in reality. They knew who he was. His head was down and his eyes shut. Even though he looked like any other 20 something year old, he still radiated power. He had dull brown eyes and messy dark brown hair, with grey and blonde streaks littering his hair, slightly resembling a halo. God looked warm and homely. But he didn't want to be disturbed.

God was tired.

Every day, he was there, on the train. Most of the time, sleeping or reading. When he was reading, he often rolled up his sleeves and read aloud to the carriage. They listened intently, after all it was the only time they could hear him speak. When his sleeves were rolled up, you could see scars and tattoos winding up his arms like snakes. They saw the scars, and knew what they were from, but never said a word.

God was a self harmer.

He always brought the same ratty bag on the bus. An old brown bag with patches and pins on it. Little halos and angel wings on them, slightly mockingly. When he opened the bag, sometimes needles or plastic baggies were visible. But he couldn't be punished for it. He was God, how could they? But they definitely knew.

God was a drug addict.

The dirty clothes hinted at it, skeletal hands and dark eyes as well. They didn't know that he spent his last paycheck on bills and drugs. They didn't know he hadn't eaten in a week, or slept in two. All they did was judge him. Like always.

God was poor.

They saw him writing it, over and over. Smudged, inky handwriting decorated the pages. After every few minutes, he'd tear the page out, scrunch it up and stuff it in his bag. His hand darted across the page, spilling the thoughts out on to the page. They didn't knw what anyif it said, nor did they want to know. But it might have saved him if they did.

God was suicidal

He didn't catch the train the next day, or the day after that. The train seemed lonely without him. They found him holed up in his apartment, surrounded by blades, needles and empty pill bottles. And a note, that simply said,"This is your mess to fix, make this world a better place."

God was dead.


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