#insert Evan kelmp ‘it was always too much to carry this and himself’

[halloweeneva]

You die. You’re a child and you die and your God walks away when you ask him why.  You’re fourteen and scared. You’re dead and no one saved you.  This wasn’t supposed to happen to you. Your God promised to protect you. He promised. He didn’t. You get to come back and it is in spite of him. The rules are broken and maybe so are you. You don’t know what to do when all of your faith has been misplaced and the one person who was always always supposed to protect you didn’t. You are a creature of faith and you don’t know how to trust anymore. You fight and you bleed and you’re not alone but you can’t go home.  

The only people who care enough about you to try and save you are also children. You’re all children and you’re dying. The only thing you can do is try. You do. You drag yourself up. Kicking and screaming and clinging by your fingertips. You are broken and bloody and bruised but you are alive and you save yourself. 

You try to start over. You invent a new god. Try to brandish it like a shield but some part of you is still fourteen and small and dead on a cafeteria floor.  Your parents don’t want you anymore. You loved them. You love them. You don’t know how to talk to them. They loved the version of you that died surrounded by strangers. Some part of you is sorry that you didn’t die. That you changed instead.  Maybe you came back wrong. 

You don’t know if your parents would care if you died again. 

You die again. 

You tried so hard and it isn’t fair. You spoke to the universe and it spoke back and it still isn’t enough. You don’t know how to trust anyone to protect you. Every time you try you see your own broken body on the floor.

The place inside you that is supposed to hold your faith has cracked and broken and the sting of betrayal still smarts when you try to touch it.

You die and find God broken and dead and sobbing on the floor. She looks just like you. She is a little too much like you. You reach out to her and she is angry and betrayed and so so familiar. She kills you. You are sixteen and dead. She can’t save you. Maybe you can save her. You come back. Kicking and screaming and crying you drag both of you back to life.

It’s hard. She doesn’t know how to be a god. You don’t know how to be a cleric. You’re both trying. You have to hope it will be enough. You look at her and see yourself and sometimes you can’t fucking stand it. You love her. You need her. She is so fragile you’re fourteen sixteen and can barely hold yourself together let alone somebody else. You don’t have a choice. You need each other. It has to be enough. 

She dies and it’s your fault.