pain

Dear God, I don’t know if I believe in you any longer

Photography by  Alina Noir

Photography by Alina Noir

I don’t believe that any otherworldly protectors are so entwined with physical manifestations on our tiny planet.

But it seems tonight, in a hot sweaty corner of the world someone broke the rules. There was too much pain, and the souls rebelled. They were human too. There was too much pain.

The people murdered in Paris didn’t get to be an earthquake – opening wide and swallowing their aggressors. But they got to scream and they got to cry. They got their reign.

Thunder is crashing, and families dinners are interrupted.
Lightning strikes and rain doesn’t fall for hours. Everyone marvels at the magnificence. Dogs won’t let their owners out of their sight. Kids cry. I remember I used to hide too. We all sit and think for a minute how good it feels to say “It’s just a thunderstorm”. All that banging and all the flashes don’t have to have a fatal end.

We’re reminded of beauty.
Mundanity.
Our stupid priorities – will traffic be fucked tomorrow?
We eat last night’s chicken under lights so much dimmer than the ones tumbling in.

After each bolt dinged in the sky like a personal assistant reminding us what we need to do, what we can talk about, it warped and changed.

They yelled, “SHUT UP”
With each flash clouds rippled at the source, hiding some sort of great castle just out of reach.

Then they performed their act of terror. The sky split in two and rain fell so hard every rattle we swore the clouds would give up and let down a wave. Pink clouds and heat. Crash, light so bright it wakes you up and sits you down.

Ink bleeds from the page, I can’t see what I wrote.
Breath is caught.
Someone gets shaken from the lean into a kiss.
Someone skips work.
Someone loses another night of sleep.
People scream and cry, people wonder.

All without a hand in sight.

They whisper under the banging and the crashing
“You never came close to wielding the power. Never. Never. Do not try to play for something no human could ever get their hands on to lose.”

Science plays across screens. Easterly, Westerly, Humidity Range. Oscillation and temperature indexes don’t catch our breath, don’t account for beauty or awe. Ending news segments –  small talk after horror and gore.

Sitting, looking up. Murmurs wow, look, unreal.

Our minds simple, malleable. Sitting, looking up. Waiting for the next light to strike.

They speak across the sky
“This is power. Don’t let them lie.”

 —
Submitted to ArtParasites by M. Reeves