Interstellar Ross

Chapter 1 I Don't Believe in God

Human Realm

September 1st 2019

"My name is Meg." I spoke beneath a baseball cap and an oversized sports jumper to hide my features. "I don't really know why I'm here; I don't think I'm as violent as everyone else in this room." I made a show of looking around the circle of people that were clearly locals to the V.A. meetings. The group ranged in various ages, gender and professions, providing a perfect example of how America was championing violence from tweens to pensioners.

"I guess I just wanted to have an audience, some ears to listen to my story." I sunk lower into my seat, my eyes following the grains of the woven carpet on the floor. "I don't believe in a God." My voice sounded tortured and disconnected to my own ears. "But I don't believe in modern science either. The Bible offered me no absolution or sense of justice for the wrongs that have been done to me. It provided no answer to who my birth parents are, but I can sure guess that they wouldn't care if I lived or died. The same can be said for the orphanage that leased me out to a home for 'troubled youths'." I quoted myself with bunny-eared fingers and a mocking tone. "Science and medical experimentation couldn't explain what was wrong with my mind and it still can't. I could see things, hear things, that nobody else could. Monsters didn't hide under my bed; they hid under the masks that the nurses wore. And the priest, he almost had me believe in the Devil, believe in religion, because if one existed, then the other must too, right?" I took another moment to gauge the reactions of the fellow people gathered. They had every right to look as disturbed as they did. "I spent seven years with the Devil. A picture perfect, white picket fence kind of family thought that they were savin' me from myself, from my mind and my own two eyes. But alas, there be but not one Devil, but one for every religion." Memories surfaced, aiding me in conveying my story as well as torturing in remembering what had made me who I was. "I got no love, no family, I was but an outlet. For a father it would break his mind to hit his wife or his children, but not if he wasn't hittin' his own flesh and blood. I convinced myself I was helpin' this modern family, I was helpin' them be better, because my life was worth nothin' if not for the service of another. Who would have thought that a bus accident would help me break my chains, literally, not metaphorically? I used what little sanity I had left-if you could call it that, to get emancipated after I broke my legs. Of course, I had to heal first, which was easy when I wasn't sleepin' in a place that didn't have so many hands or knives under the covers where I slept. And that about brings us here to the present, where I live alone and cold under an old bridge."

I had successfully stunned my audience into silence. I decided to speak again.

"I honestly thought that might make me feel better." I looked around. "I forgot what the point of meetings like this are, remind me again Joseph?" I looked to the leader of the meeting, who was a grey-haired middle-aged man who looked to be clutching his clipboard as if it were a life raft.

"J-John, he corrected," his mouth working in his anxiety. "The point is to allow someone to have their problems heard and for me to possibly offer a solution or to ease their nerves."

"I already know what my problems are." I couldn't help but smile. "I'm a schizophrenic, psychopath with an attachment disorder." I leaned forward in my seat for my impending question. "So tell me Judas, how can I fix myself?"

His lip wobbled like a toddler about to burst into a crying fit.

"I guess I'll try again next week." I stood up at his silence before making my way toward the open doors. I pinched myself a donut and a Styrofoam cup of coffee from the snack table before stepping outside into the elements of the temperate climate. I savoured my donut and beverage as I treaded down a quiet walking trail that connected the outer town limits to the park and neighbouring woodlands.