In The End, Do I Deserve It? I Do

Blood, Alcohol, Nooses and an Abomination

This story was written May 3, 2021.

Warnings for this story: graphic depictions of self harm, suicide, religious imagery, misgendering

Read at your own risk

There is also some dialogue in Spanish, just a heads up

Enjoy

~In The End Of The World

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His knees ached from praying for so long, but it was a required service. Always required, never something he can negotiate on.

"Sunday is the holy day," his father would always remind him, "You must honor the lord on this day, after all he has done for you"

The irony that such a sinner was quoting gospel at him was not lost to him.

The irony that someone so vile praying to a God who had never been there for him was not lost on him.

He wanted to go home, to the privacy of his room and the bathroom, but he had to pray. Pray for a God who had the ability to pick his draw and gave him the worst possible deck.

His hands were starting to ache from clasping them so tightly, he could feel the drip of sweat rolling down his back, into the pearly white dress he was wearing. That he absolutely despised.

The air was suffocating him. Maybe it was the Holy Spirit ready to take a sinner down to hell.

"Miranda, parate" his father said, commanded. He stood shakily, not meeting his father's eyes. His hair felt heavy, his stance was wrong. He wanted to sink into the floor.

The rest of the service was a blur, the hymns lulling him into an almost hypnotized state. It mesmerized him, made him think that maybe this wouldn't be too bad.

It's a shame that sinners are not welcome in the church.

It's a shame he is an abomination.

After all, his family had said so. Their word was law.

He was led out soon after, his shoes making small clicking noises against the tile of the floor, but they were drowned out to all but him as the congregation came together, chatting and making small talk with the other Christians that were so much holier than him. Kinder, less of a mistake.

Not everything God was against.

The car ride following the service was quiet, nobody daring to speak up, least of all him. He could feel his father's heavy breathing, his sister's obnoxiously loud music, his mother scrolling on her phone. It was as suffocating as the air inside the church.

Maybe sinners aren't allowed anywhere. It would be justified.

Stepping inside the home was also quiet, and he dashed to his room, desperate to get out of the dress, out of the white fabric, out of his own skin if he could help it. He would strip all of the layers down to the bone if he could. Maybe if he was a skeleton, no one would realize how much of a liar he was, how much of a poser, how much of an absolutely traitorous piece of filth he was.

He put on a shirt he had stolen from his father before, one large enough on him to engulf his body whole, swallowing his shape. Swallowing the shape that belonged to him, but the shape that was just absolutely wrong.

He changed into some shorts, slinking into the bathroom. His mother reminded him not to spend too much time there. He made an affirmative noise.

He knew he was lying.