When The Lost Things Appear

Judgement Day

Id only been exposed to Christianity after I ruined my life. Before, it was quite fascinating to me that so many people in the world worshipped a guy theyd only ever heard about. It was massively hilarious that theyd do anything to please and serve him. Then there was Judgement Day, the day God would decide who could actually go to heaven and who would drown in the helpless, fiery hole of hell. The thoughts of fascination quickly morphed into fully developed fear. Soon enough, I became afraid of my own Judgement Day.

The earth was wiped clean of yet another soul, and it was by my hand. I remember a feeling so roaring and uncontrollable, that I couldn't hear anything but the booming sound in my ears. I was breathing so heavily...I swore I was having a panic attack. Though, a panic attack couldnt compare to the trauma I was enforcing onto my love. Eventually, his heart gave up, and now I have to live with the fact that his death was my fault.

The one who loved me so much hed always comfort me when I showed the slightest sign of sadness. Who got me flowers every other month because he knew how much Id liked nature and all its secrets. The man who called me lilybird because he just loved to. All gone because I couldnt control my damned anger.

Which is why the idea of someone controlling whether I burnt for my crimes or not suddenly became very scary. Very real. I was not willing to risk being punished for eternity for something that was purely accidentally non-accidental.

At first I thought if I prayed extra or maybe listened to more heaven related music, I wouldve at least had a chance. I bought an ugly floral dress and attended a church service, which I had only then realised were way too long for my liking.

Christmas Day was when I realised all of my hoping was useless.

It was as if the sun was already in the mood to taunt me. It shone directly into my face and aroused me from my sleep.

Christmas was one day that the Christians liked to celebrate. It was their Jesus birthday. So of course I made it my mission to at least attempt to drag myself to service. I was quite sure that Jesus wouldnt appreciate me not showing up on his birthday.

Service was going for longer than usual, and I began to contemplate leaving in the middle of the extended Jesus talk, when I heard something.

The slightest whisper.

As if a person took their lips and brushed it against my ear.

The feeling became continuous as my ears welcomed the muffled whisper. Then, words I thought Id never hear again. Words that convinced me that my Judgement Day would come and hit me harder than a brick to the face.

Hello lilybird

I screamed. I just screamed.

I bawled until my throat was scratchy and strained. Then, I bolted out of that service.

My mind was running a million miles per hour. There was no way in hell that love could still be alive. I made sure of that with my own hands.

So what in the actual living hell did I hear in that church.

I asked myself that until I drove myself home. Maybe I was just going crazy. At the time Id hoped so. I prayed without exactly praying that he wasnt still alive. It was the worst thing to wish for but its true.

I wanted the person I loved more than anyone to stay dead.

A wave of tiredness suddenly hit me and eventually, I realised my feet were carrying me over to my bed.

Is church service making me crazy? I asked myself.

I dont think it was the service though. Actually, now that I look back at it, service didnt do much for me at all.

So there I was, splayed across my bed, still in yet another ugly floral dress. My eyes closed as I began to fall asleep. Thats until a soft voice whispers in my ear, You think youre alone, but youre not.

I do some more fearful screaming.