Yellow

Five

What if God was one of us? I thought to myself this morning as I woke up to another day of endless suffering. What if God suffers the way we do to understand the needs we have? What if I had robbed him? What if I saw him every day in the bar without being aware of his presence. They say God is always by your side, but what if that isn't mend as an almighty person-like creature watching over us, planning every move made for humanity? What if he simply walks among us and smiles, because we are all his creation and we are all so beautiful, even though we sometimes do mischievous things? Maybe even evil. But then if God was one of us, how could he live in a world with evil? If he watches over us from above, how could he let me and others who have killed live? We aren't worthy of living... Or does he simply take out the ones with a heart of gold and let those in need to improve live until we can no longer? It would be an explanation for my mother, but not for my father, either my brothers. It would be an explanation for myself, why I still set foot on this earth every day. Maybe he wants to make me suffer. Maybe my soul is already rotten and unable to fulfil with love. Maybe I am doomed to let the flames burn my soul for eternity. But maybe, just maybe, he will forgive me.

My father never loved me, he despised me. I was the underdog, I was thin, small, unable to stand up when beaten down. My mother loved me, she cared. I was the one with a heart, I was thin, small, unable to stand up when beaten down. And she loved it. She loved the fact that I wasn't the kind of man like my father was. She loved the fact that when I was sad I'd go to her and ask for a hug or a bedtime story. She loved the fact that I wasn't filthened by the horrors that took place outside the barely standing walls of our house. I was pure.

One day I woke up to my father's face so close to mine that I could smell his alcohol drenched breath clouding the rubbish smell coming from our neighbourhood. "Stand up, boy," he said as he pulled me by the old shirt my eldest brother used to wear, "ye know what ye are? You are a disappointment. Ye cry at eve'y flinch that could harm ye shield of luv. I don't need tha'." I tried to withhold the tears from running, because every time I cried he would loosen his belt and whip my back ten times until I begged for mercy. The scars are still to see today. "I need a man," I flinched as his left fist found my cheek, I flinched as his heavy, big boots came down on me, crushing my ribs. "Why are you doing this to me?" I asked again, hoping this time he'd answer differently. But he didn't: "B'cause, boy," my father snarled as he let his foot down on me again, this time aiming for the nose, "pain is the only way a lil brat like yeself can b'come a man. B'cause this is the only way I'll be able to train ye fo' the real world. Cause guess wha' kid? Life ain't pretty. And with that pretty face o' yours, ye'll thank me fo' hardenin ye." He pulled me up by my collar and threw me onto my mattress. "I've been easy on ye t'night kid," he picked up the bottle of whiskey standing next to the door, "Guess the whisky calms me nerves..." Where were you back then God? Where were you? If you really are one of us or the big force watching our every move, then why didn't you stop him? Why did you let him make me this way? Why did you just watch as he slowly turned me into the monster I am today? I prayed to God every night that I didn't have to become like him. Just as I prayed for him to stop. But neighter happened.  I did become like him. I became a murdering, thieving piece of shit that didn't care for a living soul. I hate him for having this kind of power over me, even from his grave. And I know hating is a sin, but I don't care anymore. I'm already far gone.

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