the three thrones

Christian always felt like the world was tilted against him. Not broken-just... off. Like the rules were written in invisible ink, and everyone else got the decoder but him.

Bills stacked like tombstones on the counter. $700 for rent due in two days, and the account blinking red like a warning light in a cockpit. His wife tried to hide her stress behind sharp sighs and tighter hugs, but every "It's fine" carried an edge that could cut bone.

He wasn't a bad man. At least, he didn't think so. But some days, "not bad" felt a mile from good.
Like tonight.

The thermostat glowed an accusing 75 when it should've been 72. The living room was a battlefield of blankets and crumbs. And the TV remote? Missing in action. His wife's voice earlier had cracked like a whip:
"Why is this so hard for you? Just try, Christian!"

He promised. Again. And the promise felt thin as smoke in his mouth.

So he sat now, alone, scrolling in the dead hush of midnight. Clicking through forums-faith debates, conspiracy threads, ancient texts that smelled of dust and despair even through a screen.

Are angels real?
Are demons?
Is God watching, or is He just a bedtime story for broken kids?

His eyes burned. His chest felt hollow. And somewhere deep, the question that had haunted him since boyhood clawed back to the surface:

"Is there something more... or is this all there is?"

He whispered it into the dark, a prayer or a curse-he didn't know which.

Sleep took him like a thief.