Gods and Monsters (a very short story)

Those were the days when we thought dad might be god, or at least a god. In any case, he had a power over us, which superseded any god that may have thought to reign on high.

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God."

My faith was lost, replaced by a hatred so pure it burned white hot from a source deep within my soul, yet to be saved. But I favored survival, so I played the subservient, fearful, meek and obedient child. In secret, I plotted and schemed an uprising to take down the tyrant, who embodied my father.

We did bow to him. We did worship him. We did offer up sacrifices. We sacrificed ourselves on a daily basis.

It was Teeny, who escaped his wrath. The youngest of the four, born early, small, but with a vengeance.
In a land of gods and monsters, we were her holy mother. We were her angels. We absorbed her sins. We all hovered over her as eagles, top of the food chain. Dad was the threat. Teeny's survival rate was 50/50.

He had already poisoned our mother. She was a shell of a person held upright only by a small hope that one day she would be made holy from the suffering she endured on this earth, and the handful of pills she washed down several times a day stealing any glint of light that may have once been seen in her blue greys. Now those eyes, encased in heavy lids and dark mooned skin, more aptly could be described as a smog that swallowed a once beautiful city.

Our world consisted of a modest, ranch-style house of pain. Within the walls we dodged and fought off a man, taken down by business failings, but kept inflated by a prideful ego. We later learned all of his monstrous roar was a cover for his self-hatred and slipping sense of control.

It's funny how a few lines of cocaine can make a man, small in stature, appear larger than life.

Maybe God is a drug addict.

Wasteland

Walking in the darkness

Fragrant thoughts

Shivering free

Acrid and steaming

Up

The veil 

I place my hand 

In front of my eyes

Shielding 

Them 

From that 

Pungent thought

Fog

Choosing to 

Trod heavily,

reluctant 

Turning 

Back 

For a moment

To a light

No longer there

Stumbling I find 

Large stones

And mark them 

With my own shin blood

Thick air 

Licking

The wounds

At once

I still and steady my breath 

Squinting to find

The 

Firmament

As told and regaled

Since time had no purpose

I find a translucency 

No more

No less

A thin film

Preventing passage

Through it I see

A tunnel

Dimly lit

Ruby red

Soft

Long

And a world at the end 

That I no longer cared to find

Instead I close my eyes, even in this wasteland, 

And see more

Hear more

Taste more

Know more 

Than that distant space could 

Offer