Of God and Men

A short story

Steven thought he was shitting out stomach acid. It flowed in spurts, his asshole burning from the green chili-soaked burritos he’d had the night before. At times like these, everyone agrees that bidets are the only way to go when it comes to human ass cleanliness.

Gatorade. Gatorade would help with the dehydration bound to come. Bananas. Bananas, in either end, would stop the madness. Even a cork would do. Desperation flooded Steven with the questions of existence.

3 am. Almost 24 hours.

There are wet wipes called ‘feminine wipes’. How stupid is that? There is no difference between those and regular wet wipes. Only women have wipes for their genitalia. Balls smell so much worse but there are no ball wipes. 3 packs of the wet wipes would do. 72 each. “Can I flush them?”

12-pack of Gatorade, a couple pounds of bananas, and some pepto. Enough cigarettes and weed. Should be ready. Steven’s hands were shaking, he had already shit himself, thrown away the underwear, and bought a replacement pair from the store.

The apartment still smelled of shit, even with the windows open and fans moving at full speed. Steven drank the pepto like he would a Sunny D. No concern for serving size.

One more pit stop to the toilet before the pepto stopped him up as effectively as would the cork he had considered purchasing.

6 am. 27 hours, 37 minutes and 13 seconds.

“This is breaking news only at channel 2. A man has been found dead by the parish staff at St. Romain of Rayazan . . .”

Only “eggplant” could be close to describing the color his hand was turning. His sweat mixed with the tears. Steven patted his face with a wet towel, cinching the chain tighter. Creeping through his skin, the slow March of Death overtook his hand, fading the purple into black. One small whimper escaped Steven’s lips.

“You said . . . you said it was the only way . . .”

Steven had built a kneeler five years ago. He engraved beautiful flowers along the sides of it. It took many YouTube tutorials to get it right, but he had nothing but time to give. On the oak wood where his knees would be positioned, were the words MEA CULPA. His bare knees got used to the wood after a few weeks, so he decided there needed to be an upgrade to his prayers. Steven spread out the glue evenly before he sprinkled the gravel on top. He made sure to buy small pieces of gravel but not too small. Every day he would wash the blood off the kneeler; once in the morning, once in the evening. When there were more extreme temptations, he would twist his knees around to take his mind away from worldly pleasures.

Steven’s room became an oasis. The room began to smell of roses and his hardwood floors became a meadow. His knees were no longer bruised and his hand was normal again. The demons who clawed at his soul ceased and the headaches subsided. Before him was a beautiful lady, perfect in every way. No lust overcame him, just pure love. Her bare feet glided across the blades of grass and didn’t trample any flowers.

“Steven, my child, why do you weep?”

“Mother, I am not worthy of your presence. My soul is stained.”

“My child, do you question my direction? Have I pointed you away from my son before?”

“No mother, but God the Father said not to, and Christ, praised be their names, said not to as well.”

“Steven, the divine ordinances of the father and the son are to be taken seriously, do you think I rise against them?” . . .

A single brick chip fell off the apartment building this morning.

It made the mail carrier stumble.

NOTICE

Keep the noise down. There have been numerous complaints about noise. Reference section I.8 per the rental agreement if there are questions.

Thank you,
Luminous Apartments Ownership

“Hell yeah I did!”

Laughter lifted the room’s spirits as many ears were focused on the voice of Lance explaining his most recent conquest.

There is no need to describe the atmosphere of an office; there are plenty of descriptions which suffice.

“How’d you get her to fuck you? When I saw you, it looked like you were reaching for straws,” said an eager minion.

Now the audience was captured, Lance could hold them there to worship him.

“Now now children, the game of the pussy is a game of patience. If you know which girls to go for and what time to go for them then you score. You can’t just chase the hot ones, you got to be selective of your choice.

“Cougars and milfs don’t need much. Just to see that your dick works; if she’s a dominant one then she wants you to follow the lead in the sack, if she’s passive then she wants you to take control. You gotta feel it out and see what she wants.”

Steven continued to slurp his soup in the corner as Lance captivated his audience of blue-balled, masturbation tired dudes. The prayers fell from Steven’s lips trying to keep his penis under control. After failed attempts to control his erections, he drove his thumb right into his left testicle to subdue his lust.

“So this bitch ain’t no cougar. She woulda’ been jail bait a few years ago. At least I thought. Ends up she snuck in with a fake ID. 17 years old. Yeah, fuckin’ tight body and fresh pussy. Here’s the trick, you tell em’ they’re talented in whatever the fuck they want to do and she will do whatever you want. WHATEVER YOU WANT. No foreplay, right to the asshole, right up the fucking alley. Shit, I’ll take you boys to WOS’ Bar Friday night and show you how it’s done. Get some bitches to choke on your 2 inch dicks. Ha! 9 pm. Be there boys.”

The room cleared as Susie from operations walked in to get her lunch. Story time ended, no more fun fantasies of having the confidence to take a 17 year old girl home at 32 years old and not worry about anyone calling the cops. It’s estimated that 80–90% of pedophiles are male, 10–20% female. Power. The driving force of this evil. Small souls wanting control over someone who doesn’t know up from down. Instead of going for someone their age, which has a low success rate, they prey on the innocent. Moments of pleasure in exchange for the sacrifice of a child’s soul.

A slap on the wrist for the offender. This is ‘justice’. But for the child, there is no going back.

Why can’t this be even?

Everything is set. In nomine patre et fillii et spiritu sanctus. Amen.

“No, mother. I do not. I’m sorry . . .”

Steven whimpered.

“My son, your task is difficult, but it must be done. The reckoning is here, we have heard the cries. Keep fasting, keep praying. You will be rewarded.”

Colors of green faded while the pain increased. Mother slowly disappeared from view with the most serene face.

His hand became black again while his knees grew in soreness as the shit ran down his leg.

He changed his pants and grabbed the razors, candles, and matches. Lit candles lifted the smoke to his lady. He stripped naked and began to pray for the sins of the world.

There was a familiar crawling feeling on the thighs covered in scars. Crosses, Christus Rex, Madonna, scripture verses, etc. Each cut accompanied the words Jesus taught his disciples. He took his matches, blessed them, then stuck a burning match into his cut until the flame went out.

He grabbed his underwear made of camel’s hair he had brought back from Jerusalem. “More souls go to hell because of the sins of the flesh than for any other reason.”

Soon they would be here for him. He prayed for hours while pressing the camel hair against his genitals. Tears and sweat covered his face as he thought of the souls being saved by his pain. The unification of his suffering with Christ’s brought an immeasurable joy to Steven.

Footsteps replaced footsteps before splinters from the door fell into the bowl of cereal from the other morning.

The room filled with police officers to take Steven away. They asked him if he wanted to wear something else. Steven’s response: “I am no greater than my master.”

A baseball is made out of a cork or rubber center, wrapped in yarn, and covered in horse or cow hide. The feeling of the bat connecting with the ball is a great feeling that follows along one’s arm up to their soul. Especially those perfect solid hits.

Steven never hit a hollow baseball before, but it probably felt similar — of course on a bigger surface area — to his bat meeting the face of Lance. The same wave of feeling went up his arms but it carried a different tone. Like the difference between tuning a guitar from a standard E to a drop A. It’s oddly satisfying, feeling the hard surface bounce right off the wooden extension of himself. Now Steven did not swing hard. He just needed to get Lance off of his feet and unconscious. A blunt bat shocks the system when it strikes, and if you can get something hard like your hand bone or a bat on the back of someone’s head, it’s almost guaranteed to knock a person out.

Steven dragged Lance by the arm into his buggy. Yeah, like the slug bug car. It was 3,000 bucks even though it only had 60,000 miles. Steven didn’t have the funds for a proper criminal’s form of transportation. Uber would have been awkward . . . and expensive. Should he have cleaned out the backseat? Is it better to be a criminal who grosses people out or does that show a lack of professionalism?

Lance woke up spreadeagled and suspended in the air, fully clothed. Shoes and everything. It was dark, cold, and damp. A warehouse? His cellphone was still in his pocket.

Lance screamed into the gag. It shook the ropes pulling his tendons apart.

“Calm down, Lance! Holy crap, no need to scream,” Steven said, shaking his head.

“You’re probably terrified. I get it. I wouldn’t be very happy if I was yourself right now either. The name’s Steven, we work together. Forgot, you can’t really shake hands right now can you? I’ve been in the back row of the audience during some of your lunch time performances. You’re a good speaker. Horrible grammar, but you really captivate the audience with your sins against God. Now I’m going to take this gag out, please don’t scream. We are in the middle of nowhere inside a workshop no one knows is here. This is private property and I don’t have a neighbor or living soul within 50 miles. You can panic, but no blood-curdling screams, OK? Shake your head if you agree.”

Lance shook his head in agreement. His whole body was trembling in fear of the weirdo who always ate soup in the back of the break room.

“Now, Lance, do you know why you’re here?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Please don’t swear. Our Lady is present. Do you know why you’re here?”

“I don’t know you psycho! What do you want from me? You want money? I got money!”

“Oh no no dear Lance. Money doesn't resolve this. Do you remember a girl named Mariana? You two had met six months ago.”

“Who?”

“So you don’t remember her? Interesting. I saw the texts. I have full transcripts of what you texted her. ‘Oh baby, that tight pussy is so hot. You know what feels even better, going through the back door, smiley face.’ ”

“So what?”

“It’s in your phone. All text messages can be retrieved, right back to the original number. They’re all right there. I’m assuming you don’t remember how old she was?”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about so how would I know how old she was?”

Steven made his way to the table behind Lance. Fishing is one of Steven’s favorite hobbies. He took his handy gutting knife right to the collar of Lance’s shirt and cut all the way down, showing Lance’s bare back. Lance’s screams were so loud, it sounded like five people were screaming at the same time. Steven took the same pace he did while fishing: slow, steady, deliberate. The knife tucked back into its safe position, he grabbed the aviator snips and removed Lance’s pants.

“Lance, did you ever play that game where someone spelled something on your back with your fingers and you had to guess what it was? Let’s play that game. Guess what age she is.”

A small detail that is important is that Steven tied Lance in such a way that Lance couldn’t actually wiggle. This made the process so much easier. It is not as difficult to get in contact with bondage experts as Steven thought it would be. There were classes in the area. Who knew?

Knife cuts almost never hurt at first, the blade is so thin. It took Steven a week to work a go-around for the issue. He settled on the dental probe. There are professional torturers around the world, Steven was not one of them. He didn’t plan out where he was going to start. It seemed like he was staring at Lance’s back for ten minutes, but only 7 seconds had passed before he began on a cookie-sized — think of the radius of an Oreo — area on Lance’s left shoulder blade.

Animalistic noises came from Lance while Steven kept steady as a surgeon.

“What number do you think that is, Lance?”

Screams continued to fall out of Lance’s mouth. Curses and such, no need to go into detail which kind.

That’s not bad, Steven thought to himself. It’s better than my handwriting.

Steven repeated the process across Lance’s upper back until he felt satisfied.

“You’re terrible at this game, Lance. It’s 13. She was 13 years old. She’s not the first one either. According to my records, there are at least 23 underage girls you have molested and had sex with. All under the age of 16. You see, I’ve had lunch at the same spot every day for 15 years. Eventually, you and your gang would gather at lunch for you to tell about your sexual conquests at 12:13 pm every Monday, 12:09 pm on Thursdays, and 12:30 pm on Fridays. I didn’t ask for this, our sweet lady confirmed what my conscious told me. See, you are willing to trade one moment of pleasure in exchange for the soul of a child. No, no. No more speaking. Here, let me help you.”

Steven injected Lance’s neck with a paralyzing serum he had bought on Amazon that would keep Lance immobile for 30 minutes. The sewing kit was prepared for Steven to get to work. He put pieces of sponge in Lance’s mouth before he inserted the needle near the corner of Lance’s mouth. Sewing wasn’t his specialty, but it would do.

“You see, Lance, you get sexually aroused by power. At least 23 times you pursued the ultimate power trip — underage girls giving themselves to you. They can’t fight back. Do you feel like a man with them? I bet you did. But now . . . now you probably don’t feel too much like a man. What the lord giveth he may taketh away. Today, your power is gone. Helpless, just like your victims were.

“Do you know what I do at work, Lance? I’m a network security engineer. I make sure people’s information stays protected. It took no time to hack into your cloud. pussyfucker234. What a password. Not even a capital letter? I bet you regret that now. 43 hours of child pornography. Not to mention the personal photos you shared with your buddies.”

Journal entry #7,773

Pippy,

I saw it again. Heaven. Just slightly out of reach of my fingers. I didn’t give my attention enough to him, there is too much of me and too little of him. Even just reading that last line I see my vanity. Not a word of praise in a single line yet. Praised be his name. May I become nothing, so he may live in me.

Love in his name,
Steven

P.S. It’s always a flaming sword that inscribes the walls with “Doom”.

“Lance, my dear, you are my redemption. You see, you are the incarnation of the evils of abuse. You perfectly embody that spirit, that’s why it must be you: not in front of a crowd but alone, many scars but no rewards, redemption in the name of damnation. In this though, you will be resurrected. A new creation, blessed not just with water but with blood. A single moment of pleasure in exchange of a soul. Well, now I will have a moment of pleasure for the exchange of your soul. Deep breaths . . .”

Surges upon surges of energy entered through Lance’s testicles. Two clips were connected to a battery attached on the nut sack right below the testicles.

It was judgement day, people rose from the ground in ecstasy as families rejoined together in the beautiful hills. More magnificent than anyone has described it, the new Jerusalem is filled with laughter, colors beyond imagination; black holes were doors to different rooms in the universe uniting all beings in freedom. The cosmos transformed from a house of pure violence to a life-giving masterpiece. Galaxies came back from annihilation into their order attained in a previous life. Nebulae were blankets not for warmth, cold and warm no longer existed, but surrounded one with wonder for creation. All the dead came back to their loved ones. Different generations introduced each other to loved ones they hadn’t met, the lonely were united again by their blood. Glorious reunion of humanity. Steven hugged his mother and brother. Packs of wolves played with what was previously their meal, tsunamis didn’t destroy but watered the trees and vegetation.

Creatures who crawled felt the vibrations before anyone else. Every creature stopped, all eyes aimed towards the clouds. The heavens opened, the time had come. Invisible trumpets blasted in a low pitch shaking the roots of entire galaxies. So low and deep it almost hurt. It lasted almost thirty minutes in total until the trumpets ceased. From the open heavens came the four horsemen. Crowns on, swords covered in blood. Their deeds were complete. Coming from behind, 7 angels appeared, each with a golden trumpet in hand. But it weren’t hands that held the trumpets. Angels are not the tiny babies we see in paintings, their glory is too much for the eyes of man. If all nuclear bombs were detonated at the same time, it would still pale in comparison to the power of the angels. Together they said in thunder, “Alleluia to the King! The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign for ever and ever.” In unison, the trumpets approached their “mouths” and again the trumpets blasted but this time for an hour.

There came the King of Kings. His glory greater than all of the universe, there was no comparison to the beautiful images we have from space, the very essence of beauty and wonder was present. In a sound more powerful than the thunderous trumpets he said, “I AM. I MAKE ALL THINGS NEW. To the thirsty I will give from the fountain of the water of life without payment. He who conquers shall have this heritage, and I will be his God and he shall be my son. But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the polluted, as for murderers, fornicators, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their lot shall be in the lake that burns with fire and sulphur, which is the second death.

“AWAY WITH THE IMPURE! ONLY THE PURE MAY ENTER INTO HEAVEN. Your choice was made, the second death, to annihilation with you.”

With these words, Michael came forth with his sword of fire. Cries of praise left his mouth as he raised his sword before he drove it into the heart of the earth, creating the entrance to hell for all the condemned.

Those who were judged as not pure, about 87% of all human beings, fell from their loved ones’ arms. Each one let out screams only hell would be familiar with; it would be enough to drive anyone mad with just one of those screams alone, and trillions of people were screaming at the same time. They bit through their tongues, creating rivers of blood that the earth wouldn’t absorb. One by one, in unison, wherever their greatest sins came from, their skin began to split. For the liars, their mouths split. For the lustful, their genitals split. For the greedy and gluttonous, their stomachs split. They turned inside out, becoming less themselves and more their sins. All of the pure watched as this occurred to their family members. The pure looked over with smiles on their faces, knowing justice had been fulfilled. Yes, even as they watched their own sons and daughters be made into nothing. No physical body remained. Once they completed the turning inside out, they began to deteriorate until nothing remained. With this process completed, a figure came forth from the entrance of hell: The Angel of Death. Silence overcame the New Jerusalem.

The Lamb of God said to the Reaper: “Take them, seal them into the void. Their time is over.” With that the Angel of Death bowed his head, took the souls, and led them to their final step. One small wave of his hand and all damned souls flooded the entrance of hell until only the pure were left. The Angel of Death remained, though, turning back to God, waiting for further instruction. Every pure creature turned to Steven in silence.

God said, “Steven, you stand there with an expression of horror while everyone smiles. Be not afraid, this is the fulfilment of the kingdom.”

“May I ask a question?” Steven timidly let fall from his lips

“Yes.”

“Is it really a lake of fire or some sort of fire?”

“There is nothing in your experience that compares to this place.”

“What is it then? They’re tortured for eternity, just burning like in Dante?”

“No, it is no eternal place. It is their choice being fulfilled. I only create, while you are on Earth you can either participate in this creation or reverse my creation until you no longer exist. This is the choice you make.”

Steven’s mouth became dry and his fingers shook violently. “You mean . . . where they are going is . . . non-existence?”

“Yes.”

“How is that fair? I thought the pure were supposed to rejoice forever and the people who were evil punished in justice?”

“Steven, every moment of their purification would last millions of years on earth. Justice for their lives is allowing them to serve their punishment and then their sentence may be fulfilled. The wages of sin is death. Complete death.”

Steven began to have a headache. He realized after a few moments the blood running down his face. His stomach dropped as he prepared for his last moments. The same screams he heard earlier came from his own mouth.

“Steven, never doubt your Mother.”

With that, Steven was taken to hell by the Reaper. The Angel of Death waved his hand and sealed the entrance.

The same alarm went off at 6:15 am, bringing Steven from his dream back to his bedroom.

Fluorescent lights. They covered every three feet of the ceiling giving off some sort of cancer we are not aware of. Steven had a normal lamp in his office because fluorescent lights disturbed his eyes; the police department did not seem to have much sympathy for his eyes though. Little bugs found their way through the crevices of the concrete trying to comfort Steven who was cold and uncomfortable in his camel-hair underwear. He kept saying his prayers, keeping track of where he was by holding his fingers one at a time with such a gentle hold it was weird to think of him having tortured a man for three days.

Fifty three decades of his rosary in, the door was opened, sending a rush of lukewarm air into the room.

“Steven, I’m Detective Matthews. I’ll be heading this investigation into the crimes you allegedly committed. You may wait until you have a lawyer present which would mean a comfy stay at this police station for 48 hours or you may sign these documents and we could proceed today. What would you like to do Steven?”

The hair of Detective Matthews was disproportionally further back on his head than it should’ve been. A sign of age, stress, genetics, or some horrible combination of all three. Detective Matthews’ male family members on his mother’s side all had the problem of balding. Each family member working under fluorescent lighting for their lives under the guise of educated white males; the stress of knowing how much of a fraud each of them was, quickly disintegrated each hair on their head until they had run out of fuel for their lies and died of a heart attack.

Steven remembered the verse in John’s Gospel when Jesus was in front of the Pharisee’s and Sadducee’s after his prayer in Gethsemane from chapter 18. Lord, give me strength. The paper was freshly printed, still warm in his hand as he signed where the detective showed him.

“Thank you, Steven. Now, do you have anything you want to say first?”

Hail Mary, full of grace . . .

“Yes, I do. ‘For this I was born, and for this I have come into the world, to bear witness to the truth.’ ”

“What do you mean by that, Steven?”

“I have spoken openly to the world; I have said nothing secretly. Why do you ask me? Ask those who have heard me what I said to them; they know what I said.”

“Steven, are you admitting to the murder of Mark Jupiter and the torture of Lance White?”

“You have said so.”

“I have said so. I fully believe you have committed these two crimes. We have fingerprints, eyewitnesses, and DNA match-ups. I am giving you a chance to admit from your own mouth your crimes and take responsibility for them. Are you willing to do this?”

“Detective Matthews, what was the connection between both of these gentlemen?”

“You are a member of the same church Mr. Jupiter worked at and you worked in the same company as Mr. White.”

“Yes. I knew them, but you do not know them. The crimes committed by both of these men are above and beyond more sinful and evil than mine.”

“The worst thing Mr. Jupiter has done is maybe littering. Mr. White has committed some crimes but they are minor compared to torturing and murder.”

“Lance is a paedophile. He preys on young women and has sex with them. As young as ten years old. Some against their will. I not only have admissions from him on audio recording but I also have his computer with plenty of evidence of child pornography as well.

“Mark is no paedophile, attends church every weekend, says the rosary every day; faithful to the Lord on the outside. However, the problem, Detective Matthews, is that he is the representation of all people who do nothing about real evils in the world while professing God’s name. He defiles the Lord’s name by his actions. He supported the moving of priests within the Diocese as the chair of the parish counsel when they have had plenty of evidence of raping, molesting, or speaking to young children about sexuality. ‘Second chances is what Christianity is about,’ to quote Mark directly. Quite frankly, Detective Matthews, he was a sacrifice for the sins of the priesthood and a symbol for all those who will become nothing in the next world for not defending the children. Yes, I have committed both the crimes of murder and torture. It is what I was put on Earth for, to avenge and get revenge for those whose children’s life has been sacrificed for one moment of pleasure. Parents are distraught as their children kill themselves, while evil men are walking away free. There is only vocal discontent in the people without action. Faith without works is dead. Injustice will come to an end as the judge and King of the world comes to us and lets us choose our eternity. This was the divine command from our Lady to myself, with this decree I act without shame in the name of God.”

“Why did you take so long to kill Mark? Why make it stretch out the way you did?”

“It was in God’s time.”

“You cut him up limb from limb. Stuffing his body parts into bags while he was still alive. You stopped him from bleeding out after every cut. Why? Why not just kill him and then put him away?”

“Detective, in my line of work they teach us about efficiency. I didn’t speak with him before cutting him up so I could save some time. You could say it’s a force of habit. I also wanted him to prepare for his death. He was about to go in front of the King of Kings, his mercy is that he was able to speak with God before doing so. To ask for forgiveness while he still had the chance.”

“Why the freezer in the parish hall?”

“First, the parish picnic was that same weekend. The Bishop was even there. It’s a message to the church. A warning of the reckoning to come. The second reason is if his family wanted to bury him, I wanted them to have a chance to do so before he rotted. I’m no monster, I wanted him to have that decency.”

Steven was given the death penalty. Lance was shot in the room of an eight- year-old he had seduced; the eight-year-old shot him in the pelvis. Just above the beginning of the penis. The eight-year-old is still serving time for the murder of her rapist. Mark had only a few people at his funeral, his seven children, his wife, and his mother. He was buried in the church cemetery. Steven stayed in solitary confinement, refusing food or water until he was forced to have a feeding tube up his nose.

He was given one request upon his death day — Steven called this his true rebirth — he was able to hold his rosary in his hands as he whispered in his gag, “It is finished.”