This weeks Mix It Up Mondays post is from Tres. His piece is entitled 'From Nothing' and is the prologue of his book series. If you would like to read more from his book check out his blog . You can also contact him via Twitter.
From Nothing- Prologue: Unbelievable
This dark alleyway isn’t a reflection of my poor choices. Not a personification of the mess that was my marriage, or a metaphor for the disservice I’ve done the religion I believe in.
Its a disgusting, AIDS-ridden, depressing alleyway.
After losing everything in the divorce and all of my money to alcoholism, I sit here now staring at objects both sharp and blunt, wondering if God was somewhere watching. I thought of his expression several times; a misty large figure like that of Dorothy’s Wizard with an even deeper, more pervading voice without the bells and whistles. His eyes would sadden upon my sight, and his free-floating head would shake disapprovingly as I tried to excuse my scrubby presence.
But he wouldn’t announce me. He would only say my name, tell me my crime, and vanish as I felt his presence leave me forever.
“Daniel, I’m so very disappointed in you,” God would say.
Then the world would shake, fires would erupt, people would die, and then everything would be consumed in God’s rage and then… nothing.
Just a ruse. A thought of God I had created because I never knew what his presence ever felt like. I prayed to my vanities, listened to self help books and every other man alive, but I hadn’t heard a word from “Him” all of my life. I was left, like everyone else, to fend for myself and decide what God was to me.
Before, he was just a reason for my parents to beat me. An excuse for a belt to fly off and call me an idiot, or lazy. As my life progressed, he was something more of a Genie. God became this magical person in my head I could wish to and, if I was lucky, he’d respond in a poof of smoke and I’d have a new pair of shoes or a bike.
But I felt like I’d used up all my wishes, and as time went by so did my wife. I married young, and had children that I couldn’t for the life of me be a good father to. They were annoying, then cute, then brats, then needy. I started to drink my life into a stupor, and before I knew it I was praying to the Toilet God on the regular. He’d cleanse me of my sins and splash dirty holy water on my face and cool my fiery lips from the hot vomit. But he was unforgiving, merciless and not very sanitary.
And I’m here now. Barely 27 and I’m not even staring down the barrel of a .45. I don’t get a glorious death. No cocaine overdose, because it’s way too expensive. No heart attack since I actually happen to be in decent shape for no reason (I figure its genetic). Starvation, dehydration, and maybe a shard of glass will be my executioner. A dried up stick with a broken piece of a thrown away medicine cabinet shoved in my chest…
However, life rarely lets you die when you want. You’ve got more to go through than you know.
(End of Prologue)
(Next, Chapter One: “I Met a Man Named Michael.”)
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