Dear Almighty God, (day one),
It was just another golden day, basking in the fruits of my grand labor. Alas, I recently checked my balance at an ATM machine, and every single cent was drained from my checking account. How can you call yourself omnipresent when you allowed hackers, or some kind of robbers, to get away with my money? Money may just be fiat currency to you, but it is everything to me—my entire fortune—and you don't even seem to care. Oh, is this some lesson to teach to me or something that an amateur preacher would declare to the pitiful masses? I am staring silently at the fulgurating screen, hopelessly taking in and effugled by the flashing zeros, marked in pristine red, and you're silent as ever. No wonder why the world has turned into a pit of manure under your command. You gave us free-will, but manifested such a crappy world that the poor and middle classes remain trampled over by the rich and elites? Hell, I was the elite before you empowered feebled-minded hackers to take away all of my money! Now, I cannot even donate my money to the poor, oh the horror! Just kidding!
I would never waste my money on charity, since even most of them are scams for the ultra-rich to avoid taxes—a tax-knock-off—that's the crappy world you made!
It even looks like my wife only savored my command for my money, especially the inheritance later down the line. She even left when I admitted to her that I lost everything. She didn't even care about my feelings. I bet you're even laughing from your pristine clouds, golden-encrusted palaces, floating heavens, and beautiful lands. This must be some kind of dream, or maybe some kind of reality television show! Oh, I just need to wake up, and this will all by over. Why am I even praying to an entity that I know doesn't even exist? This is just my way of coping—of escaping—so I just need to wake up, and forget that any of this even happened.
Oh, how do I end this prayer again? Oh, right.
Dear Almighty God, (day two),
I might be a damned freak doused in megalomonia, but what will you do about the other enriched citizens with their self-effacing lies? Will you let hackers steal their money too? I can understand this is not some dream anymore in my mind. Sure, I have done some bad things in my life, like take advantage of the poor for monetary gain, but wouldn't anyone else do the same? There's nothing righteous in this world, no perfect human. Everything has sinned, so why am I the only one getting punished? Oh, I get it. You want me to find some righteous light at the end of the tunnel, right—oh, that's just special—what a damn joke this all is! Now, I built up my money from hard-work and dedication to the masses. Everyone else, especially those on Wall Street, are free like a bird! So, why is it only me that has lost it all? Do you want me to feel some kind of damn mercy for the impoverished now? Well, I never will, God!
Why should I feel some kind of mercy for the poor? I'm sorry but this is the world you've created, God. You have allowed people to be born into rich families and some into poor families. That's the way the game of life is played. Even those with the great talent to make something of themselves cannot compete with the powerful.
I'm just so tired.
Dear Almighty God, (day three),
I now understand what you mean! You reminded me of a tale my wife used to tell me. It was the story of a pirate. Now, this pirate, well, she forgot what violence was like, as she rode across the tossing waters, only attacking small lands. She yearned for a challenge, to challenge authority, not an enslaved destiny that required looting the weakest of things. No one really saw her as a captain either. Just a pawn. A thing. A flash.
In the end, her ship's kitchen reeked of port and rats. As lantern lights shone, golden spirals appeared on the boarded-up walls. Hectic footsteps pounded above ceilings as liquid snaked up and down her skin. Waves whaled into the ship. Dirty air was saturated with moisture. Her sensations suggested someone tracked her every move, but nothing ever frazzled her. The sickly thought of being lost at sea was the only thought that comforted her. To be in control of your destiny, not shackled by money or greed, just to be at the helm—being in power.
Her crewmates sickened her. The crew was walleyed, deranged, their skin a splotchy gray. More fish-like than human. Derangement. She thought this sick fate was God's destiny, to be an enslaved person under his control. She yearned for a destiny of providing for others, not stealing. Scarcely glimpsing at the sun from behind curtained clouds, as days trudged by slowly, amazed her—purgatory—feeling the peaceful spin of the Earth. Balance.
The feeling that she experienced is what I am experiencing! God, I have a counter offer: you can make me one of your angels to fight for you in battle! You can grant me wings, and I'll be good. I'll be so good to the poor and pawns of your glorious Earthly realm! I won't be a fish; I'll be an angel, floating in your great creation!
Dear Almighty God, (day four),
I have conjectured, hypothesized, and guesstimated that the root cause of my fate was for your amusement. Maybe a strange thing or entity planted inklings, musings, and concoctions of power within sinful minds. No ocean could suffocate the pain in my head, which pounded like hammers to nails. I am just some jokte to you, just some people were just pawns in someone else's story books. You should be ashamed of yourself. I am forever depressed, enslaved to this destiny. But, I wanted to be a king, someone who was respected for their authority, not out of fear alone. An orchestra of love. A symphony of sound. A paradise. Yet, you couldn't even grant me that! Pathetic! Does praying even work?!
Dear Almighty God, (day five),
I have accepted my fate. I must live my life as a pawn serving others—even if I don't like it—even if I hate that feeling. It seems you've brought me on a darkened road to showcase to me your light. I just hope you're right, and this isn't some damned fantasy.