Oh, please don't do it.
Please forgive this ungrateful sheep for abandoning the Holy Shepherd in a prosperous and bountiful time. You harvested my filthy wool, shearing it from my oozing-pus-filled skin marred by my temporal infirmities; you transformed me into a resurrected fleece of harlequin nature. I swear to you that I haven't abandoned you out of sheer lack of faith; I even want to be wrapped in your gracious grace again, with your light penetrating the void and casting a divine glow that speckles across in glory.
An earthly family matter has taken up my time; however, I sway to your great tune, and my free will is gifted towards you. I know that's no excuse for my lapse in prayer. I also know that you have seen the core of my rotting corpse. You have ignited a blazing fire that scorched away my char-infested delusions.
A golden service yesterday moved me beyond belief. There was a profound guest speaker: Elbert Spriggs. Spriggs talked about the recent inaction of Church leaders as a blight ravaging society. My Lord, his sermon filled the congregation with the warmth of your glory. Crush and destroy the nonbelievers; break and remold them in your glory. He spoke in the most holy of tongues with his honey-encrusted words.
Our world is ruled by the filth-coated tongues of the unbelievers, whose words emanate from their hollow, psychopathic souls with such precision that even the Holy is damned. The call to action flooded us with light and love, which was enough to inspire us to reach out to our fellow man. We must carry your message like rats to a plague, good sir.
For many years, I was a lost lamb with no flock. My world abandoned me, even the heavens, but your gracious eternal flame relit my dying-extinguished flame in this accursed world. You're the vine from the Tree of Life.
You have healed me, so I am eternally grateful for all of your charitable deeds.
Oh, Lord, you're oddly like a yellow deli: you offer the most sumptuous treats in the form of human compassion. You brought me a golden throne adorned with thorns, crowned by your transcendence, instead of me finding you in some sick advertisement. You must have seen that I was at my wit's end; my path disappeared before me into a dark, sunless abyss, wrecked by a warped mentality of survival. I was so lost, only surviving for myself alone.
Based on the skeletons of the unbelievers, you could have let me rot on the marred ground. Instead, you allowed me to live in the glory of your presence. This world of isolation, with screens and blinking monitors, screams their disillusioned division.
My eternal gratitude knows no bounds.
You're the King and my Rock.
People really don't understand who God is. Their sickly delusions amaze even me! In the Bible, Acts 17:24 proclaims that "The God who made the world and all things in it, since He is Lord of heaven and earth, does not dwell in temples made with hands;" and yet human beings indulge themselves in the worship of statues, drinking from their own human-carved and gold-trimmed chalices, glance at corroded cruets on Peliculas, and get into a trance by peering into the monstrance. You must pasteurize the sin from their hearts!
However, a new version of God is not found within some Churches but within the stained, bloody hearts of men. Unless humanity comes to its senses, you will macerate them in another Noah flood of unprecedented proportions.
He is found within nature's corridors; He is not some foreign object who glances at humanity from above—He's here right now. And I will beat my ilk with rods until they know that, oh dear Lord!
Perhaps, the Bible is enough for people to foolishly put their faith in a clouded book with folk tales, stories, legends, and, at their most, third-hand accounts. Despite their arguments to the contrary, Satanists are not unrelated. Both seem content to worship deities from the sidelines and trust these unseen entities will take care of them.
I laughed at them.
I know who God is. Seeing God walk among us and be truly magnificent, I know this.
You made me yours the moment you came to me. As I slowly bled out from being shot in my own backyard while no one was concerned about my condition, I found myself lying face down with the cold rain pouring down on me. Although I was aware that my end was near, I am ashamed to admit that a part of me was hoping it would happen sooner rather than later. In a sense, I was suicidal, oh Lord.
Suddenly, the rain stopped. Under a pitch-black sky filled with infinite stars, I was no longer lying on pavement but on a grassy field. I no longer felt pain or bleeding. As I looked around, I felt at peace. The grassy field seemed endless. My eyes were drawn to a colossal bonfire, which was at least ten stories high and as wide as your grand ventures. The flames licked at charcoal-black wood. I was blasted by the fire's heat. Until then, I had never experienced such scorching temperatures.
It was at that moment, God, that you came into view. It would be a mistake to call it walking. Every step was intentional and powerful. Instead, it felt like a storm was rolling in. Please accept my apology. Alas, language limits my ability to describe you.
Now, I looked up at you, towering above me. You were significantly larger than me. You wove the infinite tapestry of existence, and I was only a thread.
God's sight is beyond the capacity of the human mind. While I was able to process certain aspects of you, I couldn't process every nuance and detail. But I saw that a flicker of fire replaced the points of your mighty antlers, which extended from your inconceivable faces. The skin on your face shifted and constantly changed like onyx.
You looked at everything in your kingdom with your three faces, toward me and through me. The seven legs of your body dig into the soil like pillars of a temple.
My knees buckled before you. You were all I had. I was shocked to see you reach down and pull me back up. Looking directly into my eyes, it was like you saw every little thing about me. You saw through me like the sunlight entering into the glass.
Thank you for considering me worthy! Without you saying a word, I would be walking with you forever. My eyes filled with tears of joy as I accepted my place at your feet. I will now wash and clean your feet for all of eternity, my Lord. I mean that.
My head was baptized by your majestic hands before the raging bonfire with blood so hot it boiled. The words of your scriptures were scorched and burned into my soul as they poured down upon me. I feel and know every syllable of your decrees at all times, unlike lesser religions that rely on the written word to spread their messages.
God truly is within me.
Upon seeing your glory again, I knew I was now a part of the one true faith. He does not look down from a cloud in the sky or up from a dank pit at His people. No, my God walks among us, eliminating the weak and creating the strong.
Blood and fire are His judgments.
He will crush those who refuse to heed His words in the dirt before Him and consume them in His many jaws. Do not be fooled: forgiveness is reserved for the Holy.
My goal has been to spread your message since that moment when I was reborn. You saw that I was well-suited to this task because of your infinite wisdom. My ability to convey my words isn't as good as Spriggs', but I can bring your message to nonbelievers.
An affluent family in Colorado asked me to share their will according to your scriptures last night. My mission was to bring them together in the largest room on the first floor of their house in the middle of the night. I baptized them one by one, burning your mark into their foreheads as you had once done for me.
Then I poured their blood into their mouths in holy communion. The flames of the massive bonfire were brought to the house to cleanse it with fire, with the souls of those who had passed to your eternal embrace.
I hope you've accepted the many offerings I sent you before these, as well as these small ones. Throughout my life, I will continue to follow your words and ways.
Forever and ever, I am yours, oh Lord.
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Well, you certainly know how to write a first paragraph. Your story sucked me right in and didn't let go until the last word. I'd passed up about 12 pieces before yours because the first lines were just meh. So, for what it's worth, you win my contest. Wouldn't be surprised if this won on Friday as well. Excellent work.
I probably won't win, but thank you so much! It really means a lot!
Loved it! Is it at least part-biographical?? If so, I hope the last paragraph is symbolic! Parts of it reads like the Saints of the Middle Ages, the self-depreciation reminded me of St Rita or St Bonaventure. But then you modernise it with “ Oh, Lord, you're oddly like a yellow deli: you offer the most sumptuous treats in the form of human compassion”. Thought that was brilliantly done. “ You wove the infinite tapestry of existence, and I was only a thread.” - what a line!! Beautiful! Well done, loved it!
Wait, yellow deliI.. was that a reference to the king in yellow or hastur? If so, well played. If not, free points, my friend.
I really got into this one trying to find the angle. Part of me was wondering if it'd keep the oddly Christian bent, but I guess I knew it wouldn't because I've been in a horror-vein recently and just had thay impression. I wasn't disappointed. The mark of the beast and black mass references, intentional or otherwise, really got me smiling. It was a great look into someone's who totally unhinged and doesn't realize. I guess the old adage is true: crazy people don't know they're crazy. They think everyone else is. On to some critiquing, beca...
I'll get working to make the sentences shorter, but more impactful. Thank you for your reply! It really means a lot to have someone write nice constructive criticism. :D
I'm really trying out here. Almost everyone has been super appreciative and had a conversation about it, but some people I haven't even commented on yet saw criticism going on and seemed offended. It's a strange place, this internet of ours. Oooo... that'd make a great title... Also, after some of the commissioned "fiction" I've had to write recently, I'd joked that I'd never watch Futurama again. (Zoidburg will forever haunt my memories...) When I first saw your name and got triggered, I was very prepared to dislike it. I'm almost upset it...
Zoidberg is my favorite character!
I can never unsee the hagfish phallus and ensuing textile travesties. It was... an experience to write, but the client paid up front and I felt a duty to fulfill the order.