That's where they'll be when the world ends

I wonder if god condemned her from the first breath that gasped from her juvenile lips. Disdain impressed on his smile. He thrust her in to arms without grip, hands that clutched for something beautiful and were rewarded with fragments of Jesus, the parts that screamed because he knew he was going to die.

She’ll break; break break break and no one will be there to hold her when she falls.

-

A man stumbled through town last night. His lips whispered fractions of words he once preached to the lost. His hands spelled out sorrow and his clothes were creased with his grief. The god he once gave his soul to couldn’t save him. He falls, knowing there’s no difference between heaven and hell, we’re all broken.

“god help me,” he whispers. I wonder if he can hear the irony in his words.

-

They’re going to rip him from his safe heaven. At twenty-three weeks he can here his mother’s voice and the beating of her heart. He doesn’t know that soon he will be no more than another result of sin. They tear him from life in the name of god, for good and purity he will die.

No one feels his fear, the screams swelling inside his lungs.

-

She prays on fragments of letters written on colourless paper, fingers stroking his writing while her words fall from her lips.
She was nine, nine fucking years old. Standing in her classroom, eyes averted from the pictures of animals drawn in crayon. The only picture she can see is the shadow of an angel etched in chalk on the blackboard.
“I want my daddy,” she whispers before falling to her knees.

Where was faith when her father was torn apart by bombs thrown by power hungry bastards? Where was compassion when she woke up screaming because she realised he was never coming home.

And so she fell in love with the devil, reaching for places where she could burn.