Souls - XXXVIII

“There is no Lucifer. There is no Satan. Not anymore. A fuckin’ nut job playing dress up is what he is, and you got no-one to blame but yourself.”

Jesus is still wiping his tears of laughter from his face but his tone has shifted to one of anger.

“You realize I’m him too right? In all your species’ fucking wisdom you came up with the Holy fucking Trinity. Which makes no goddam sense.”

My mind is whirring, I don’t know even know where to begin. The omniscient deity responsible for our creation is blaming us for our creation. 

Jesus is fucking crazy.

“But, but you made us…”

“No, hun, you got it fuckin’ backwards. You people made us.”

“What?” This is my beautifully crafted rebuttal.

“I’m not gonna go all quantum physics on ya, but matter doesn’t exist as you understand it until you interact with it. This fucking asparagus isn’t asparagus until our matter comes into contact with it’s matter. You know what? Fuck it, this is exhausting. Point is, you humans needed some form of origin story, simply being wasn’t enough for you fucks, so you looked to the sky, came up with some bullshit and enough of your delusional energy shot out and made something.” He stands and points to himself. “You people made this, you made God, you made the Devil, you made demons, you made it all. And true to your true fuckin’ nature it’s all a fuckin’ mess.”

Emily is watching with an enamored look of curiosity. This is all very different than her parents on a Pentecostal bus.

“Worst of all you made me and him, and the fuckin’ Holy Spirit a fractured mess of a being. Together we’re an all-knowing Holy Trinity, which is fuckin’ exhausting by the way, but when we’re split up we just become fractured and manic. My dad might believe he’s the devil right now, who the fuck knows.” Hell, maybe I’m not Jesus, maybe I’m the Holy Spirit. Maybe I’m Freddie fuckin’ Mercury.”

“What about the world falling apart?”

“Don’t blame us for that bullshit, that’s on you, and I don’t mean you as humanity, I mean you specifically.”

My brain is whirring. It’s bad enough I blew it apart earlier only to have it magically reassembled, but now it’s expected to process all of this.

“But enough of exposition hour, give me my fuckin’ soul.”

He holds his hand out, I see the scar from his crucifixion on his wrist. He follows my eyes down.

“Yeah, thanks for that by the way. Humanity’s fuckin’ sense of order and balance. Had to have a fuckin’ sacrifice didn’t ya? Now, give me the soul and this will all be over.”

I push back from the table, trying to figure out how to escape from the Son of God.

I glance to Emily, she is looking to me. She doesn’t look scared, she looks curious. To children any situation seems logical because that’s what’s happening in front of them. That’s all they need. 

I need to get her out of here. 

The door to the kitchen flings open with force. Mary bursts in, rifle in hand.

Jesus turns to her slowly, never getting a chance to fully face Mary. 

She pulls the trigger.

His head explodes, the moisture and heat of his brain hitting my face.

Covered in the body of Jesus. 

I flash back to every communion I took part in: 

“Take this, this is my body….”

I wipe the host off my face and look to my daughter, who is now wide-eyed and panicked.

“Let’s go, we don’t have long!”

I grab Emily’s arm and pull her with me as we rush out of the room and out of the trailer. She doesn’t resist, this is her reality now. 

So it goes.

Running down the driveway, I can’t help but watch my daughter’s hair bounce and whip in the wind. I want to tell her to put it up in a ponytail so it won’t get in her face. This whole parental doting thing is new to me.

We hop onto the bus, Emily hops back to the spot where her unfinished drawing is. She picks up a crayon on begins her work. I jump to the driver seat and turn the key, which Alan had conveniently left in the ignition. The roar of the bus engine sounds like nostalgia, suddenly I’m a preacher again trying to save my flock from eternal damnation. 

Mary closes the door and stands on guard, rifle in hand. 

I spin the bus around and take off down the highway.

“Oh no.” 

I follow Mary’s eyes, which are looking behind us. I glance to the review mirror. Jesus is standing in his driveway, half of his head a mangled mess. 

What’s left is smiling and waving at us.