I'm not even sure where to start. This last month has been one that I wish I could erase from my memory.
I wish I could just abandon all reason and crawl back into denial, but there's no denying the wreckage that stands before me.
The bodies strewn on either side of the street, and the rivers of blood that run forth from them. And so here I stand before what will surely be my final moments.
I draw what would be my last breath as I charge forward, running towards what you may perceive to be a honorable death. You would be wrong. This is no act of courage, this is an act of cowardice.
Everyone I know is dead, my wife, my children, my friends, everyone.
I'm charging forward because I don't have the courage to continue to fight, because death seems so comforting next to the alternative.
Massive hands wrap around me, crushing me, and the last month replays through my mind like my own personal horror show.
Exactly one month ago the human race met God. He was not loving, he was not gracious, and he sure as hell wasn't forgiving. But he was powerful. Beyond belief.
He created us in seven days, and washed away our filth in less than thirty.
Now I stare into the face of our creator, and an inferno stares back. It sears and burns away my clothes, and I'm naked before him.
My frail body breaks, and cracks in the palm of his hand under the weight of every sin I've ever committed.
One unintelligible word breaks forth from his mouth like a tidal wave ripping away my flesh in its wake. My eyes roll back into my skull as I fade from light.
I have no idea how long I was out, or if I'm even still alive. I'm writing this now only in an attempt to cling to sanity for a while longer.
I think I'm dead.
I think I'm dead.
I'm dead, and this must be hell.