The Beginning of The End.

Gods, please
 
You scream at the sky, but it’s empty. Get up. No one is coming to save you. Get up.
 
 
I will stay on my knees, begging. For I am a good person. They have to see that
 
Your knees are bruised from kneeling. Get up. Your knees are hues of purple and red. (If you squint, it looks like the sun setting on a lilac sky.)
 
 
Is it beautiful? Can you call it that? Is that sacrilegious?
 
Your knees are bruised, broken. Why do you still kneel?
 
 
It’s all I have ever known. Until the end of time, at the beginning of the end, you will find me on my knees, asking for forgiveness.
 
For what?
 
 
No reply.
 
The Gods are forsaken. We are forgotten. The sky is empty. Get up.
 
 
I will not
 
There is blood on your hands. You are not clean. You are not human.
 
 
I am not.
 
But your humanity weighs you down. You are dirty.
 
 
I’m not weighed down.
 
Sinful creature. You are going to burn.
 
 
I’m trying.
 
It’s not enough. It’s never enough. You always fall short, and you always will until the very end. You are anathema. This is how you have been made.
 
 
I will try.
 
Stubborn thing. Reckless. Foolish. The cage is open, yet here you stand. As hard as a rock. You are shaking. Why do you stay? What great being justifies your suffering.
 
 
You can justify any amount of suffering if you can do it just right. Is that not just existence?
 
And it isn’t still just a cage? A gilded cage, but still a cage nonetheless.
 
 
I’m free.
 
So says the bird that can see the sky, the fish that swims in circles. But one will never soar with the wind and one will never feel the salt of the ocean. Your freedom is an illusion. It has been spoon fed to you since the beginning.
 
 
The beginning? Then what is this?
 
Silence.
 
The end.
 
 
Have the Gods forsaken us? Or us them?
 
Maybe both. Maybe Neither.
 
 
Two survivors looking into the blood red sky.
 
The beginning of the end.