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Naturally I just had to pinch myself.It's not every day when the voices inside my head actually manifest into livingflesh, and never into a drop-dead gorgeous woman."Hello, figment of my imagination," I muttered, inhaling deeply. She smelled likean exotic combination of citrus and ginger. "Go back inside my brain now... you'redistracting me."Instantly I felt a searing hot flash of pain on my left forearm as the womanslowly cocked a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and made the sign of the cross with herindex finger."I've seen the various figments of your imagination, Novice," she whispered,pointing at my arm. "They're just disembodied portions of your twisted psyche, andI'm pretty sure they can't burn human flesh."I glanced down to see a two-inch long blister in the shape of a crucifix justabove my wrist."Son of a bi...""Don't even try to say it, pal," she snipped. "God frowns on those who useinappropriate language during divine intervention."Okay, she was real... the burn proved it. Unsure whether she meant me any harm, Islowly knelt down to pick up my buck knife, but it slid across the floor just as Ireached for it."Nice trick..." I said."Sit.... now," she snapped, this time in a voice that stabbed right into the pitof my stomach. I plopped onto the floor of the toolshed without thinking.She meant business."W-What would God want with me, er... Rebecca, is it?" I asked, trying to avoidher gaze and hoping she wouldn't assault me again.She folded her arms across her chest and an amused smile formed on her perfectface."That's more like it," she nodded. "I'm well-pleased that you've decided to acceptthe reality of your predicament.""T-Thanks," I whispered. "Not like I have a choice here...""Don't thank me... thank her.""W-Why?""Because there's a special little corner of hell for despicable insects like you,Novice," she said. "Try to imagine spending eternity in a prison shower room whereyour sole purpose is to bend over and pick up an an endless supply of soap becausethat's where I'd be sending you if I had my way.""B-But I haven't killed anyone," I whispered. "Don't I have to commit a cardinalsin first?""All of humanity sins, Novice," she snorted. "Just because you haven't carried outthe physical act of murdering your fellow man doesn't mean that you haven't killedGod knows how many innocent people inside that dead thing you call a heart."Of course she was right about me.I'd killed scores of people inside my mind, that is.From the woman who delivered flyers to my mother's house (I'd say it was my house,but that wouldn't be consistent with mom's daily reminders that it was somehow aprivilege to live in a ramshackle bungalow in a part of town where people usetheir front lawns as automotive repair facilities.) to Mr. Brill, my seventh gradescience teacher who drove a customized van with a steering knob, many regularsfell victim to my homicidal fantasies. The little old man who'd lost his memorywas just murderous way of dipping my toe in the swimming pool to test the water,and given the crummy nature of the community where I lived, nobody would eversuspect the quiet young man who worked at Taco Bell and who shoveled snow for theless fortunate.At least that's what I believed."What precisely are you?" I asked, very businesslike. "Better yet, why would Godpossibly be interested in a nineteen year-old who likes to fantasize aboutdisemboweling people? I'd expect the supreme being would keep better company..."
 
Rebecca gave me an ice-cold glare and then she looked up at the ceiling of thetoolshed."See," she said, talking to what I assumed was God. "I told you this was a badidea."I looked up, half expecting to see the face of God but was disappointed only tosee particle wood nailed to an A-frame."What's that?" she asked, as she glanced at me through the corner of her left eye."Dumb it down for him, huh? Well... if you say so.""If who says so?" I asked."Shut up, Novice," she grunted. "By rights you should have burst into flame when Iappeared in the shed.""Why?""Because this toolshed is now a holy place... anywhere God decides to send one ofher angels, scratch that... any place that a heavenly entity sets foot intoinstantly becomes holy.""LIke a church then?" I asked, innocently. "I go to church, and I haven't noticedmy body smoldering... even when I am thinking of killing the parishioners during aboring sermon."Rebecca made a huge effort of shaking her head in disbelief, then she let out atremendous sigh."No, Novice... not like a church. God hates churches.""Say what?" I asked, sounding mystified. "Why the hell would god dislikechurches?"She gave me another icy cold stare and stabbed her finger in my chest."What did I say about cursing, Novice?" she asked, sounding pissed."Ummm... sorry," I muttered. "The "H" word is a bad one, huh?""Yep.""I'll try to remember that," I said, sourly. "If God dislikes churches, there aregoing to be a heck of a lot of disappointed ministers all over the world if theyfind out.""Big deal," she shrugged. "They're all blowhards."At this point in our discussion, I began to wonder if I were, in fact, losing mymind.Now try to understand, just because I had displayed sociopathic tendencies at anearly age, I didn't consider myself to be nuts. The voices in my head always toldme that I was ill, they're good that way... it made the job of twisting pidgeon'sheads off at 11:30 P.M. in Grosvenor Park seem like a hobby, if that makes anysense. Actually, from the time I was thirteen years old until the day I metRebecca Harris inside Mr. Avery's toolshed, I was probably history's greatestpidgeon murderer. (This was before anyone ever mentioned the words "bird flu"...had I known then that my habit of pidgeonicide might possibly lead to my untimelydeath, I would have taken all forms of fowl off my list of animals to kill.) Thatone of God's messengers was now telling me that her boss disliked the verybuildings in which humanity had spent the better part of the past two thousandyears worshipping in, well... you'd question your sanity too."With all due respect, Ms. Harris," I said, cautiously. "I'm starting to wonder ifI am now officially insane.""Why?" she asked, tilting her head.I pulled my knees to my chest and sunk my head into my shoulders, then looked ather with a wimpy expression."Well... I would expect that an angel would have nicer things to say about churcesand ministers... I guess.""Why?""Because... well, it's church," I winced, expecting another slap across the face."Church is supposed to be all about God, isn't it?"She gave me another stab in the chest with her index finger and furrowed her brow."Where in your bible does it say that God intended for churches to be buildings?"she asked.
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05 / 02 / 2011<span class="translation_missing">en_US, this_document_made_it_onto_the</span>Rising List!
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