Prologue from The Fortress
The man sat on the bulky leather couch, sank into its pliable back, unsurely glanced toward the ceiling, and curled his toes through the Berber carpet covering the living room floor. Leaning slightly forward, he reached for the bottle on the coffee table.
Fire in a bottle.
Instant fury or immediate comedic relief, depending on the drinker.
For him, it did neither. It seemed to anesthetize the pain some. However, after the initial numbness, it did nothing but bring on a more severe state of depression. He was finding it easier and easier to slip into this place.
He reached onto the table again and picked up the large blue pen nestled next to the bland notebook. The counselor had suggested that he write his feelings down. It was supposed to be therapeutic and cause him to discover truths about his emotional breakdown.
Another pointless ploy by psycho-analyzers who thought they understood the workings of the world. He didn’t know what made him feel worse; concentrating on his feelings enough to write them or drinking his way into oblivion.
Tonight was going to be different. He'd made up his mind. He was ending the madness.
His descent had been tragic. It had occurred quickly. It was always alarming how swiftly life could turn. One day he'd been on top of the world. A man of morals, raising a family with strong Christian virtues. The next day an empty shell of who he'd formally been. He didn’t recognize himself anymore when he looked in the mirror.
He opened the journal and slowly began to write.
Journal Entry: July 4, 2012
Life is empty. Purposeless. Meaningless.
They've given up on finding him. So have I. Justice will never be issued. The guilty will continue to live freely.
There is no God. He can't be real.
The alternative is worse. He's real but gets a cosmic laugh at the twisted affairs of men. He finds pleasure in exerting His will over feeble humanity.
How could he be real and loving, when He lets so many traumatic events transpire in the lives of those who follow Him.
Shouldn’t a believer be able to find comfort in his decision? Shouldn’t the All-knowing be able to predict when calamity is about to strike? Doesn’t He possess the power to make a difference?
If so… as I used to believe… then why doesn’t He?
Why does He sit on His pious throne and watch as His people are pummeled with the rest of the world? Why does He allow innocence to be lost? Perfection marred? Those who have been faithful and true to be abused and forsaken?
Where is He? Why has He forgotten me? Why'd he allow it to happen? How could He ever expect me to love Him when all I can feel is betrayal and hate? They were my world. He took them. Or allowed them to be taken. And I'm supposed to love Him for it. In what sort of sick theology does that make sense?
I'm supposed to believe it's for my ultimate good. I'm supposed to blindly follow His lead into the barren wasteland of my own expectations.
I can't. He can have His frivolous worldview. I am done. He failed to protect what I valued most. I can no longer find it within my heart to love Him. I simply find it impossible to believe. It wasn’t their fault. It was more mine. How is this fair to them? How is it fair to me?
I think I have found the truth. I think I am on to them. Why must it be this big? It seems there is nothing I can do. With nothing left to live for, I'm ready to leave this world. It holds nothing, means nothing, and has nothing for me anymore. If I must, I will leave this world like I came into it. I have left no indelible marks in this life. Only stains that I pray can be forgotten.
If He is indeed real, I only ask to find forgiveness in possibly my final act of free will on this earth. If He isn't, it doesn’t matter anyway. It really never has.
(More to come)
