iamfaggot

Gods and Monsters
	If God could grant me one wish. Just one wish.
	I would ask him to end my life.
	Everything, all my dreams and aspirations come with my death.
	It would be a blessing to die.

	I hate him.
	What should I do?
	Am I right?
	Is he wrong?
	Should I act?
	Should I do nothing?
	Why?
	Please help me.
	No.
	Let me die.
	Please let me die.
	Please.
	I begged and I cried.
	Why?
	He will never help me and I will never help him.
	He will never ask me for help and I will never ask him for help.
	That is what I decided.
	That is what he decided.
	And so I said one last thing.
	God, give me strength.
	We made a deal.
	A promise to each other.
	His strength for my life.
	My life for his strength
	But there is more to it all than that.
	We conned each other.
	Or maybe one of us gave the other a fair price
	It doesn't matter what happened.
	Everything God does is for himself.
	Everything I do is for myself.
	That is what I believe.
	That is why I hate God.
	That is why God hates me.
	What a disgusting world I live in.

	From my bed I looked at the oil lantern hanging in the corner of the room. A dim orange light escaped through the glass of the lantern, making the darkness profound. As if the darkness was biding it's time, waiting for the flame to die out. This is the world I live in
	What would the world prefer?
	I reached into my pocket and pulled out a letter I've read a thousand times before. The paper was more akin to a tissue at this point. Soft, flexible and tearing with any unnecessary strain. I held the paper above my head and let the orange light shine on it. One the page was a black smudge from the ink that used to form words.
	Mathew, head to Eo and speak with Eo.
			Osmin.
	That is what the letter read when it came into my possession. A letter from a man I've never met, but a man know around the world never the less. The man who fought against savage three. I know why I received the letter and I know what it wills me to do, but there was another reason for this letter to exist. One that I do not know.
	When the letter first came to me I was a different person. I wanted to die more than anything, but in a different sense than now. The first purpose was to keep me alive for another moment. It was in that moment that I realized that I had accomplished nothing. As if everything was some cruel joke. I would be worse than a failure if I died. I'd be trash. I'd be a coward. I'd be worthless. To live is the first purpose.
	Head to Eo and speak to Eo. This is my only clue for my future and another reason for the letter. I don't know what I can expect to find at Eo, but if I gain anything of value such as a piece of information or a word of encouragement, it will be a worthwhile trip.
	And the reason I did not know. If fate is a string, then someone had cut mine and replaced it with another. A second chance and another purpose. But that is a lie. No matter how I wrapped my mind around this impossibility, no matter how long I spend thinking of a plausible explanation, there is nothing. It was either a tragedy or a great miracle. Why does this letter exist?
	“Live for yourself,” my friend would say to me.
	A selfish conviction, but he'd be smiling at my current thoughts. A strange smile, one that is sad but hopeful. A hope that the pain will be worth less than the relief. Is this what he really wanted? A lie? Everything is uncertain, but I think he would approve of this. If you lie long enough it will become the truth. Eighteen years, twenty, maybe more or maybe less. I have more time than that, but I would love to die before then.
	The orange light continued to shine as I stuffed the paper back into my pocket. There is a single bed in my room and an oil lantern burning low in the corner. The wooden walls were vacant barring the door which hung a white robe from a small hook at it's center. Although small and cramped, this is one of the most comfortable rooms I've slept in. It felt like home. More than home actually. Probably because I can live without worry.
	I sat up on my ed and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My feet contacting the cold wooden floor and the firelight closer to my eyes. I have told another lie. You cannot live without worry, even if that worry is about something disrupting your worriless life. The room is better than home because I have truly become myself. This room means I have advanced. A reminder of it all. For this is the first time in my life that I have complete faith in myself.
	I know what to do.
	I know I am right.
	I know who is wrong.
	I know when to act.
	I know I should not do nothing.
	I know I cannot die.
	People have always loved and cared for me. Seclusion, abdication, starvation, expedition, apprehension. I have always been helped. People have always done more than they should have to help me. Have you ever been helped when you were so helpless? I wanted to give my helpers everything I could. I owe them the world, but all I could give them was my gratitude. It was as time passed that I grew to understand that I would be helped no matter what.  And although I know if this, I choose to be thankful. I choose to feel blessed to live in a world with these people. I choose to believe they helped me because they wanted to, not because they were compelled by a greater force.
	I hold a great confidence in my ability. The only question is getting everything where I want them. How do I get people to put their faith in me? How dos one begin to execute such grand plans?
	I grabbed a strand of my long black hair and thought for another moment before my mind trailed off. I've spent how long in this room? I'm not hungry nor thirsty. It couldn't have been too long. I'm neither hungry nor thirsty. I stood up on my own and looked straight into the flame which was now at eye level. My feet scoured the floor until they slipped into their brown leather shoes.
	Eo is a country and a person. A brand and a legend. No one knows much about him apart from the obvious. He is the oldest man in the world. He is the wealthiest and he has incredible pull on nearly every country. Will he admit me into his country? I haven't heard of anyone entering his country and especially not leaving. Any reports on are based on rumour. Rumours claiming that anyone found in his ocean are shot dead without warning. The same rumours claim that Eo is a magnificent country. Eo made his money through his creation of weapons and manufacturing. He made his fame when he inscribed his initials E.O into every item he sold. There isn't a single person who knows his name anymore, this he is called Eo.
	Sometime ago Eo decided to stop selling most of everything and he shut his country off from the world. No one knows why he did it, perhaps he had enough money, perhaps he was bored with the current situation. With an end to production, one might think things would come to a stand still, but war erupted in the west. Those with more forced the issue on those with less. Nationalism, the love for your country and people. To what people do you belong and to what people does your country belong. Men with incredible power rose to lead their people. The west was carved and destroyed and divided and then united. Countries lead by incredible people and savages running rampant.
	The war is being delayed, land is being destroyed to slow down savage four and five. Wars of atrocity. Will you trade or will you defend. If we trade how much will you risk? If you've lost everything then would you fight or give up? Perhaps the great unifier of the world are the savages. The people mistake normalcy for happiness and fear for normalcy.
	The two countries whom I consider the worst are Eo and Faris, for those are the two countries abandoned this world. Those are the two countries who do not fear. Those are the two countries who have decided that this world is not up to their standard.. That this world is not their responsibility. Eo and Faris are hailed as utopia, but utopia can never exist. Not while I am alive and not when I'm dead.
	I stretched my body, extending my limbs to their furthest points. I am a part of this world and I will not abandon it. A gun will not shoot me, a sword will not cute me, a human will not hurt me and God cannot touch me. That is the strength I bought, a divine promise from God to keep me alive. A fake immortality. I am not going to live forever and I have never intended to  Once I am done with this world I will be blessed with death. This is why it is my dream to die, because it means all my other dreams have come true.
	“Do you hate me Mathew?” my friend said to me before he died.
	A simple question, yet I was so confused when he asked me. I didn't know how to respond. I didn't understand. My mouth was dry and my mind ran wild. What do I do? What does he mean? What can it mean? What does he want from me? Do I hate you? Why would I hate you? How could I hate you? I will never hate you. I could never hate you. I love you. Why would you ask such a stupid question. Why? The gun rang and he died beside me.
	It wasn't so different from saying, “Do you love me?” He wanted me to live. He wanted me to say, “I love you,” and I was not able to mutter a single word. He, my friend, was my brother and I killed him along with my father.
	No one had to die. Not a single person, but there is nothing I can do about the past. Am I sorry for what I did? No, I am not. There was a time where I thought about what I could have done differently, but I came to accept that this was better than completely failing. I am alone in this world, but I have never felt less lonely. I have no doubt in my mind that they watch over me, whether or not they hate me. I will carry the weight of their death and have it push me further towards my goals.
	Is it unusual to feel great? To feel that you are destined for more. That you are worth a a higher value than any other person alive. Is it arrogant to not only feel, but know that the world is below m. Am I wrong to know that this world is so helpless?
	The day I killed my family was the worst day of my life. From beginning to end, everything was a disaster. It was my greatest failure and also my greatest accomplishment and my source of motivation. I was trying to save them, but in the end I was only saving myself. My father called me a failure. He called me trash. He called me a coward. He called me worthless. He disowned me and cursed me and he did everything he could except kill me. And then I shot him again and he still lived. My father fell to the floor and died from blood loss. I stood there and realized my mistake, all my mistakes. I had already thought of countless better approaches. But this wasn't just a mistake. It was the worst one I could've made. I became disenchanted with the world. Why? Why has this happened? What now? There is no explaining exactly what I felt. Fake would be a good word for it. Hollow? I wish I felt hollow. I felt betrayed. I felt hatred. I felt wrath. I hated this world. I hated God, but I especially myself. I am a monster.
	I ran but I fell on his blood and I couldn't find the strength to pick myself back up. It doesn't matter anymore. It's over. I can die now. Everything is okay.
	“Do you hate me Mathew?”
	I turned around with my gun in my hand and I blinked and my ears they hurt and my brother. My poor brother, he fell back and stumbled and he didn't die instantly either. I heard him cough once or twice before his breathing stopped. Kill me, kill me, kill  me. Oh how I begged God to kill me. Please kill me. I don't want to live anymore. I am a failure. I am trash. I am a coward. I am worthless. And God? Where was he? I needed him the most. I hate God. I hate him almost as much as I hate myself. It's his fault it happened like this. The world will be better with me dead. Why hasn't God helped me? I don't want to live for another second. I went to my brothers body to look at him. I just wanted to see his face and that letter. That letter was in his hand. From Osmin. To me?
	I began to run but I fell and it continued as so until I was gone. I left everything behind. There wasn't a single thing from the past I needed anymore apart from what this letter has me do. I hate everything, but that is not true. It will never be true. I won't die. I cannot die, not yet. God? Can you hear me? I hate you, I hate you with all my heart. I will not ask you for help and you will not ask me for help. I do not expect your help nor should you expect mine. I need to live God. I cannot die. I do not expect charity, but I do need your power. I will pay you. The world around me started to crumble as I ran through the countryside. You can have my life God. I don't want it anymore. The scorching sun baked the blood onto my skin as I started anew. Is that not enough God? Do you want more? I'll give you the world too. I smiled shrewdly as sweat and blood flowed on my body. I'll give you the whole world. My life and the world for your power. I promise. God, give me strength.
	My feet locked and I fell forward, the dirt sticking onto my bloodied body. Sitting on the dead yellow grass in front of me under the sun was a  small scarlet gem, a red darker than any blood. Both ends of the gem were pointed and became thicker at the center. I crawled on my hands and knees until I was able to grasp the gem. Colder than ice with crude facets reflecting the disgusting red all around it. The gem was dense and heavy as it took all my remaining strength to lift it. Slowly, I brought that gem up above me and let the sun shine directly on it. Veins running through the gem that seemed to gently pulse and lead to it's center at the thickest point. My arms trembled at the incredible weight of them gem, but also in anticipation of what I had yet to do. I brought my hands down and plunged that rotten gem though my chest and into my heart.
	That is how I obtained this divine promise. That is how I gained this fake immortality. I was weak then. Today I am strong. Like a God I feel I am capable of anything. I will earn my death. I will die. This earth, this life, this existence. I will seize them all. Every human, every animal, every insect will know the name Mathew when I am done.
	If you've killed five million people and needed ten million dead to complete your goals, would you stop? Would you be a monster?
	I am in a similar situation. The difference being I've only killed two and I don't know the quota. What I do know is that I won't make those first two lives worthless. Even if it means I have to kill one hundred million.
	To think the two would've died regardless. What a cruel joke. The flame was constant but I can't help but feel that it is growing weaker.
	What a wonderful world I live in.