My God
by Timmy
from Issue #6

    And in my image I created God. I made Him infallible and so caring that He let His own bastard son be nailed to two crossed boards. The fault was never in the God that I created. It was always in those I created through Him. It's in the stupid and the ignorant and those too blind to see His truth in a forest of lies. It's in those that claim to tete-a-tete with the God I created and build burning bush amusement parks or offer salvation in my God's name while they fuck their secretaries or small trusting children or the old or the desperate or those reaching out to my God for help.

    They twist the words of my God upon the ears of mad dogs and lambs, changing the meaning of the prose I had whispered in His glorious loving ears. The mad dogs tear at the throats of my God's chosen while the knaves show their smiling white teeth, hiding the dagger forged of the rhetoric of fools behind their backs. Slowly they plunge the blade into the souls of the lost children, causing no pain, but turning their ignorance or plain indifference to fear.

    The knaves retreat, knowing their wounding can only be healed by the truth in the words of my God. But He is gone. Those He touched listened, but the others would not. He is tired and broken and beaten and too pissed off to try to make His truth heard over the voices of those shouting words they claim to be His to the cowering masses. My God left a single message to the people He created on the planet He created --