...On God and Madmen.
by Goodash
The church sat deserted on a Sunday morning when all the local worshippers from the neighboring communities should be joining in fellowship with their friends and neighbors in a celebration of their belief. Amidst the smell of the old hymnals and the rotting wood of the once shiny and immaculate pews, a rush of wind came in through a door which had not been opened in years. The blast of fresh air scattered dust from the floors, the pews and the decrepit altar where the friendly preacher would pray to the one he held dearest to him, honoring and praising his name. The door closed behind the figure of a man. The figure walked cautiously as not to fall through the rotting wood of the floor, and slowly made his way to what was left of the altar railing at the front of the church in front of what was once the pulpit. Odd, the man thought, that his daily walk would end up here, in this church. Something in the back of his head nagged him, like he'd been here before. Like he'd seen many a sermon preached, and many an offering taken, and he felt like he wanted to cry, because he couldn't remember it at all. As he approached the railing, he knelt down on the dry rotted pads used for such practices, dirtying the knees of his white uniform. He bowed his head in piety, then as if he had just remembered something important, removed the mask he wore on his face, revealing a scarred, stitched and patchworked blue face, though by no means unhandsome. His eyes gleamed with the innocence of a child, but a closer look showed something else there, something from long ago, a dirty secret perhaps, or a dirty life, one could not be sure, for the owner of the look knew little himself. In fact he remembered very little of his original life, the life he had years before, the life he led before he had been stitched together and had started this new one. Like a man used to attending church regularly, he hung his head and began to speak out loud.
God. I have no idea if you can hear me, or if you're even real. I know I want you to be, but so many people keep confusing me about this. My girlfriend tells me that whatever I choose to believe is what's right for me, but I want to know what's really right. So many people I've asked have given me different answers. I've had an alien tell me you exist, as well as a Super Man from a different dimension, but I guess what I'm looking for is a sign. Something tangible to tell me that everything's okay, and you're there making sure the cosmic clockwork is ticking. Something to let me know that this whole crazy world has a purpose, not just that everything has happened by accident. God, I just want to be sure. I guess you get a lot of people asking and begging and just basically whining to you everyday, but I hope you consider my case different. I hope you know that I want to believe. I really do. I just want a sign. Something. Anything. Um...well, I guess this is Amen, right?
With a sigh he lifted himself up off the kneeling step and picked up his mask. He was about to put it on when he noticed something. The dust from the broken railing he had laid it on formed a brown cross over the back of the mask. Frank looked at it with tearful eyes and lifted them to heaven. Thank you.
And somewhere beyond the church in a realm uncomprehensible to mortal men, The deity looked down on the sanest Madman in Snap City and whispered, You're welcome.
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Disclaimer: Madman is the property of Mike Allred. The opinions expressed herein are in no way supported by said creator. This story is intellectual property of GoodAsh.
