Hey everyone, new author here. Well, not quite. I have another account but I made this one for a fresh start. Anyway, THIS STORY MAY OFFEND YOU. Let me repeat that. THIS STORY MIGHT OFFEND YOU.
Disclaimer on my profile page
Warnings: Religious criticism, atheism, character death, suicide
THERE IS SUICIDE IN THIS STORY
Now, you have all been sufficiently warned about the triggers. I should also probably warn you this story is awful. Related note, anyone interested in being a beta?
Inside a small apartment located on the dingy side of town, stacks of books towered over the furniture. Leather-bound books rested next to paperbacks which in turn sat on top of hard covers with their jackets removed and the whole setting gave the appearance that a very wise old man who cared not for material comforts was the current resident.
At three in the morning, the gentle peace of the room was rather violently disturbed by a young man shrieking rather shrilly for one his age.
"Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. How did I not see this? And they call me genius, I'm nothing but an imbecile." The man uttered a long stream of insults directed at his own person as he rose from his seat on the floor and pushed his glasses further up on his nose, allowing for them to promptly slide down again. He grabbed a sealed package of notebook paper and ripped wildly, sending the white sheets into the air like snowflakes.
If fight by nature THEN cannot exist in paradise without being altered
FORCED CHANGE?
The paper he had originally been scribbling on was tossed behind the man's shoulder, resting on a copy of Voltaire's Candide.
The door slammed open, accompanied by the sound of despair filling the air.
In the back corner of the room, the original occupant continued to grab random pieces of paper and scribble comments on them. The man who had come in the room sighed deeply.
"Alfred, please, let the Lord save you. He can deliver you, stop trying to reason this out!"
"You think I want this? You think I want my whole family hating me because I point-blank refuse to just accept something without proof? I'm not basing my life on a book and besides, the entire idea is ridiculous! Look at what I've found, look!" To the dull observer, the two men appeared to know each other well. To one paying attention though, it was clear that neither of them could understand the other.
"Your temper tantrum astounds me! Stop trying to prove all of your science and just listen to the Lord's call!"
"LOOK AT THIS," Alfred roared, jamming a paper with several circles drawn on it into the other man's face. "Matthew, look at this! Heaven is worse than death!"
Matthew started crying. "I just, I just don't want you to," a sob, "I don't want you to rot in Hell for your actions, you're my twin brother." Alfred sighed.
"The difference between us, Matthew, is that I have a personal relationship with reality and you do not. At least look at my reasoning before you dismiss it out of hand."
"Fine, you couldn't possible have come up with anything real." Alfred's face darkened in anger once more.
"Humans, by nature, fight. If somehow they all exist peacefully and spend eternity without progressing, then it logically follows that they must be fundamentally changed in order to be happy with that. Furthermore, to exist in Heaven, you would have to watch others burn in Hell. People you knew, people you were friends with, they could be in there just for saying 'Jesus Christ' in an offensive tone of voice! People would never be happy with that, it's not in human nature. God, pretending he exists for the sake of this comparison, would have to fundamentally alter people and make them mindless slaves, basically. Of course, there's more science to be discovered but as a first draft, the theory seems to work well." For the duration of the speech, Matthew had worn a look of condescending amusement.
"Are you done with your childish fit?" Alfred snorted. "I see. Well, God hates atheists and now, I see why. You have no morals whatsoever and you just want to destroy things. I'm done trying to save your eternal soul, you're a monster." With that, Matthew turned to leave.
"How could you? How could you? Ihateyou. ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?" Alfred screamed, picking up a paperweight of an atom and throwing it at Matthew. "I'm sick," a pillow went flying through the air, "and tired," a pen, "of you acting like you're better than me! I just want to challenge myself, why is that so hard to ask?" To avoid the oncoming storm, Matthew should have left. Instead, he looked over his shoulder and laughed.
"Your reaction amuses me, heathen." Alfred screamed, a rough and desperate sound. Grabbing the first thing he found, he grabbed a stone bookend and hurled it. It arced up, over the stacks of books and over Matthew's head only to hit the door and fall, striking the back of his head.
Matthew's mouth opened and closed several times, looking mechanical and unnatural, before he found his voice. "Ho-How could you?"
"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," poured from Alfred's mouth without him being quite aware of it happening. He rushed over to Matthew but there was blood flowing out of his head and there was no doubt in his mind that he had killed his brother.
"Monster," Matthew breathed, blinking sleepily all the while. He breathed out and seemed to deflate.
Alfred stood above his brother for a while. "I'm so sorry, Matthew, I'm just so sorry. You wouldn't listen, you just hated me, I could stop it and now you're dead but I'm not entirely sure that you deserved to be alive because you were a monster but you were my twin brother and I killed you and killing is wrong because no matter what you say, I have morals, I do, I do." He seemed almost unaware of what he was saying; only stopping to breath.
"Right, think logically now, Alfred." He said out loud after he had stopped babbling. "I killed someone. I am a monster. I can either call the police and accept jail or… or I can kill myself right here. Right, logic. I need to suffer for what I did, fact. Both options will see me suffering, fact. Jail will make me suffer less, probably true because it's keeping going but suicide is giving up on thinking. Right. Suicide it is then, I guess." Alfred took several deep breaths, catching a glimpse of his wild-eyed appearance in a mirror he kept on his sofa. "I can be logical, I can be logical," he muttered under his breath as he let Matthew's body thud to the floor.
Rummaging around in a safe he kept under the couch, Alfred found his handgun. With shaking fingers, he confirmed that it was loaded. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry," his hand shook violently when he placed the gun in his mouth, angled up 52 degrees to ensure a quick death.
I love you.
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