The Threat of a God
By Clay
I've lost all sense of religion, but I pray. I pray that a God does not exist. I pray that I will never find myself at the judgement of a higher being, for the outcome would be worse than anything I've experienced on earth. I will suffer. I know that. For the lives I've taken, for the pleasure I take in my wife, I will suffer.
I do not deserve to feel love, and yet she spreads her arms and her legs before. She clings to me, surrounds me as if nothing before and nothing to come will sate her as this moment does. And I cling back. Because this moment is the greatest moment of my life. And when I lie in her arms as we drift to sleep, that will be the greatest moment of my life. And when I wake to the stale scent of sweat and lust and white plum, that will be the greatest moment of my life.
No.
That is my life.
When I kill, the scent of blood, the weight of the sword, is all I know. It is my life, my reason, my being.
And now, nestled into the warmth of my wife, I am this moment. Nothing else matters, but the satin touch of her skin, her lips trailing along my collar bone, the crescendo of pleasure as I move inside her...
And so I pray there is no God. My punishment will come, whether or not it be ordered by a higher being. Life is nothing if not just and I will pay for my crimes, but at this moment I can forget all of it and just feel.