Dear God,
See the midnight. It melts behind Berlin with the carrier-slaves, drawing dark seas that roll overhead and extinguish the stars. Dawn will break soon; I can see it ripening on the horizon, virgin, smothering the silhouettes as a dancer spreads her arms. See the midnight’s slaves. They are walking mutations of humanity, chanting lines from spells of long dead shamans.
But perhaps I should make myself clearer. You are a terrible worker; you have no tools and yet you blame them still. Make them stop it. Make those men and women put aside their tormenting at the disgrace of these innocent hearts.
Choose the world you wish to dictate. Here I stand at the pinnacle, and that is something; I alone scale this bleak field and none can see me for it. I am alone, yet alone I shall accept should no one wish to climb the mountain to the peak at which I write. The only spirits these stillborns have seen are their own souls floating into the heavens, and those untouched watch your trinity propel the stars down upon them, salt-lick lips in devout hope for a message to reassure them. Before the bombs explode. Before they permeate the ground with black blood, dark like this midnight. The world you have picked is not a world at all. It is a slaughterhouse bidden to graveyards for mere requiem.
I took a visit to a box the other day—it stretched into the horizon and the sun sparked diamonds upon it. Arcs of stars swept over it at night, but as I stepped inside the skies burnt. There was always room inside there. Were they to be properly fed, the population of demeaned zombies might leave no air unbreathed, but as it stood, bones pricking out through rasping skin, hunger had overwhelmed. Stomachs were invisible and it is for this reason that they will pretend that they know peace. They will swallow any hope for reason like starving children. They will not taste it at first, and their rough lips will bite it back when their gurgling fears protest, but peace – or, at least, an end to this heartless disgrace – will come again to Earth, if contrary to your wicked deviations. Anything to end it. It’s now that I wonder whether the Devil has pinned you to the walls of his dungeon. You’re a scripted puppet of hypocrisy, and if you are everywhere and everything, then we are just the traces left in the snow by some snarling monster.
Those creatures shivered my spine. They are unfit to be called human anymore, and I envy them. To see what we have become. Now come the days guts and screaming babies. Now come the years of savages once again. This is the future.
And the dawn is close and I see it coming and gnashing at the tides of moonlight. But time has slowed down. The light is an unmeasured distance away. Europe is dying. I hear it groaning under battle, the wind, the messenger for the crying and the tears in the clouds, the puffy cheeks of grey and black and some white. But no silver, I believe.
And so I descend into oblivion, where some comfort finds me, and no more than a mark forever inscribed upon history will I become. Because right now I see two choices, two shadows to hail. One is a man like all the others and can control many indeed; twisting the spires of smoke oblique to the camps and chanting the course of the fire’s crackling are just two of his incantations, and they are done with such ease, such grace. The other shadow I cannot see, for there is no light from which it can spawn. I am given a book and a planet and am told for whom to pray. I am told that He rules even this man, but He has betrayed me. I am told that he is you, but to be honest, I no longer see faith in that.
I hate that man. But my God, will I force Hitler upon me. Until dawn.
Herr Wilberforce
------
Yeah, it was a bit weird. Kind of meant to show how William Wilberforce would react at the sight of the Holocaust. I had hoped it would be more structured than that, but oh well. Please comment as you will. =] Thanks for reading.
