“We’re all just beasts”
That was the line they’d selected in the papers. That would be the last thought her Henry would be remembered for.
She still remembered the first words. Henry had been an adorable baby. Chubby and cherubic. She could still picture his sweet face looking up into her eyes, tugging on her earring, and finally, at long last, addressing her. “Mama” She smiled, caught herself, and shook her head. But of course, those weren’t the kind of things they like to print. And what was the point of submitting an obituary if they’d already published his suicide note.
Not that she had had any say in the matter. How like Henry to even in death, to have the last word. She clenched the paper, feeling it wrinkle between her knuckles and fingertips. She had tried to show him that people could be good. That there was light. She’s taken him to church, to national parks, the zoo, parties, museums, anything she could think of to instill a sense of awe or gratitude. None of it worked. He would just stand there unimpressed, ear buds in, choosing not to connect. She wanted to shake him. And on a few occasions she had. Trying to get him to feel something, anything at all. But he’d just looked at her blankly, scowl firmly in place.
Of course she’d thought about therapy but she couldn’t have any of the neighbors finding out. Surely, if she was truly godly, she could save him herself.
She tried exorcisms, flaggelation, baptisms in the old claw bath tub, constant prayer, but the boy was too consumed by the darkness. He simply did not want to be saved. She knew if he just accepted Jesus into his heart, all of problems would vanish. God could do that.
She was proof. After her husband Beau had died, she was afraid she’d never see light again. But the church had found her, promised her peace, financial aid, community. They’d delivered on all fronts. Henry, in typical fashion rejected the congregation. After Beau died, he’d rejected everything. Sneered at her rituals and blood rites. Even mocked her friends to their faces.
She’d wished he hadn’t done that. Her friends were quite sensitive and it had humiliated her. Father Ignacius convinced her, she had to be harder on the boy. Without a father figure, he needed discipline, authority. And she’s tried her best. She’d been weak at first, doubtful, but through faith she’d found the courage to show him her resolve. Still throughout all her ministrations, he never even screamed, not a whimper, not a sound. He would just stare at her unimpressed, with his jaw set, spurring her to try even harder. It was for his own good, after all. Didn’t he see that? Even during the bleedings, it had been out of love. Just like when Christ bled for all of their sakes. And he’d even found a way to hurt her even with that.
The pictures had left nothing to the imagination. There was Henry strung up to a tree like a scarecrow. Lying there limply, barbed wire around his head. He had shaved the dogwood tree down to a perfect lower case T, Henry had always had an eye for detail. Around his neck was a cobra, fashioned like a boa. And in his blood, the snake’s venom. Confirming what she’d already feared, that Satan had him.
And if that wasn’t hurtful enough, the letter, she closed her eyes, that damn letter.
Dear, fellow humans
I want you to know first and foremost that mankind is not special. We like to pretend we are. We dress ourselves up, plug ourselves in, give ourselves structure and what we perceive to be order. We claw our way to the top of careers, buildings, and the food chain. But that doesn’t make us special. That doesn’t make us better than. At the end of the day, we all are just trying to fuck, spread our seed, steal resources, and eat. That’s it. And we will use any means necessary to get it. War, rape, theft, murder. But we’ll dress it up first in a lie, morality, religion, manipulation, delusion, addiction. Whatever we can find to side step the depraved base shit we are actually doing to get what we want.
Because people are in denial. We are in denial that we’re all beasts. But we’re worse because we’ve evolved enough to make tools and with those tools self righteousness and megalomania. We live like Gods, changing the earth’s climate, changing our appearance surgically, wiping out species, even bringing people back from the dead. Pretending to care about our fellow human, whilst letting most of them live in abject poverty, covered in dirt and debasement. Not realizing these disenfranchised people are living the most authentic lives of us all. Covered in sweat, flies, hair, dirt, doing whatever they have to do to eat and making no apologies for it. That’s honest, that’s honorable, but it’s forced, and no one sees it but me,
We strive to be individuals or special when we’re just pack animals that want to be accepted and protected. So we form tribes, people who think the same, value the same thing, and wage war on the other ones. Sometimes bloody, sometimes political, financial, or religious. Were not evolved, we’re not special. We’re just pretentious enough to couch our depravity in executive orders, commandments, film scripts, and boy scout codes. Peel away the layers, and you’ll see it, clear as day. Clearly as two boars rutting violently in the mud. We’re all just beasts. And no God, father figure, or professor, or political figure erases that. And as I’m the only one that can see this world, humanity, for what it really is. This shit stain of a race. This pretentious parade of fuck puppets, pulling eachothers’ strings, and congratulating one another, on being so god-damned enlightened. I’m tired. Tired of not having a tribe. Tired of being surrounded by smug, clueless, assholes. So, with my last words and wishes, I formally remove myself from this circle jerk, and renounce my humanity, my “civilty”, and my life.
Choke on it,
P.S. Hope you like the scene I created Mom. You wanted me to be God-like? Well here, I am, Jesus Christ his god-damn self. Maybe if you and your freaks pray hard enough, I’ll come back.
Sally bit her lip and slammed her fist down on her bureau. nearly hitting a lit candle. “I’ll come back” he wrote. She knew he wouldn’t. How could he? Her son, was without a doubt, burning in hell. She couldn’t be blamed though. Some souls just can’t be saved. And she’d been cursed with an ungrateful child. A willful child. One obviously predestined for hades. After all, she thought, putting on her red robes, she’d been an excellent mother.