I’m waiting.

This new faith I’ve adopted fits me to a T. Alls I have to do is wait. Wait for a new perfect world. Wait for a life that has no end. Mostly, I’m promised that every bad memory will be erased. It’s not about my own bad memories, but the ones I’ve visited upon others. Maybe I can have a go at them again, for they won’t know who I am.

Now all I do is wander down the dirt road ignoring all my victim’s screams. I find the lake’s shore and sit on a quiet spot. I crouch, then kneel, then sit cross-legged, lazy and lanky in my mannerisms. I’ll just wait here, surrounded by my killing fields.

Boredom comes easy. This waiting for God can be tiring, so I take a nap while my victims shout out my name from the other shore, bloody, wet and torn.

I wake up to the old world. It feels like God didn’t make up his mind while I slumbered. So I pick up stones, smooth like my lies, and skip them over the water. I’m tired of this game, it never works in this world. My flat dreams sink, heavy like my memories.