God Sent...

God sent…



March 31, 2009 11:13 p.m.





“I am going to die here. Every fiber that is my being will vanish in this bed. I’ve been reassured of this many times over, and the end is approaching. I have many regrets and many complaints, and I’ll admit before anyone, I’d rather stay, even if it meant becoming a phantom and never being seen by the human eye. I’ve lived long enough to know that life is the most painful part of dying, and love is the most painful game to play while living. I’m not sad that I’m leaving here so early, I’m sad because of all the loose ends had such promise of being tied. I’ve loved only once, and lost her. I regret the decisions I made against her. I regret forgiving her so easily and being harsh when not needed. I regret trying to hate her and attempting to love her at the same time. I regret not becoming what I wanted to be…for her. Even now, I wish I knew how to let go, and yet hold on at the same time. I wish she was mine, yet I wish I could forget her.

I have many questions and wonders that have yet to be answered, and yet they all seem so small, yet so important; For example, the concept of inhumanity. Who’s to say what is “inhumane” when it’s a concept developed by man; something that is not of human nature or etiquette. It’s something immoral and wrong, yet this “inhumanity” is so vastly known and done…by humans. If it’s not of human nature, than would it be done at all? Or does this simply mean it’s not an action of civilized man?

I’m feeling tired now. I hope this won’t be the only entry in this p.o.s. spiral, but then again, I hate writing. “



  The boy rolled the pen down the notebook resting on his knees down to his stomach. He had become too weak to put it on his side table, and his wrist already burned from writing the small entry. He slowly moved his legs down to a more comfortable position, spreading his white quilt and sheets a bit and poking his feet out of the bottom of the blanket. His eyelids were getting unbelievably heavy when he winced. His mother was asleep on the couch directly to his left, newspaper resting in her lap. Her hair was a mess, and even as she slept, her face seemed so stressful. This was why he refused to leave this earth. There were just to many forms of pain left by his existence. He caught a glimpse of Annie holding on to his arm, her right hand lay across his chest, moving her fingers only barely. Her eyes were glued to his, and there was no doubt in either of their minds that anything was wrong with this moment. They sat on the trunk of his car, parked just out of splash range of the crashing waves. The salt chapped their lips and dried their skin, the cold night air nipped at them both causing goose bumps and spontaneous shivers, but none of this mattered. Small lights of boats could be seen at the edge of the world, and the stars were more abundant than ever. They had driven a day and a half to get to this beach, only to leave the next morning. The sand on this Biloxi beach was as white as snow, and as cold the sand was, it was a home for the two. This is where they would be born, live, and die every second, until the end of time. They would leave this place with a sense of accomplishment and undying compassion.

  But everything has an end. He closed his eyes and widened them to realize he was still in the hospital bed. The trip to Biloxi, Mississippi was two years ago now. He was having his visions again; his day dreams with eyes wide open. He looked around at the white walls now because he was afraid of closing his eyes. He didn’t fear death, he feared not being able to say goodbye. The T.V. seemed to be falling. It leaned in closer and closer until it was almost right on top of him. The stand seemed to be the same it always had been, yet longer in some odd way. The television itself seemed only barely longer and eerily wider. He blinked again. The T.V. returned to its stand attached to the wall. Nothing had moved in even the slightest bit.

  He strained his neck muscles to look over at his mother, still vacant of consciousness, and obviously having bad dreams. He couldn’t leave her like this. He had always tried to be his mother’s son, a man his father would have been proud of, a man with power and a pure sense of purpose in the world, but he had grown to be someone completely different. He was a man with no clear purpose. He was powerful muscle wise, but he was never sure of himself, always questioning his final result, never giving himself his credit. He had become his biggest critic and worst enemy.

  The heart monitor’s green graphics began changing colors. Blue to orange, red to purple, he was dying. His knees began to shake uncontrollably yet painless. His hand reached out and grabbed his right knee, quenching his teeth, squeezing. The pen and pad fell hopelessly to the floor, bouncing near his mother’s feet. She instantly sprung to her feet. The heart monitor was bouncing out of control. She pressed the assistance button several times with a response only seconds later. A doctor carrying a pad opened the room door, walking quickly towards the dying young man, followed by two nurses. He placed the pad down on the bedside table and quickly put his hand on the young man’s chest, looking up at the mother with a grim look. She knew what it meant.

“You’re awake?” sailed a voice seemingly all around him, no dictating area seemed to be particular. He was sure that his eyes were open, but he couldn’t prove it without wiping them. So he did. “You are awake my child. Sleep is a thing of the past. It’s a method of rejuvenation which won’t be needed…anymore.” It was clear where he was. “No! I can’t be here!” He yelled out holding his head tightly, gripping his hair, and covering his eyes. As he fell to his knees in utter disbelief, he noticed he was suddenly wearing his favorite pair of pants and belt. “This is the playground for the dedicated and good. Your existence is a true to life dream here.”

  He looked through the cracks between his fingers and sobbing eyes into the light. He saw happiness. He saw rest and success. There was no hunger, no disease. “What am I …seeing?” he asked quietly. “Nirvana.” the bold voice echoed. “I don’t want to be here. Let me out.” the boy cried slowly now, but sobbing none the less. “Everything here is what your destiny has lead to. You’re not suppose to have the will to leave at this point, Goods-..” “I don’t care, I don’t want this, not now!” he yelled out.

  A figure appeared before him, dressed in complete white apparel, robe, hair, and sandals. There was no doubt on whom he was. He stared at the boy for a matter of seconds, not with a mad expression or even happy. He was sad. “I can’t send you back, Goo-..” “Please. I can’t be here.” both voices echoed in the white domain, both sad, yet both determined. The figure looked at him with depressed eyes, wishing for  only the boy’s happiness and well being. “I can send you back. Your destiny may not be fulfilled just yet…but your mortality is.” The man said, a tear forming in his left eye. “Fate is written, yet can’t foretold…even by me. You will return as an immortal being, already an ark of sin, but I do see the purpose of this.” he stated more positively, placing his hand on the young man’s shoulder. The boy looked at him with questionable eyes. “Annie will die in 4 hours your time. Neither you nor her have deserved this, yet its honestly not my place to interfere. You will leave here with the probability that you will never return. If by some chance you die, every sin you have accounted for… will weigh on your shoulders and carry you down.” The boy looked at him still confused. He knew what he was saying but he lacked belief. “That hole.” The figure pointed in a direction of dark light fading in through the floor. “March 32nd, 2009 at 10:36:12 a.m. Annie Ray Phillips will be killed while crossing the street from a 2004 blue Ford Mustang. Corner of N½ and Willamette at your college campus. You don’t have time to lose.”

  The boy quickly turned to the dark hole and sprinted in its direction, jumping only inches before it, falling to an old, familiar world. “God’s speed Goodsin!”  the figure yelled out before he was out of ear shot. He said nothing in return, but only hoped for the best. He saw nothing below and nothing above him, only his thoughts and purpose. He had either made the biggest mistake of his existence or altered his fate to something never before heard of.