As per usual, sleep did not find me for the remainder of that night- or at least I felt fairly certain it had not.  But lying there on my side, staring into nothing, thinking on everything; I swore I was awake when I saw the light outside the door blink out. 

I decided to start using the restless night hours to write- or at least trying to figure out what it was that I was supposed to write. I had been told countless times ever since grade school that I ought to write some kind of book but I’d never felt- and still didn’t- that I had anything anyone would even give a shit about in the recesses of my dark mind. 

            I couldn’t help but think of the man who gave me this journal all those years ago, a grey haired gentleman who randomly asked to pray for me- I was just dropping by a random church, trying to find some kind of subconscious penance or I don’t know what- so I didn’t very well feel that I could say no. He began to speak in an odd language that didn’t sound like anything I could recognize, and told me all kinds of things about myself that I had obviously never shared with this stranger. He insisted on laying hands on me, and I felt incredibly awkward, but also curious. I’d since forgotten many of the little things he told me, but through the years I had never lost the vision in my head of him telling me to “write down everything that happens”, and gave me the blank journal I now held in my hands. I didn’t even open it until a few years later to notice tucked into the spine of the pages a scarlet ribbon. 

      All I had managed to write so far was a whiney, long ass “prayer” in the back of the book. I never really prayed formally as it were, but I guess writing it down there I could look back to see if He would actually even answer anything I asked. I hadn’t really asked *for* much in a long time, because I was so used to everything being a no; and didn’t really let myself need much anyways.

I took a moment to think what I needed right now. I knew praying wasn’t about getting what we wanted, but there wasn’t anything He didn’t know about my “life”, and pretty much everyone I knew who was a decent person was getting fucked without lube, so to try and be altruistic and just pray for other people quickly turned into more of a convoluted list of basically “help the whole world, amen.” but maybe *I* would get a yes this time after 100 no’s. 

“get me out of here please.”

I added the please after a minute, but that was all I wrote this time.  Yet looking down at the thin red letters, it simply didn’t carry the kind of desperate urgency I always felt inside. I unfastened one of the devil rings from my ear, pressed the point into my skin to produce a few drops of blood, dipped the pen, and retraced over the words. So I’m sure God’s not a fan of my style, but it was a language I could understand. 

 I dated the first two entries. “OK. I’m testing you again..” I whispered. 

I laid down and simply stared back out at that solitary streetlight.


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