Why So Faithful??

ZOMBIE PROMPT 2/2/2012

Think about religion, how does it apply to your everyday life as a survivor? Do you still believe?

When I was little, my grandmother would put me in pink frilly dresses, with a straw sun hat, with white heeled shoes that tapped when I walked, like I was her own little doll. They always shoved it down my throat that at some point the messiah would return to earth and grant those who were loyal an eternal afterlife, during the sermon, I would sit in the bathroom and rip holes in my white stockings and wait the two hours until everyone was done. I always tried to figure it out, how could all of these adults look up at this stage with glistening eyes while this actor told them tall tales of how they could all live forever in the kingdom of heaven. While I sat awake at night with what they called an “overactive imagination” and scared myself pondering what was in the shadows, they were all telling me the things I was seeing weren't real, there was no such thing as monsters, the only thing you should fear is the devil and his demons. But who were they to say that what I was seeing wasn't the devil's evil minions sent to manipulate my childish mind to be one of them? Who were they to say the devil doesn't hide in my closet and go bump in the night, or hide under the bed, only to peak out every hour or so, just to see if I'm still awake? I would play in the yard with a stick, I had put silly putty on the tip of it, and tried to shape it like a star, making my own magic wand for when things in my life would go wrong. When the kids would make fun of me, I would come home and wave my magical wand, and make a dragon eat their souls, when my mom would fight with her boyfriend, I would  wave my magic wand and imagine that everything was okay and that my magic could make everyone happy, instead of fighting over money and food and rent. My mom would see me dancing in the yard with the dog and my wand and shake her head and smile. But when I would wave my wand at my grandmothers house, twirling in the yard and humming to myself, she would grab my arm and shake her finger at me, scolding me for believing in such atrocities. “Magic and imagination are the devil's way of getting to your soul. The only thing you need to believe in is Jesus and the holy father, and they will protect you from everything.”

I wished I could believe her, I wished that it made sense to me, that the stories were believable and that the son of god was really a miracle worker with people who needed a savior.

Now that the world has gone to Hell, there are a few things I still believe in, I still believe that imaginations can help you survive on a daily basis, that there are things that go bump in the night, that Dr. Pepper is the drink of champions, and that my grandmother was crazy. Why would god do this to good, hardworking, and innocent people. Make them run day after day just to continue living. Someone I had met a few months back with a bite taken out of their arm and a raging fever told me that they still believed, that God almighty had just raptured the souls of the faithful and left their bodies behind, poisoned by the sin they had gathered over the years, and now it was the Devil's turn to run things for a while. He told me we just had to give in to what God intended.

I put a bullet in his head. But sometimes I think about what he said, and laugh.