The God With The Mortal Complex

 

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Five years old, he knew he wasn’t like the others.
From birth, his first word had been “why”.
His siblings didn’t understand its meaning.
It wasn’t for them.
They knew only to feed and breed, to enjoy their existence but not to question it.
“Why” was a human word.

Ten years old, they told him not to bleed or feel pain.
He rejected this knowledge, using the sharp edges of his halo to cut his rib cage open at night, when no one could see
A phantom death
A trip to the stars
Whose cold light pitied him

Fifteen years old, his siblings wanted to rule the fate of others
While he wanted to rule his own
Exiled, he began to search
For meaning to his endless existence

Teach me, he begged
Teach me to suffer
He started drinking himself to sleep each night
Saw what humans dreamed of
Tasted their tears
Condemned their fears
Fools, he said
As they wept at the sight of death
All I have, you yearn for,
But all you have, I may never gain
Such twisted irony,
that Heaven would not be for gods
And no one will redeem me!

A short story with a quickly made drawing by me.
/Malicia

 

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