14 - I pray for air

  

I breathe hard but still can’t get any air.

Maybe I have Satan inside of me the way the Christians used to say

Anyone who would kill Christ must be evil.

But I am confused.

I can’t remember killing Christ.

Nor anybody else in my family doing it.

When was this, I ask, then try to breathe.

But can’t.

If only my head would clear and I could think, I might make sense of why I am here.

And why we have spent these long months turning to dust before our time.

People say we are greedy and that we lust for gold or wealth, and yet I have seen weeks go buy even before all of this when bread was all I could afford to put on my family’s table.

I could not even purchase thread to men my children’s clothing.

Yet if THEY say it is so, it must be so.

If only I could breathe once the fresh air I knew as a child, one miserable and miserly breath – that is what I lust for now, praying even as I hear the hiss that brings in the gas.

If God has not abandoned us, He will let me breathe.

I am told that our kind pollutes THESE people, our blood and their blood must never mingle, and that we are some how inferior to THEM.

Maybe it is true.

My head is filled with cloudy thoughts, of urges and desires, of pain and sorrow, of needs and wants I know I will never be able to fulfill.

I feel like a beast – made to get down on my hands and knees like a beast, made to beg and plead for my life, to roll in the filth like a beast.

So this, too, must be true.

But do even beasts deserve this?

Why would any body believe God has this in mind for even beasts?

I breathe – therefore I am something living, until I can breathe no more.

Now, I pray only for air.



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