I want to go home.
I walk through the gloomy and gray city streets of New York. Rain is being thrown down in buckets. I really should be looking for shelter, but what does it matter? I have no place to go anyways.
I can’t believe they threw me out. I regret telling them I’m an atheist. All of this could have been averted if I had just kept my mouth shut. But still, they’re my family! I would think that they would be more supportive of me. But no, instead they became the heartless bastards they are. Can’t they see I’m still the same person? Just because I don’t believe in some imaginary man floating in the clouds, watching my every move? Deciding if I’m naughty or nice? And not to mention the zombie space jew that was Jesus. Man, I love George Carlin.
I bump into someone. I stammer forward as I apologize. The man shouts back at me, relentlessly. People are cruel.
If this so called god made people in his image, he must be a real asshole.
I really want to go home. I miss them already, with all of their fanaticism. But my beliefs are important too.
But hey, family comes first, right?
I stop to call a taxi back home. Another person bumps into me. She also seemed to be deep in her thoughts, like me. She looks astonishingly similar to me.
I finally catch a taxi and head home, replaying the scenario multiple times in my head until it fits. “I’m sorry,” I’d say, “I was wrong, the divine light has touched me.” Or some shit like that.
I pull up to the driveway. I get out and pay the taxi driver and he flies away without a word. He could probably sense what was coming, due to my half-minded muttering in the back seat. He probably didn’t want to see me get ruthlessly shot down.
I walk up to the door. In the corner of my eyes I see the curtains close shut. I sigh and ring the doorbell without hesitation, not unlike ripping a band aid off, I did it quickly.
My mother answered the door. Her beautiful face corrupted by the powerful and righteous wrinkles that appeared when she saw me.
It’s been twenty years since then. I now have a family, children, a house in the suburbs. I’m unhappy, surrounded by religious nuts who think I’m one of them. The church feels like a jail, and my husband the warden.
I can only imagine what would have happened had I not gone back, had I made the other choice. It will always be speculation. The days of me making my own decisions are over. God reigns over my life, and I feel like I’m in purgatory.