1.
We sat down at the church.
Sunday morning; a while ago I could assure you that not even once, had crossed my mind the thought that there will come a day I find him here. But as it turns out, he comes here quite often.
As soon as I took my place beside him, I could hear the familiar skeletal man to my right muttering out quite a few things. Out of civility, I slightly turned my head to listen, trying to show interest.
"It is just so funny..." he spat, yet he seemed not at all amused.
"What is?" I sighed under my breath, resting my chin on my left fist.
"This... this! This whole scenario." He snapped all of a sudden.
"I thought you liked coming here." I couldn't help the smile that cracked up the edges of my lips.
"I do." He replied simply.
As he seems to be over his rant, I take the opportunity to look around. I hadn't been to church for quite some time, I never really saw myself as a believer yet grew up in an "old fashioned" household.
The marble and the gold fit so naturally well with the white and the wood, but I've always wondered as for the reason a place such as a moderate church would need such luxury.
The shining, stained glass windows towered above me just as they used to, nevertheless, I was charmed by them.
In a way, you could say it was all different now.
In a way, I felt just the same. Lost and trapped at the very home built for a fraud God.
A sudden flow of words had me reluctantly fixed back on the young man beside me,
"Sitting here, listening to them," He barked out a cold chuckle, "they almost make me feel... sane again! almost." He grinned, yet there was a dark glimmer illuminating his eyes, his fingertips danced ominously over the wooden bench.
"You would never find an asylum that accepts and worships such rubbish like the church. Preaching about truth. Ha! Calling this... this... bedtime stories the truth, what a joke! You want the truth?!" He turned to face me, but his eyes were beyond my reach.
"Truth is the people. The human race, they're not nice nor kind no," he paused for an instant, taking a deep breath. Letting his face fall then running a hand through his dark hair. A few unruly strands fell out of formation, casting shadows on his eyes. Two green pearls trapped in the dark. "No no no they want blood. Truth is no fools' god can save them. They take and they take and they take and then they blame it on him. They sing of love then make war, it's just a matter of time until they sing love to war." He stated, amused by his own words, a twisted smile curved his pretty face ugly.
"If there was a god up there he most definitely wouldn't be merciful. Full of hatred and filth perhaps." His tone was dead cold yet his eyes were shining. If I wouldn't have known him already, I could only presume chills would be
running down my spine, but I do.
"Ah! Sounds a bit like me," he said as an unsuccessful joke, then proceeded to laugh his barky bitter chuckle.
There's nothing funny about the way he laughs, but I've known him for too long to let it bother me.
A comfortable, yet not quite pleasant silence filled the air. Neither of us were willing to break it - we sat there, and listened to the choir.
I found myself echoing his words in my head rather than paying attention to the pastor. With my eyes roaming the structure, I found myself looking at him.
His eyes were fixed on the priest, his jaw clenched and face tense. His chest barely lifted as he breathed. He became so still, if only he wasn't blinking, you could easily mistake him for a statue, so pale.
So graceful and delicate, yet sharp and mischievous.
As I entertained myself with thoughts of the things he'd say if he knew my thoughts, comparing him to a statue, leaked into my mind the thought, who exactly was he to me?
Sitting there beside him felt both fabricated yet so natural. At this point, is there any good in leaving? If I leave, will I ever be able to come back?
All in all, my oldest friend, my dearest enemy.
We sat there, quietly. No need for words when we each knew everything the other had to say.
And in this silence I wondered,
Will we ever find our way?
