The Divine God Complex

It seemed like the Bunsen burner took years to fall, but I was paralysed, on the opposite side of the room. It took what felt like a second, however, for the room to ignite, a large square of fire surrounding us.

Gasoline.

The sprinklers flicked on, and I knew someone must have pulled the alarm, but it still felt ominous. Watching them try and put it out was like watching a child try and beat up the Hulk. They had no hope of stomping out this fire, like the child would have no hope of even bruising that green beast.

I see The Christian standing, blocking the doorway. I don't know her name, but I do know her beliefs. We all do. She threw a fit last year when the science teacher brought up evolution – which is admittedly touchy territory, but not enough so for anyone to snap a pencil in half and chase innocents around the room trying to plunge the thing into someone's heart. Yeah, it happened.

“You have to run!” I shout at her, beginning to follow the others out the side door.

But she doesn't move.

I stop. I can't just let her burn. “Come on!”

“No,” she hisses. “This is God's work and I am His vessel.”

What the hell? I cuss, and run over, willing to push her out of the goddamn room if I have to. “God will love you more if you live,” I tell her, even though I really don't know nor care. Right now, I'm just trying to save myself, and her.

“He told me we needed to burn. I'm not going to question Him.”

“You're not questioning him, you're just running late for a meeting.”

“I will not miss my meeting with Him.”

“You'll meet him eventually. Not now.”

As much as I'm fighting to get her out of here before we have to be swept out and stored in jars, I find myself believing her. As much as I don't want to believe in any god, I feel it in my heart that she's right. God is real, and he wanted this to happen.

“Why?” I shout loud enough for all in the heavens to hear me.

Why?

The flames leap higher, as if to say, “Don't question me.”

But question I shall.

“Humans may seem like s***, but that's not all we are. When you dig down a little we are capable of being more than even we know we can be. Humans invented planes and trains and telegraphs and phones so we can be closer to each other. We invented the embrace and we invented the reassuring pat on the back. When someone's upset, I don't see your fire here cheering them up. I see other humans doing it.

“And you may think you're doing good, being so high and mighty and playing with our lives like we're your dolls, but you're no help. I spent most of my young life feeling inadequate and wrong because if there was a god like everyone said there was, he wanted nothing to do with me. I was on my own all along and when I needed help, there were no signs from above, just static. I don't know if your line was off the hook or if you just didn't feel like answering the phone. Maybe you blocked my number. I don't know, and it doesn't matter anymore, because I don't need anyone's help anymore.

“Where were you? Where the hell were you when my best friend was being abused? When cuts that would never vanish were being sliced into him? Where were you when he had to hop from foster home to foster home and had no friends growing up as he couldn't stay in the same place more than two months? Where were you when he was suicidal? Who was it who saved him? Us. Us humans.”

The flames turn white. Logically speaking, there isn't enough oxygen in here for that, but what's logical about this? This is supernatural, so the laws of nature hardly seem relevant anymore.

“You call yourself a god but you'll be King of Nothing if you keep on like this,” I finish, feeling the heat of anger engulf me more than the smoke does.

The Christian is shocked, rocking on her heels and breathing shallowly. She's pretty even when her world has just fallen around her ears. She's remarkably pretty for a fanatic.

“Not all gods are good,” I tell her, pulling her out of the room just as the ceiling collapses.