"God hates me." The machines began their silent march forth. She
had stayed with me all night. I was still wearing the clothes from the
night before. She had covered me with a small blanket and I was
drenched in sweat. My kidneys hurt and my eyes were adjusting to the
room. The urge to vomit was at the forefront of my thoughts.
"Why do you do this to yourself?" she asked. The last thing I
remembered was the pillow she placed under my head. "Why can't you just
drink like everyone else?" Her words were blurry, meaningless pockets
of sound the echoed through the room.
The chill of the bathroom floor was a welcome comfort.
"Drinking doesn't numb the pain, or slow the machines, or stop the
floods. If I'm lucky this will eventually slow everything to a
controllable hum."
The pain began slowly. I could feel the darkness crawling over me
again. I tried to remember all of my reasons why. I tried to remember
only the best lies. I wondered if the angel would sleep just a little
bit longer. I wondered if the beast would hesitate. I wondered if the
machines would finally march through the center of the earth and remind
me of just why I think God hates me.
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