And so, God of Chaos with insane notions of balance or fairness, you come to claim my Father now?
Death, you’ve taken too much from me already. Now you steal upon me, not with battalions but a single spy.
I caught you – shivering across his grey face, hewn from rock seemingly more than skin. Sagging ruinously over bones that worked too hard, far too long, for way too little.
Too much to hope that you might take him out clean? Grant us that small mercy? Do not presume to steal fifty percent of my dearest blood, one small piece at a time; butchered into various cuts and removed. He deserves better than to fade out: become a prisoner in his broken body.
For fifteen agonising years you have been the only God I prayed to, as you watched my every attempt at happiness crumble into ruin.
I know you are saving me for last. That prayer was always the same: Not today. Not today.
Today it’s changed.
It’s ‘Take me instead.’ I’ve failed enough.